The Waiter Bradleigh Collins (autobiographies to read TXT) 📖

and a whole lotta stout, I couldn’t stop myself from ordering a Cinnabon as soon as I got to the airport. By the time The Waiter arrived, the Cinnabon was gone.

“Hey, Red.” He dropped his backpack and gave me a long kiss. “Wow, you taste like cinnamon.”

“The two things I can’t say no to. Cinnabon and you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About eight-hundred calories long. And long enough for my fingers to get very sticky.”

He kissed my fingers. “Good enough to eat.”

“That’s exactly what I said to the Cinnabon!”

We made our way to baggage claim, and once his suitcase rolled around, we rolled out into the taxi line.

“Wow, I have totally forgotten what cold weather feels like.”

“You want in my coat?” I opened it up and offered to snuggle him inside.

He looked down at me and grinned. “I want inside all of that.”

Twenty minutes later, we were making out in the back of a cab headed west on the Grand Central Parkway. I felt bad for the poor driver.

“I’m sure he’s seen worse,” The Waiter said. Then he pulled out his wallet and handed a crisp fifty-dollar bill to the driver.

“My man. I apologize for making out in the back of your cab, but I haven’t seen my girlfriend in two weeks, so could you please just take this tip and pretend like we’re not here?”

“No problem, thank you my friend.”

The sun was just starting to set over Manhattan as we crossed the Triborough Bridge. I was staring out the window while The Waiter kissed my neck. I had never felt more in love before, with him or with the city.

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” I asked.

“I’m looking at it.” He kissed me again. I wanted the moment to last forever. But of course, it didn’t. Coming off the bridge into Harlem, we hit a pothole that violently thrusted me back into reality. Soon we would be back at the apartment and I would have to break the news to The Waiter that I wasn’t moving to California. And I was dreading it.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him.

“Starving. Can we just order from Peking Garden and stay in tonight?”

“That sounds amazing.”

When we got home, The Waiter paid the cab driver and gave him another generous tip. As soon as we got inside the apartment, I grabbed the menu for Peking Garden.

“You want your usual?”

“Yes. Go ahead and call. I have to pee.”

He disappeared into the bathroom while I placed the order. The lady on the phone asked for my address. Then she asked if I wanted the usual, which for us was Vegetable Fried Rice, Beef & Broccoli, and an order of steamed veggie dumplings. I loved the fact that we had a usual. It pained me to think that soon, my regular order would be missing the Beef & Broccoli. And I’d be missing The Waiter.

When he came out of the bathroom, he plopped himself down on the bed and motioned for me to join him.

“Man, it’s good to be home. Why don’t you slip out of that dress and those boots and come over here and join me?”

“I can’t be naked when the delivery guy shows up.”

“Why not?” he laughed.

“You want some wine?” I was in the process of pouring myself a full glass in anticipation of the conversation I didn’t want to have.

“Definitely.” He got up and walked into the living room. He glanced over at my messy desk.

“I’ve never seen your desk this junkified.”

“That’s Fashion Week.” I handed him a glass of Cabernet. He picked up the digital camera and began scrolling through the photos.

“These are great babe. Did you take them?”

“No. Justin, one of our staff photographers did.”

He stopped on one of the photos of Lucy and me at the Michael Kors show.

“Wow. Look at you guys.” Then he paused. “You look so happy.”

It was the perfect opening. What I wanted to say was I am happy and I love my job and I love you too but I can’t leave New York and I have to let you go and oh god I hope you understand and I hope we can find a way to make it work. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say any of that. I just looked at him.

“I know you’re not moving to California, Red.” It turns out, I didn’t have to say anything. I stood there, shocked. And heartbroken.

“It’s okay,” he continued. “I get it. I should have never asked you to do it in the first place. But I don’t wanna do this without you.”

“You have to. You can’t give up your dream for me. And I can’t give up mine. We’d end up hating each other.”

“Are you breaking up with me, Red?”

“Not completely.”

“But you are breaking up with me.”

The downstairs buzzer rang. The Chinese food that neither of us now had the appetite for was here. I reached over and pressed the button to let the delivery guy in. The Waiter was just standing there looking at me with those soulful brown eyes I’d fallen in love with five short months ago.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he asked. I placed my hand on his cheek.

“I’m doing this because I love you. I’m letting you go because I love you.” And then I started crying. He hugged me.

“What if I don’t want to be let go?”

The delivery guy knocked. I grabbed the money from my desk and opened the door.

“Hi, thank you.” I handed him the cash. “Keep the change.”

I closed the door and put the food down on the table. Then I took The Waiter by the hand.

“Come,” I said, leading him to the bed. “Sit.”

We sat down.

“Here’s the deal. I still want us to see each other whenever we can. But long-distance relationships are hard. And we’re both gonna be tempted because we’re both gonna get lonely.”

“You wanna see other people?”

“Not particularly. But I would rather have an agreement that it’s okay to see other people than to worry about you cheating on