I've Been Waiting Such a Long Time for Someone to Come Along

"Oh Mildred, your brother wants you." John O'Callaghan remarked with a smirk. I glanced over at him from my bed and noticed that he was leaning on my doorframe like a cocky douchebag.

Johnny boy. Yeah, the tall cutie. Except not to me. He's not the sweet, funny guy that everyone knows when he's around me. He's annoying, rude, and mean. I can't really complain because I'm not much nicer, but at least I never start it. Plus, I'm three years younger than him so it's not fair at all.

"I told you not to call me that." I growled at him, sending one of my infamous glares his way.

"No can do, Milhouse." He chuckled as he began to exit my bedroom. He walked down the hallway and back downstairs to presumabley the kitchen. If it was the evening, he was always in the kitchen.

I heaved a sigh and closed my laptop before trudging towards the kitchen. Garrett's 21, why does he still have to live at home and invite his stupid friends over? I walked down the stairs past pictures of my two brothers and I through various stages of our lives. My favorite was one that was taken last year on Christmas day. My brothers are I were playing Wii games together in our pajamas just like old times. The Nickelsens never really grew up.

I walked into the kitchen to see Johns back facing me and Garrett looking for something in the refridgerator. I walked up behind John and spoke, "What did you want?"

I swear, for a guy of his size he jumped about a foot in the air. He turned around to face me and clutched his chest. "Fuck! Do you have to sneak up on me like that all the time? It's creepy as fuck!"

I smirked and turned my attention to my brother. "Could you make food?" He asked. Although we had our fair share of fights, I loved Garrett. I had learned to cherish the 1/4 of the year I actually got to see him.

"Ugh," I groaned, "what do you want?"

"Whatever you wanna make. But do it quick, we're starving." He ordered.

"I'll make you food, but if he wants food he'll have to apologize first." I stated, referring to John, as I placed my hands on my hips.

"Can you guys not?" He sighed.

"I don't have to apologize," He shrugged, "you're just gonna make me food anyway because you're too nice not to."

"Oh? Is that so?" I asked, cocking my head at the tall man.

"Yes," He mocked, "It is so."

"Well, we'll see who's making fun of who when you don't have any food." I shrugged as I started to search the cupboards for some pots and pans.

"Thanks Mill." Garrett said before walking to his room with John in tow.

I may have been nice, but I saw this as the perfect opportunity to mess with John to get back for smoking in my car the other week. It took me two days of airing my car out and three bottles of Ferbreeze to get that disgusting stench out. It was extremely disrespectful as he knew how much I hate the smell of cigarette smoke.

I threw myself into cooking as I always did. To say it was my passion would be an understatement. I'd wanted to be a chef since I was six. I had learned how to outcook my mom by the time I was twelve. And I cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner when I was sixteen. There was something about the art of making foods that I couldn't get enough of. Making people happy made me happy, and the best way I could do that was through baking.

I added some taco seasoning to the ground beef and stirred it before beginning to cut some vegetables. Before I knew it, I had made two taco salads. I put a fork in them and walked upstairs.

When I got to Garrett's room, he and John were playing some game of the Xbox. I went over to my brother and handed him the bowl with mine in my other hand.

"Awesome! Thanks Millie!" He said before pausing the game and putting his controller down.

I felt my bowl being taken from my hand so I secured my grip on it and turned my head.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked John.

"Um, isn't that one for me?" He asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No. I told you that if you wanted food you had to apologize to me-"

"Apologize for what!?" He cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

"For smoking in my car when I was nice enough to let you borrow it, and for calling me Mildred." I answered.

"Oh shit, I forgot about the no smoking." He mumbled. "Can you just make me one? Please?" He begged, dragging out the 'please'.

"Well, I would except I didn't hear an apology so I'm going to have to go with no. Better luck next time." I said sarcastically before walking out of the room just in time to hear Garrett start to crack up.

I looked back and saw John's shocked face. I felt a little pang of guilt when I saw it, but I just kept walking as I took a bite of my salad.

Too bad.

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I can't believe she actually didn't make me anything to eat. She always made me food when she cooked, no matter how much of a dick I was being. I don't know why I didn't just say sorry. I mean, smoking in her car was kind of a dick move. But still! She always makes me dinner when I come over. And I look forward to it. Yeah, she annoys the shit out of me, but she's an incredible cook and even I can't deny that. Plus I love Mexican food.

As Garrett stopped laughing I just glared at him.

"Shut the fuck up."

"You could've just said sorry, you know." He chuckled.

"Whatever, I'm not even that hungry." I lied, pretending to be unphased by Millie's attitude.

He took a bite of the salad and moaned. "Mmm, this is really good." He teased.

I had enough. I stood up and walked back to Millie's room. I opened the door and noticed that she must have been in the bathroom. Perfect timing. I looked over to her dresser with all of her make up and other girl stuff on it. Then I saw the bowl sitting there. I quietly and quickly grabbed it before shutting the door and returning to Garrett's room with my bowl in hand.

"She gave that to you?" He asked as he turned the tv to Comedy Central.

"Yep." I lied, taking a seat on a chair and chewing a few quick bites.

After a few minutes I heard a door slam and stomping coming in my direction. She walked through the door and her eyes were staring daggers at me.

"Really?" She spat.

"Really." I answered, looking unphased but really I was about to shit my pants. Her glares were worse than my moms. And that's saying something.

"You're an asshole."