High Fidelity

2. anna banana

Wilson James Taylor Two Years Ago. . .

"Wilson?" My mother entered my room.

I turned down the music with the remote to the Smart TV and smiled at her as she waltzed in.

The steam from the shower seeped through the cracked bathroom door into the bedroom.

I swiped some deodorant on and noticed the cupcake she had in her hand with a candle in it.

"Cute," I gushed at my favorite dessert. And it was lemon with whipped vanilla frosting, she knows me well.

"I'm so proud of you," she cried.

"Alright, Diane, don't cry," I teased.

"Don't call me by my name, you crazy? You may be a business and home owner, but you're still my little boy!"

I cringed as she squeezed my cheeks. "Ralph, come get your wife!"

In walked my father, undoing his necktie. "Ralph? You may be a home owner and business owner, but you're still-"

"Mom did that literally thirty seconds ago," I laughed.

"Well your first word was Da-da, so," he joked, teasing Mom who playfully nudged him.

I had just launched my landscaping business with some friends from college. They used to cut grass with their uncle on campus and I always had an eye for exterior design, I guess. After some little backyard projects here and there over the years, I realized I could do it full time and there was money in it. The guys, Damian, Wes, and Omar, trusted me and invested some, the rest is history.

After saving up a more than satisfactory amount in my own bank account, I bought a house. I always said I was going to get a house, not an apartment when I was ready to move out. Not that it mattered, my parents lived in a mansion where I had my own quarters, but I'm twenty-three and ready to be on my own.

How do they have such an insane estate? My father is a famous architect and my mother, a DIY blogger. Her self help books have sold millions and millions of copies and she is one of the most subscribed to channels on YouTube.

I had a little brother, just three years younger, but when he was in tenth grade he came out to my family. His name's Levi. My parents actually accepted him, it was their devoted "fans" who attacked him online. He couldn't handle it and left the country. Good for him. Last I heard, he was in Paris. We don't talk much, I doubt he thinks about us, but I miss having a kid brother.

My parents walked me down to the foyer where I waited for Dame (Damian), Wes, and Omar to arrive. Damian was always late, he blamed it on being black - something about "CPT." Whatever that is. Wes practically lived with me, we've been boys since kindergarten, but he's seeing some girl now and she takes up all his time. Omar is Arabic, my parents always ask him to teach them about his culture. He doesn't mind, though I think it's embarrassing of them.

To celebrate the launch of our business, we decided to go out. Living in Nevada, I think we had some of the best clubs. I hadn't been out much since junior year of college, consumed by business. Omar was the party boy, always getting wasted. Wes was a stoner. Dame, a mix, but when he drank he really drank. I stopped smoking and since, drank less, too.

The "housekeeper", Kelly, let in Dame.

"Thanks, Kelly," I smiled at her as she walked past, blushing at me.

She was actually one of my father's assistants, but she was always at the house and kind of did whatever my mom told her to.

Damian slapped my hand and I checked out his outfit. Man, he spent more money on his whole sneaker collection, than my parents probably did on the mansion.