I did not want to find out who she was fucking and I wouldn’t tell her who I was. It wasn’t a modern “open marriage.” It was more like the mil...tary in the 90’s—”Don’t ask, and don’t tell.”In early 1976 MaryAnn’s mother moved in with us. I never got along with her, but I maintained a wary truce with old slutty bitch. She really had no choice about moving in as she was diagnosed with the big “C” and there was no one in Oak Park, IL to take care of her. Her younger brother, the one that is two. He could see the concern in her beautiful face.“Yeah, but no problem. Want to get in?” he said holding the cotton sheet up a little.“It’s the weather, I hate...”“Yeah, I know.”He did, that was the thing. He knew her like well like he had known her forever, or at least sixteen years. Better than that, he had actually paid attention to her forever. She was playing with her long red hair. Wrapping it around her index finger, then letting it go, only to repeat the process. She always played with. I got up as the kettle boiled and then went to the fridge to get the milk as I turned back around Rachel was standing right behind me, I dropped the milk as her lips pressed against mine. It started like a normal kiss the kind you gave your mom as a kid but her lips parted and her tongue pushed against my lips. I slowly open my lips and our tongues start a slow practised dance. Her tongue was soft and warm and I could feel the heat in her body as my hand reached around her back and held her. There was a post-it note on top with the cooking instructions. Probably something 27 year old Cooper would have needed, but a casserole is a casserole for a man my age, so in the oven for an hour at 350. I had some tomatoes and cheese that I had sliced up so I added a few slices of each and a nice ripe orange that I peeled and sectioned, and that was my dinner. Tomatoes had been a real luxury when I was younger, and again later in life. Today's tomatoes looked better but didn't taste it,.