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.

Biting into an apple, I told him, "You're early."

"No, I'm just on time for once and the other two late," he countered.

"Wassup, mister and Mrs.Taylor, how yall doin'?" he made small talk.

They loved Damian, especially my dad. Damian's father was in the NBA but got hurt and his career ended but not before he was tossed into the GOAT (greatest of all time) debate.

"How's the team looking this year, D? Is it worth getting a season pass?" Asked my father, offering my friend a drink.

Mom pushed my curly brown hair back as I held up the wall.

"Mom, can you stop?" I laughed, shooing her away.

"I'm just making you look decent so you can find me a daughter-in-law tonight," she hummed, walking off.

That's one thing she won't get off my back about, finding a girlfriend. I just didn't have the time, plus my friends already had sex with every girl in the city.

I wasn't as dumb as them. I picked carefully who I slept with, I didn't want to catch anything or risk getting someone pregnant. Since I was young, my dad warned me about gold-diggers, too.

Then there was my mother, being her golden child, no one was ever good enough for her.

She tests the girls I've brought home and they always leave, not wanting to deal with such an involved mother. I don't blame them, if I had to deal with a girl with a crazy dad, well-- actually, I wouldn't deal with him.

Plus everyone literally looks up to my parent's long-standing relationship. I guess they're goals. I want that - a good woman to come home to after a long day, someone who gets me and makes me feel complete.

I'm pretty quiet. I like to have fun and shit sometimes, but in a big crowd, you'll see me just watching - observing. Growing up around rich people, I questioned a lot. I often found myself staring at someone like "are you real?" I think they're robots sometimes, or lizard people. Since then, I've just, like, always watched how people moved. That's another reason I haven't been in a relationship or expanded my friend circle, everyone is full of shit and has these secret motives. Me, I just want to work hard and hope it pays off. Like, nothing makes me feel better than feeling fulfilled - accomplished. You know how it is after cleaning up all day then you can finally sit back and enjoy an ice cold lemonade? Top feeling right there, that's what I want at the end of my life. Just fuck the bullshit, give me my little house on the hill with a good view and woman with sense, you know?

The club was the club. I danced, I drank.

Some girls approached me, others waited for me to approach them. When I didn't get any numbers, Dame clowned me, saying I was some type of gay or scared.

The guys screamed over the rap music while I sat back in the chair and found my bottle empty again.

"Yo, Will, need another? What you drinking?" Asked Wes with a girl sitting on his lap.

"Yeah, I got it," I said, getting up.

I blinked my eyes that were irritated from Omar and that damn hookah.

The bar at the gentleman's club was close to the door. I waited for another 'whiskey sour' and looked around, pushing my hair back.

That's when I heard yelling outside as the door swung closed.

Bored or just nosy, I went to check it out.

I crept in the shadows and listened through the door that was propped open by a stopper.

Some little guy was arguing with a lady. She wore next to nothing and had runny makeup.

After pushing her down, the man took off in a red Kia.

"Hey," she yelled, "that's my car, asshole! Somebody stop that man!"

I turned to walk away, I didn't need to play neighborhood Spider-man, nah.

"Hey! Y-you," I heard the lady shout after me.

Shit, I thought in my head. Don't turn around, Will.

I turned around.

"You, uh, you okay?" I asked, putting my right hand in the pocket of my jeans.

"Don't I look it?" She huffed, leaning against the wall.

"Not really, no," I answered. I'm always honest, it's a blessing and curse.

She started to smile. "Got a light?"

"No, I don't smoke," I answered.

Her brown eyes rolled. "Then what're you doing here, kid?"

"I haven't been a kid since my eighteenth birthday, ma'am," I snarked back.

The lady looked stunned I said that. Taken aback, she looked me up and down.

"Alright, where we doing this?" She tried pulling up my off-white long-sleeved shirt.

I laughed in her face, holding her hands to keep them off my body.

Her fingernails were long and hot pink, pointed like they were meant to poke people. She was tall, like 5'10" and very thin, her small thighs were almost unhealthy looking. She had hair that was red and shiny, cut into a bob, and bone straight with black roots. Her face, though, was pretty, just lost behind the stench of alcohol and cheap cutout neon green two piece.

"Oh," she sounded small, "you don't want to fuck me?"

"Hell no," I shot back, still hysterical. "Not now, anyway."

"What are you, like, a good guy? You a cop?"

"I just don't know you, lady," I said, putting my head against the wall.

There was a long pause.

Some couple walked through us and out the door.

I looked at the time on my phone.

1:44am

"Anna," she blurted.

"Banana," I said anything that rhymed, confused.

"My name, kid, it's Anna. Look, you wanna buy me a drink?"

"No, I don't. I can get you some food, though?"

She grinned big, showing these porcelain veneers. "Okay, fine."

*

Once inside the gas station that served hot food, we sat at a booth. It was a nice place, like an upgraded 7/11 with fast food dining where truckers and tourists could stop, too. The chicken was good, I didn't trust much else.

Being that when I wasn't working, I was at the gym, I didn't get anything fried.

Anna looked at the table, her leg shaking under it.

"The crinkle-cut fries are good," I talked.

"Just not hungry," she said quietly.

"Why'd that man take your car?"

"We have a past."

"Go on," I urged, sitting back.

"Let's just say, we have a mutual friend. I asked him for help with that friend and he bailed. That was my first time seeing him in thirteen years," Anna let me know.

Before I could say anything, Anna ripped her wig off and my jaw hit the floor.

She scratched her real scalp and said, "It's hot in here."

My hand over my mouth, I looked around to see if anyone else witnessed that.

"Come on, let's go. I want to get home, I need booze," Anna yawned.

I held the door above her head and she walked under my arm.

"You just pulled it off in public like that?"

*

Later on, we were in an unfamiliar part of the city.

As we sat there talking, I locked my black Jeep Wrangler doors.

"What're you, scared?"

"Ha, no. I never been out here before," I said back.

She finger-combed her short, dark brown bob.

"That girl I talked about earlier, my 'mutual friend,'" she rambled, looking into my green eyes.

"Yeah?" I inquired.

"He's my brother, yeah, m-my brother. He ran away from the orphanage and that man -- my friend-- didn't want to help with him. I don't want him back in a home because I know how bad they are, but I don't want that child."

"That child?" I wondered why she said it like that.

She started to weep. "You don't know the story... you don't know."

"Hey, it's okay. Why don't you just, I dunno, let him stay with you for a while?"

She shook her head. "I can't do it alone. His father... hurt me so bad-"

I hesitated to hold her hand and say, "You don't have to do it alone."

Anna looked up at me from my lap and gasped. Then, she started to giggle.

"What?" I asked, concerned.

"You never told me your name?"

I answered, "Will."

"Will," she whispered, "I've been hurt by a lot of men. I'm not asking you to love me, but you seem like a good guy. You think I should take him in, can I keep in touch with you? I'll need your help - you have a nice aura. I don't know, I just feel like you can make me do good."