The Waiter Bradleigh Collins (autobiographies to read TXT) 📖

CHAPTER 26

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On Saturday, The Waiter and I were assembling the entire IKEA catalogue in my living room. Well, maybe not the entire catalogue, but judging from the number of boxes strewn across the floor, it certainly looked that way.

Josh had taken yesterday off so he and The Waiter could move the rest of his things over to Katie’s. The Door Store delivered my convertible futon and platform bed this morning, and luckily, they both came with full assembly. That left The Waiter and me to set up the entertainment center, office area, and the additional closet storage I desperately needed in the bedroom.

We’d just finished putting together a pair of Billy bookcases and a Fakturist desk. They fit perfectly into the alcove space in my living room. My office was done. Now it was time to move on to the closet.

“I’m guessing this closet unit is the first thing you ordered,” The Waiter said as he sat on the floor unpacking all the boxes labeled “PAX.”

“No, the futon was first.” I sat down on my new platform bed. “Followed by this.”

He looked over at me. “How’s that mattress feel?”

“Good. Firm.”

“Maybe we should give it a test drive,” he said.

“I don’t even have sheets on it yet.”

He crawled over to me. “Then I guess we don’t have to worry about messing them up.”

“You know, we just had sex like five hours ago at your apartment.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that this will have to be a quickie. We’re meeting everyone for dinner at eight and we still have a shitload of IKEA to put together.”

“I love a good quickie,” he said, crawling on top of me and sliding me back onto the naked mattress. “Plus, we owe it to the bed, you know. It deserves a proper breaking in.”

The quickie turned into a longie. Afterwards we were starving. We got dressed and walked across the street to Tom’s Pizza and ordered slices. Then we came back to the apartment and finished my closet.

“What’s left?” The Waiter asked.

“Just the curtains and the wine rack.” I’d purchased long red Merete curtains to hang behind the futon in the living room to separate it from the kitchen. And I’d found a wooden wine rack at the cutest store down in the East Village called Surprise! Surprise!

“Both can wait until tomorrow,” I said.

“Nah, let’s do it now. I’m going to Nick’s gym in the Bronx tomorrow before work.”

“How is Nick?”

“He’s good. Why don’t you come with me and say hello? We’ll put you in the ring.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously. Come with me. I’d love it. Don’t you take boxing classes at your gym?”

“Yeah, kickboxing. Not real boxing.”

“Come. I promise you’ll have fun.”

“What time? I’m having brunch with the girls at one.”

“Around nine. You’ll have plenty of time.”

“Okay. I guess I’m going to the Bronx.”

By six-thirty, The Waiter had hung the curtains and installed the wine rack above the refrigerator. My apartment was officially furnished. I took a bottle of champagne out of the fridge and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet.

“Here,” I said, handing the bottle to The Waiter. “Open this. Now I have to make it official.”

“Didn’t we do that earlier?” He opened the champagne as I placed a final framed photo on my new entertainment center. It was the one of all of us at Luna Park the night we went to see De La Guarda.

“Now it’s official,” I said.

He handed me a glass of champagne. “Cheers, Red.” I took a sip.

“We have a million boxes to break down,” I said.

“You know, your apartment is much nicer than mine now. Maybe I should move in here.”

“Yeah, but your apartment has that amazing view.”

“Yeah, but your apartment has you,” he said.

I looked up at him, stunned. “You wanna live together? Here?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You would give up your apartment?”

“Nah, I’d sublease it to Nick. He’s been wanting to move into Manhattan, anyway.”

“I’ve never lived with anybody before. Well, aside from my recent blip with Dalton, which resulted in my homelessness.”

“I’m not Dalton.”

I smiled up at him. “Thank god.”

“So think about it. I know it’s too soon but fuck it. I want to spend every minute with you.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

The thought actually terrified me. Yes, I was crazy in love with him. And it was that new kind of love where every minute is magic and you want to spend every waking hour together. But I had only known The Waiter for two months, and we had only been an actual couple for a week.

Later that night we met Josh, Katie, Lucy and Kyle at Calle Ocho for dinner. I also invited George since he was dying to meet The Waiter. When we walked in, George was already at the bar with Jeffrey, one of the actors from his show.

“Oh my god!” George said to The Waiter. “You look just like Harry Connick Jr.! Harry Connick Jr. in Hope Floats. Not Harry Connick Jr. in Copycat.”

The Waiter laughed as he ordered us a round of mojitos. “Is there a difference?”

“Big difference,” George and Jeffrey both said. The Waiter looked confused.

“Well,” I clarified, “in Hope Floats he was a total dreamboat. In Copycat, he was a serial killer.”

“Yeah,” George added. “But more like a Ted Bundy serial killer than a Charles Manson. I mean, he was still Harry Connick, Jr. for chrissake.”

When everyone else arrived, the host escorted us back to our table.

“You guys must be exhausted,” Lucy said to The Waiter and Josh.

“Let’s just say I am now fully qualified to work at IKEA,” The Waiter responded. “Sam ordered everything in the store and I got to put it all together.”

“What were you wearing?” George asked The Waiter. “You know, when you were putting everything together.” The entire table erupted in laughter.

After dinner, we walked down the street to Potion, a tiny club on Columbus and 78th Street known for its creative cocktails and incredible DJs. George and Jeffrey immediately hit the dance floor while Katie, Lucy and I secured a table. When the