Yay! I'm glad to see that you all are enjoying this so far. Constructive criticsm and suggestions are welcome. DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except for the occassional OC. And Zombies at the Casino. We all love Zombies at the Casino. XD

"Dad! Aunt Maureen's here!" Andrew Cohen called loudly.

Maureen Johnson sashayed into the Cohen residence, removing her sunglasses and smiling broadly. "How goes it, Andy? I swear you need a tan. You inherited your daddy's really pale skin."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Don't I know it. All my friends tell me so."

"If your dad would just let me take you and Angela out for one day," Maureen mused with a sigh, flopping down onto the couch, "I could make you look like stars. I mean, not like your mom didn't help with your looks or anything. Marky picked a good one, but still---"

"And, thanks so much, Maureen, for that insight." Mark Cohen entered the living room, a small smirk on his face, "Hey."

She stood up immediately, running over to him. "Marky, dahling! Are you happy to see me?"

"As always." They embraced, and Angela entered the room, as well.

"Aunt Maureen!" she cried excitedly, "What's up?"

"Oh, a little of this and that," Maureen replied airily, breaking away from Mark, "Aunt Joanne's got a full work day today and I don't have any auditions 'til later, so I'm so completely bored."

Mark rolled his eyes. "How was your last job?"

"Oh, fine. You know those people on Law & Order. They'll pay you a few bucks to look dead on set and then you're done."

Angela grasped Maureen's shoulder. "You're gonna have your big break one day, I know it! I remember Dad took me to one of your performances when I was younger, you were great!"

"I still do my performances in between, sweet pea, don't worry," Maureen said dreamily, "I'll never give up the dream."

"The dream?" Andrew asked, taking a seat on the couch, "What dream?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just like that phrase."

The kids were used to their "aunt"'s odd behavior. Although they had a few biological aunts, their favorite was the one they weren't related to.

"It's funny you should visit today, Mo," Mark said, "I've been in the process of telling the kids how I met their mom the past few days. Which, of course, includes you."

"Of course it includes me, why wouldn't it?" Maureen said flatly, sitting in between Andrew and Angela on the couch.

"Dad, you never told us how you two met," Andrew said, "I mean, you told us how you met Uncle Roger---"

"Ha!" Maureen interrupted, "That's a funny story. Your dad was such a scrawny little---"

"Maureen. Can you not?" Mark muttered through gritted teeth.

She playfully winked at him. "You know I'm kidding. Anyway, I remember when your dad and I met, kiddies. He was so in love with me."

"Not true," Mark said quietly.

"So true," Maureen countered, "Should you tell it, or shall I?"

Mark adjusted his glasses. "I think I'd better tell it . . . So, it was prom of senior year in high school. And I needed a date . . . "

Roger had recently met April Ericsson, the girl I mentioned before to you, kids, through some guy in a local band he was friends with. And he was head-over-heels for her. Roger was all set with a date (despite his initial refusal to go to prom in the first place---April made him. And where Roger went, I was forced to follow. It's a Best Friends Code thing. More on that later.)

I wasn't 'all set'. Not one bit.

"Dude," Roger mumbled, popping a potato chip into his mouth, "You need a prom date."

"No shit," I replied, snagging a chip from the bag. We were sitting on the couch at Roger's brother's place, because that was practically where he lived at the time. Roger didn't like it all that much living at home. His parents cared about him a lot, and maybe that's what scared him.

"So, I'm setting you up."

"You're what?" I cried, almost spitting up the chips I was in the middle of chewing.

Roger shrugged. "My brother knows this guy, who knows this other guy's cousin. She's coming over. In a few minutes, actually."

"Wh . . . what? Roger, you can't do this. I don't even know her!"

"So, that's the point. Get to know her. I met her a few times, she's nice."

"Well, I---I---what's her name?"

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Roger casually got up and wandered to answer it. "Hey, Maureen."

("And so entered the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen," Maureen cut off, smirking.

Mark rolled his eyes. "I wasn't gonna say that."

"If Mom were around, she probably wouldn't appreciate that," Angela giggled.

Maureen grinned once again. "Well, lucky for us, she's at work. I love your mom, kids, but seriously, I probably could totally take her in a fight---"

"Maureen."

"What?!"

"Let me continue the story . . . ")

"Hi."

A young girl stood at the door, and yes. She was beautiful ("Aw, Marky! That's so sweet!" "Shh, I'm not finished.").

She had long, dark curly hair, and a bright smile decorated in dark red lipstick. She seemed to have a lot of spunk and attitude, and it attracted me instantly.

"This is Mark," said Roger, smirking evilly at me as he went back to the couch.

I stood up, because that's what my dad had taught me to do when girls entered a room, and she giggled. "Hah. You're cute."

"Um . . . thank you?" ("Wow, Dad. That's awkward." "Still not finished, Andrew.")

"So, I ordered a pizza," Roger went on, "And April's gonna meet us here soon. We can chill out and watch a movie on TV."

"Sweet," I said, trying to sound cool. I guess it had worked. Maureen was smiling at me. We made small talk, and April showed up and we watched bad horror movies, and everything was great until . . .

Roger brought out the beer.

Kids, this is why I don't want you drinking at your ages. Your mom would probably kill me for saying this is the only reason: not because it's wrong, not because it's illegal . . . but because it makes you do really stupid, embarrassing things. Especially when you're eighteen.

I was on my third can and already completely wasted. Hiccuping, stumbling around, all that ("You never had much of a stomach for alcohol." "Maureen, stop interrupting!").

The only reason I remember much of what happened is because Roger made me remember. By taunting me about it. Over and over. He was a real d. . . a real mean person when he wanted to be, kids.

"That movie was stupid," April said decidedly when the credits for Zombies at the Casino began to roll. I was an inspiring filmmaker, and even my amateur crap wasn't as much crap as Zombies at the Casino. Every time I feel like my career's going down the drain, I think of that movie.

Anyway, I was completely drunk, and it was after one in the morning. Luckily, it wasn't a school night.

"Whoa," I muttered, staring at Maureen's---at Maureen ("Dad, you don't have to censor it." "Yes, I do, Andrew. You are exactly why I need to censor my storytelling."), "You are so totally hot."

She giggled. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself, Marky."

I hated when anyone called me Marky. But it sounded incredibly wonderful when she said it. We sat there, looking at each other for a moment. It was perfect. Roger and April weren't paying any attention to us, and it was like the world was ours, just for a few seconds.

So then I leaned in to kiss her.

And threw up all over her lap, and proceeded to fall off the couch in some kind of fit that crossed between laughter and tears.

"Ew!" Angela cried, "Ew, ew! That is so gross."

Maureen shuddered. "Tell me about it, sweetie. It was awful."

"It wasn't that bad," Mark said, trying to defend himself in front of his kids.

"Plus, you told the story wrong, Marky. Your jaw was practically on the floor when you saw me walk into the apartment. Face it. You were drooling."

"Anyway," Mark continued, ignoring the laughter of his children, "Needless to say Maureen kinda took off after that. And I didn't see her again until a couple of weeks later."

Maureen smiled. "Yep. At the prom."

"You went with him?" Angela cried, "After he threw up on you and cried a river?"

"Yeah," Maureen sighed, "There's something endearing about your pale, skinny dad that I guess your mother saw, too. He's just too cute!"

"Thanks so much," Mark muttered wryly.

"So, what'd you do at the prom?"

Maureen and Mark shared a look. "That," Maureen said, standing up, blushing, "is another story."

The kids decided, without speaking, that they didn't want to know that story at all.