Rosie serves us some expensive champagne in expensive-looking wine glasses with the homemade dessert that somehow also looks expensive. Serves right to live with the CEO of a multimillion company. A couple of black and gold balloons stuck to the ceiling with their strings hanging loose, and that was all there is for decoration. The cake was a big double layer of white, glossy icing and Chocolate writing. Eighteen candles were arranged along the edges of the cake.
Everything was pretty simple, and that's how Will wanted it. He didn't want any parties or anything big despite the boys' disappointment. Everyone wanted to party, and they found Will's birthday as an excuse to do so.
Too bad Will was in no mood for parties. To be honest, I didn't mind this; it feels nice just having everyone around one table. It's peaceful, and everyone is still enjoying themselves.
Rosie stands up at the head of the table. She's wearing a lace black little dress with off-shoulder sleeves; her neck is enveloped in a gold choker necklace. Her hair is down straight.
She lightly taps her wine glass with a fork three times, making a clinking sound and says, "May I have your attention, please?" When everyone turned their attention to her, she muttered, "Man, I've always wanted to do that."
She then clears her throat and says with a formal tone, "First and foremost, I'd like to wish my son the happiest birthday, and I want to thank you all for coming today."
"Mom, we're not in a business meeting," Will interrupts.
"Shut up, honey, I'm trying to make an announcement here," Rosie retorts, making Will roll his eyes. Then his eyes catch mine from the other side of the table. He frowns at me, and I frown back. I soon break our eye contact when Rosie starts speaking again.
"As you all must be aware, Anthony—my Anthony—passed away not too long ago."
The atmosphere turned silent and gloomy so suddenly.
"And he left a will behind. In his will, he asked me to deliver something to my son, our son, William." Will pays her his full attention. "So, as of today, William Parker Allen is the official heir to the Baker Corporation. Anthony Baker has passed on his business to you, son. He wanted—"
"What?"
Everyone was surprised and maybe a little excited, but no one was as shocked as Will. I can tell he hadn't been told about this. It's just as news to him as it is to us.
"Mom, what was that you just said?"
"William," Rosie starts, her smile fading, "when you graduate from college, you will be in control of the Baker Corp."
"And how is that possible?" Will gets up from his seat. "Mom, I can't do business. I can't be in charge of a huge company like Baker Corp."
"It's made of multiple companies actually, distributed across the states," Rosie corrects. "But no pressure. When it's time, you will be able to do it."
"How do you know that?"
"I just know. Anthony knew."
"But why me?"
We've been watching the whole scene before us, but now they're moving it to the kitchen. We can still hear their conversation though.
"Anthony chose you," Rosie continues, "he loved you. To him, you were his son, and as his son, it's only natural that you inherit his business."
"But I don't want to. Can't his brother just do it?" I can't tell if Will is angry yet; his voice sounds cal up until now. I hadn't seen angry Will yet, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to.
"He's already taking care of it until it's time for you to take over. Will, you have to stop acting like a child. One day, you'll have to be a mature adult with full responsibilities."
"But you can't just decide my future for me. As an adult, I should at least do that."
"Well, I don't see you being an adult and doing anything for your future. Are you even ready to go to college?"
Kat leaves the table to go to Rosie, who sounded like she's about to break down.
"William, this is what Anthony wanted," Rosie said sadly, "he trusted you with his business, the business he spent his whole life growing. He gave you a lot of things, and you should at least show your gratitude by doing what he wanted."
There was a long moment of silence after that.
"For once in his life, he's asking you for a favor; don't you at least owe him this?"
"This is not fair." He didn't yell it. He wasn't angry now or upset. He was just done, stuck, option-less. He knows that's what Anthony wanted, and that's what Rosie wanted. And although Will didn't want to do what they're asking of him, he will certainly do it. If not for Anthony, then for his mother, who's still grieving her husband's death. Because he cares for her and for her feelings.
I know at least this much about him.
He exits the kitchen and passes by the living room, where we're all seated. He pauses before continuing upstairs to get excuse himself first. After he lightly closes his bedroom door, we hear a crash upstairs of something that had broken and a loud curse. Now, Will is finally angry. We're alarmed at first, and for a moment, I'm ready to run upstairs to check on Will. But Rosie comes to us with, a bit teary-eyed, and tells us not to worry, "He breaks things when he's angry."
"I'll go check on him," I decided.
I knock on his door once, "It's me. I'm coming in."
I find Will sitting on his bed, throwing a tennis ball at the wall and catching it when it bounces back. He doesn't notice me at first, which is weird since I knocked and said I was coming in, and he doesn't have any headphones on. He only realizes my presence when I close the door.
He cocks his head, "come here."
I step on some broken glass but say nothing about it. I go sit on his bed and fold one leg under me. There was a small red stain on his bed sheets. I grasp both his hands to examine them, and sure enough, I find cuts on his right hand.
"You're hurt," I state the obvious like he didn't know it.
"I'm fine," he pulls his hands away.
"No, you're not," I pull his hand back. "It might get infected."
"It's nothing."
"Stop talking and let me help you," I say firmly, surprising him and even myself. "Where do you keep the first-aid kit?" I ask, standing up to leave the room. He catches my forearm and shows me a white roll in his hand.
"Can you just use this?" He asks.
"This'll do, I guess," I take the roll from his hand. I bend down and check under his bed to find what I'm looking for. I grab two bottles and check the brands. "This is neat stuff," I exclaim at the alcohol.
"How did you know where to find them?"
"Because I keep mine in the same spot for an emergency," I shrug a shoulder. "It'll be a waste to use these to clean your wound." I look under the bed to find something cheaper. "Quit staring at my ass!" I didn't actually catch him looking, but I just knew he was. He's Will. When I find another bottle, I take him to the bathroom to fix him up.
I hear him mutter, "What ass?" And I punch his chest.
"Alright, this will hurt a little," I say, preparing him.
Then I look into his worried eyes, and I lean up to lock my lips with his. He kisses me as I pour the alcohol over his cuts, forgetting the pain he must be feeling.
Just kidding. None of this happened because we're not in a sappy rom-com.
"I'm not a baby," he says.
Instead of taking it slow like I first intended to, I poured what was left in the bottle on his palm, making him groan from the pain.
"What's wrong, baby? Does it hurt?"
"You're an awful person," he says.
"Yeah, I know." I wrap his hand well till it was fully covered in white. The cuts weren't too deep, so he didn't need stitches; however, they covered much of his palm from where the glass had cut through.
We then settled on his bed again, sharing the remaining of the bottle. With the glasses of wine I had earlier, I start feeling a little loopy in the head, but I'm fine.
"You got pretty fired up back there," I say.
"Yeah, I'm hot like that," he smirks in reply, making me roll my eyes.
"You're never serious, are you?"
"Can we not talk about that?" He rests his head on the headboard of his bed, squeezing the ball in his hand.
"You know, sometimes I really don't understand you, Will." You'd think I was angry when saying that, but I really wasn't. I was genuinely curious about him. It's sad that he's the only one of my friends that I don't have a real connection with him even though he's closer to me in more ways than the rest. The only things that really link us together are the kisses we share and the bed sheets we messed up. No stories. No memories. No feelings. Then again, I don't want feelings. And neither does he, I'm sure. "I get that it's overwhelming—"
"Overwhelming? It's frightening! Can you imagine me in a suit? Much less, being the CEO of a huge company?"
"Honestly, I can't," I start imagining him in a suit. He'd look pretty hot, I'm sure. "But maybe later, when you're all grown up, you'll look great in a suit."
He laughs quietly, "I hope so."
We both know it's not about the suit, so I take a deep breath and start talking. "Listen, Will," I start seriously. "I know this is a huge responsibility. And maybe now, you feel like you won't be able to take it, but who knows what'll happen in the future? For the next, I don't know, five years, take your time to really think about it. And you will come to terms with it sooner or later."
I feel like a preacher, perhaps the next Martin Luther King? But if that lecture came out of anybody else, it would've been fine and inspirational as hell; coming out of me, it just made me look and feel lame and stupid. Will probably thinks so, too.
"All I'm saying is that Anthony probably saw something in you when he wrote that will."
Will sighs, "I hope you're right."
"Of course, I'm right. Who do you think you're talking to?"
He doesn't return some smart-ass comeback of any kind, and his silence surprises me. He keeps staring at me for a while before making any move. It makes me uncomfortable, and I wonder what's going on inside his mind at the moment.
"Are you having dirty thoughts about me, Parker?"
"Who's Parker?" He asks, ignoring my question.
"You're William Parker Allen. I just like Parker more than William."
"I don't. It's what Dad used to call me." A shadow casts over his eyes at the mention of his father. I start feeling awkward again, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. And I hate to think that this is the only thing that actually came to my mind, but I shift closer to him and lean towards him till my face is a few centimeters away from his.
"What are you doing?" He retreats back a little.
"What? You don't wanna?"
"It's not that I don't want to, but—"
I don't give him a chance to talk; I bring my lips to kiss his. He parts a bit, "Nick, everyone's downstairs."
"So, what? They won't know," I kiss him again. "Just try not to moan too loudly, alright?"
He's not responsive, but rather resistant. I don't like that. For once, I was making the first move, and he feels this impervious.
I push myself off of him and sigh, frustration starting to build up inside me. "Alright, Will, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Don't bullshit me. Just tell me. Did I do something wrong?"
"No, no, it's not you. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then what is it?"
"You know, this whole thing," he moves his hand from me to him and back, "was not supposed to happen in the first place."
"Oh, my God! There we go again," I exclaim.
"What if someone finds out about this?" He asks, "We're not a couple, so what the fuck are we doing? What will they think about it?"
"So what now? You want us to be a couple?"
"No, that's not it," he says. I feel a little throb in my heart, but I flip it off.
"I've done a lot of things in the past—bad things. I don't want you to end up involved in my fucked up life."
"What kind of life is that?" I fold my hands—confrontation mode.
"One you wouldn't wanna know."
"No, you're wrong. I wanna know. I wanna learn who you are. For God's sake, Will, I just discovered your middle name today. There's nothing much I know about you except that you're a total asshole."
"Yes, I'm an asshole. An asshole you want nothing to do with."
"It's because of her, isn't it?"
He turns to look at the picture, resting on his bedside table. Will was standing among a big group of boys and girls, all in swim trunks and bikinis, but his arm was wrapped around one particular girl in a striped bikini. His hand look like they fit so well around her small waist; it's almost like it belonged there, around her hourglass figure. She looked bold and confident, and her purple hair confirmed that.
"She has something to do with this, right?" I ask.
"Don't get her involved," he said so resolutely, he surprised me.
"Who is she anyway? A friend? An ex-girlfriend?"
"It's none of your business," he takes the framed picture in his hands and stares at it.
"Well, then make it my business," I say, not even knowing if I made any sense. "If there's something troubling you, I wanna help you, Will."
It takes him a long time to reply, time of him just gazing at the picture. He eventually says, "I did something horrible."
ns 15.158.61.5da2
