He took a deep breathe and a melancholy expression appeared on his face. “Well, there isn’t much to say. I might as well not have any family at all,” he said. I knew that I shouldn’t make him talk about it if he didn’t want to, yet I was more curious than ever. “Look, you’ve probably figured this out already,but I’ll tell you just in case. My father is Arthur Chrysanthemum.I never see him.He’s a preoccupied coward who’s trying to find meaning in life while drowning in the midst of a miserable existance.I am his offspring. I was a sickly preemie.My mother died in a car crash when I was four.End of story.Can you see why I’m bitter now?” he said, huffily. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m really, really sorry…” I began. I didn’t know what else to say. “I get lots of pitying sympathy from people.I guess I can get away with more that way, but still.It becomes rather tiresome after a while. I’m not an idiot.I know I’m probably hopeless. So what if I’m a spoiled brat, right?” he said.I didn’t know what to think.