"Emma?"
Emma, bless her innocent soul, sighed heavily, turning. "Yes, Morro."
"I want cow ice."
Emma blinked. "...Cow ice?"
Morro nodded, completely serious, as he hovered upside-down in midair, arms crossed like he was making some kind of official ghostly demand. "Cow. Ice."
Emma closed her sketchbook. "Do you mean... like... ice cream?"
"No. Cow ice."
She frowned. "...Milk?"
"No." Morro looked deeply offended. "Cow. Ice."
"Milkshakes?" Emma offered, now trying to read his expression the way she would a small, confused toddler.
"Cow." Morro floated closer, green mist trailing behind him. "Ice. The stuff in the box that goes brrrr. But made from cows."
Emma slowly stood, hands on her hips. "Morro, you're describing ice cream."
"...Oh." He turned upright. "...I thought that was called frozen cow soup."
Emma stared. "Morro."
"...What?"
"Who told you it was called frozen cow soup?"
"...Cole."
Emma nearly choked. "He what?!"
Morro shrugged. "He said 'you're dead, you don't get real food, you get frozen cow soup like the rest of the ghosts.' So I thought—"
Emma collapsed into a chair, giggling so hard she nearly fell over. "Frozen cow soup—oh my goodness—I can't—Morro, sweetie, it's ice cream. And you absolutely can have some."
He floated closer, looking hopeful. "Really?"
"Really." Emma stood and opened the freezer, pulling out a tub of vanilla. "But I'm calling it cow ice from now on."
Morro lit up like a haunted jack-o'-lantern. "YES."
Blackie strolled in at that exact moment. "Oh, we're naming food after the animal now? Great. What's next? Feather flakes for cereal? Cluck nuggets for chicken?"
Emma glanced down at him. "You literally eat something called tuna delight."
Blackie flicked his tail. "Touché."
Morro was already halfway through his bowl of "cow ice," humming to himself happily.
Emma smiled to herself. "Best ghost roommate ever."
Blackie rolled his eyes. "Low bar."
