High Fidelity

45. Wilson 2.0 and Granny D

Wilson James Taylor

"I can't stand Anna," I grumbled.

"No offense," I said to Hunter.

"None given," he shot back. I knew he wouldn't care even if they were healing their rocky relationship.

"Who's that? Oh, your friend Anna? I quite like her," my mother said, offering the guys and myself some drinks as we'd been in the sun working on her front yard.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "You what?"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you: she stopped by the other day and we got to talking. Nice girl," my mother kept surprising me.

"No you didn't tell me," I mocked her feminine voice.

She pursed her lips. "Well she said she's been a fan of my work and she wanted some personal tips on how to become successful."

"I'm sorry, when did you get so nice, I thought you hated Anna? You know, the 'whore with zero functioning brain cells' as you called her?"

"Oh, Wilson," she talked, "that was so long ago. And besides, Sydney changed me. I no longer judge a book by its cover. Just because someone looks like a bimbo, doesn't mean they are a bimbo, you see. Although, she's not as bright as Sydney. Or pretty, or witty, and she doesn't quite smell good, either. Nonetheless, I think she has potential if I keep her under my wing, show her the ropes," My mother said with pride.

You've gotta be kidding me.

"Oh, and she had a business offer I think I'll take her up on."

I'm in a nightmare, I know it.

"What fucking business plan?" I asked, trailing her inside.

Mom threw some flowers she picked on the island and removed her gardening gloves.

"Wilson, if you must know everything, it's a hair company. She has a nice collection of wigs she makes herself, some of them are actually really nice. Synthetic, but nice."

"I can't believe this," I murmured, swiping my hands down my face.

"Me either," Mom said, running water in a vase. "because sometimes her hair just looks like a mess."

"I told her not to do it," Dad chimed in from his seat at the breakfast nook.

"I didn't even see him there," I voiced.

Mom looked at me funny. "Me either," she said.

Dad put his newspaper down, because for some reason they still print those and he thinks it's the 1920s, and joined in the conversation.

"She can't be all bad, though. She raised that Hunter kid alright," Dad commented.

I flailed my arms. "No, I raised him right. She didn't do shit. And what the fuck, you both hated him at dinner last time?"

"Wilson, you are on edge lately, relax. Have Kelly set you up with a massage, make herself useful," my mother suggested, taking a dig at her husband's assistant.

Kelly had just walked in and snarled. "I'd be happy to, Wilson. I can have Ulga here in half an hour."

"I don't need a massage. I need air," I announced, crazed. They were just making my head spin. I couldn't stand the fact they gave Anna that much credit. I've done more for Hunter in a handful of years than she's done for him his whole life so I don't wanna hear how she's "not that bad."

When I returned outside, Omar called my name and I lost it for a second.

"What! Goddamn."

He stepped back, looking stunned. "Um, I was just going to ask if I can have the day off tomorrow?"