I wake up feeling a little dizzy. I've been sleeping in front of my computer last night. I groan at my stiff neck, and then go downstairs. I open the fridge, looking for something to quench my thirst, and grab milk by the carton; there's only a little left. Then I hear someone appearing at the kitchen doorway. "Are you drinking the milk?"

            I know it's Josh from his voice. I wipe a drip of milk off my mouth with the back of my hand. "Yeah. Why'd you ask?"

            "Don't you ever pay any attention? Mom said she was going to throw it out the next morning–this morning–last night. It's already expired."

            I drop the carton of milk hastily near the sink and quickly turn on the tap to wash my mouth. Come to think of it, I can taste the sourness clearly now. I retch terribly and spit a few times to dissipate the acid from my tongue, Josh watching me and laughing all the while.

            Josh's words about last night made me remember other things, too. Really, I think telling Mom and Dad won't be so bad; they'll most likely support the two, since they're relenting parents and all. But if it makes Josh more comfortable not to, then I won't. Their relationship isn't my business, and I decide not to interfere.

            We all sit down for breakfast, which consists of cereal (without milk; it's devastating) and toasts. My mother isn't a fan of proper breakfasts, and she encourages us to be the same.

            "Oh, no. I forgot to buy some broccoli for lunch," she suddenly says while we're eating. My appetite decreases drastically, because I really hate broccoli.

            "Well, I'm sure Sean has more free time than anyone else here. He can go and buy some for you," Josh says matter-of-factly from the other side of the table. I accidentally bite my tongue and start to taste blood. I immediately drink water, and then stare at Josh, who's trying hard not to laugh. I'll get you for that, I try to tell him with a look. I wonder if I should've refused to keep silent about him and Clara.

            I look at Mom expectantly. She'll never tell me to go and buy broccoli. I have stated my hatred for the greens clearly.

            "Good idea," she nods. "You can buy it with whatever’s left in the living room drawer. Oh, and buy some milk as well, since we’re fresh out." It proves how much lack of attentiveness I have when it comes to knowing my own family.