“You’ll get through this. You guys will make it work. I know you will.”
“I just feel terrible because I spent the weekend acting like I loved California and that everything was perfect. I intentionally gave him the impression that I was going to move out there.”
“Did you actually say that?”
“No. He asked if I could picture a life out there with him and I said yes to that. But what I was picturing were long weekend visits. Not me moving there.”
“So, how did you leave it with him?”
“I told him exactly what you just said. That we would make it work. And guys, I really want it to work. But it has to work for both of us.”
“Sam,” Lucy said. “I know this is going to be hard on you, but you made the right decision. You can’t leave New York.”
“You can’t leave us is what she meant to say,” Katie added. “Besides, Josh would die.”
“Speaking of Josh, what are we doing for his birthday next month? Are we still planning a surprise party?”
“We can’t surprise him,” Katie replied. “He’s already told me he wants a karaoke party. Karaoke with a twist.”
“What does that mean?”
“He has this idea of having a karaoke-requests-themed party. Like, we all write down songs we want him to sing on a piece of paper and put them in a jar or something. And then throughout the night, he’ll pick a song out of the jar and sing it.”
“Oh my god! That is so Josh!” I said. “That will be hysterical.”
“Where are we having it?” Lucy asked.
“Well, since the twenty-fifth falls on a Saturday, I was thinking we could reserve the upstairs lounge at Pageant.”
“Where’s Pageant?”
“It’s on Ninth Street,” Katie replied. “Between Third and Fourth.”
“I like that place,” Lucy said. “Yeah, let’s do it there.”
“Wait,” Katie said. “Sam, you’re not going to be in L.A. that weekend, are you?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t miss Josh’s birthday for the world.”
“Maybe that should be a weekend when your man comes to New York,” Lucy stated.
“Or I’ll just be the only one at Josh’s party without a date.”
“Don’t tell Darryl that,” Katie said.
“Oh, I love Darryl.”
“You don’t love Darryl the way Darryl wishes you loved Darryl,” Lucy replied.
“No, but I still love him.”
“Because he punched Dalton?” Katie asked.
“I smile every time I think about it,” I replied.
“Me too,” Lucy agreed. “So, is Nick leaving De La Guarda?”
“He already has. An understudy took over for him. You should see him out in L.A. He’s had no problem adjusting to that scene.”
“I’m sure the ladies out there will have no problem adjusting to Nick either,” Katie said. I felt Lucy kick her hard under the table. “Oh, shit. I can’t believe I just said that.”
“No, Katie, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m certain the ladies will be all over both of them.”
“That man would never cheat on you, Sam.” Lucy said. “He’s not Dalton.”
“I know he’s not, but my god, the women out there.”
“What?” Katie asked.
“They’re gorgeous. They’re all perfect. They’re all tanned.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Katie said. “You’re perfect. Okay, you’re not tan, but nobody who lives in New York is tan in January.”
“I just know I’m gonna be obsessing about it. Like every day, I’m going to be wondering if some girl is flirting with him. Or worse. Because you know they’re gonna be flirting with him.”
“Sam,” Katie said, “don’t you trust him?”
“Of course I trust him. I don’t trust other women. Except for you two. And Dana. And my sisters. And my mom. And that’s it.”
“Did you ever stop to consider that he’s thinking the same thing about you?” Lucy asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, other guys flirt with you all the time. And that’s gonna drive him crazy too. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“Don’t ask what? Don’t tell what?”
“You guys could have an arrangement. When you’re together, you’re together. When you’re not, you see other people. But you have a rule that you don’t talk about it.”
“You mean like Fight Club?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I guarantee you he won’t be able to do that,” Katie said.
“Well,” Lucy continued, “you should both think about it. That could be the key to your sanity. And to making this long-distance relationship thing work.”
She had a point. My biggest fear was that he would cheat on me. If we had an arrangement, then I wouldn’t have to worry about him cheating. If we were seeing other people, there could be no “cheating.” I mean, I still hated the thought of him being with someone else. But the thought of him doing it behind my back was even worse. What I’d been through with Dalton had scarred me for life. Not just because I found out about him and Rhonda, but because I had always suspected that he was cheating on me the whole time we were dating.
When Dalton and I first got together, one of my friends from college was working as a dancer at the club in Atlanta where he was a bouncer. She wasn’t a stripper. It was a club that played techno-dance music, and it had a catwalk high above the dance floor. Dancers - both male and female - were hired to dance there on the weekends. She told me that Dalton hit on her and that she turned him down because she knew we were together. I never confronted him about it because I was so in love with him at the time and was terrified of losing him.
A few years ago, Dalton was on a six-month assignment in Phoenix. I was at his apartment and needed to look something up on the internet. When I sat down at his computer, I noticed a pop-up advertisement for a dating site that said, “Still looking for women in Phoenix?” That time, I did confront him. I almost broke up with him over it. But he managed to convince me that the pop-up only happened because he had booked a hotel in Phoenix and that the dating site used an ad-software that targeted anybody making reservations in the area. He swore to me he hadn’t actively been looking for a hookup. And I was stupid enough to believe him.
Of course, The Waiter was no Dalton. Lucy was right about that. But I knew there might come a time that he would be tempted. And I might be tempted, too. I had just moved to New York and had gone from one serious relationship right into another. And even though I loved The Waiter with all my heart, I didn’t want to put my life on hold. The only other alternative would be for us to just break up and go our separate ways. The more I thought about it on the cab ride home from dinner, the more I convinced myself that the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy might be our only chance at making it work.
The next morning at the office, I had some very exciting news to share with George.
“So,” I said to him as we were getting off the elevator. “Are you still looking for an apartment in Manhattan?”
“God, yes! Did you find one in your building? Please tell me you found one in your building.”
“Well, not in my building. In the Ansonia. Broadway and 74th.”
“The building your man used to live in?”
“The apartment my man used to live in.”
“Are you serious? When? How?”
“Nick is moving out to California in a couple of weeks, so the apartment is available for sublease.“
“I’ll take it. I don’t even have to see it first. Tell him I’ll take it. Did your man happen to leave any of his stuff there? Like any clothes? Clothes that still smell like him?”
“Um, no George. Those clothes are now at my apartment, but I could ask Nick to leave something behind.”
“Yeah, Nick’s
hot. That would work. Damn, I bet that place has sexy karma.”
“You’ll love it. The apartment is small, but the view is amazing.”
“Well, it can’t be as good as the view you wake up next to every morning.”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna have that view much longer.”
“Oh my god? Did you guys break up?”
“No, we’re not breaking up. But he is moving to California for a while.”
“What? For how long?”
“I’m not sure. As long as it takes to get their business off the ground.”
“Oh, Ginger Spice,” he said, hugging me. “This news makes me so sad. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. But I will be. I’m just gonna have to get used to the long-distance relationship thing.”
“So you’ll be bi-coastal. And maybe he could just be ‘bi.’”
“In your dreams, George.”
“Yes, he is. Quite often.”
I laughed and walked over to my desk. I sat down and opened my planner.
11 Days.
I’d started a daily countdown on my calendar. In eleven days, The Waiter would be back in New York for two weeks. And then he would be gone for months. Possibly even years. I had no idea how I was going to be able to handle this. Or how I was going to break the news that I wasn’t going to California with him. But I had eleven days to figure it out.
CHAPTER 36
◆◆◆
The Waiter’s flight was scheduled to land at four. I took the M60 bus to La Guardia to meet him. I enjoyed riding the bus. It gave me a chance to see different parts of the city and watch my fellow New Yorkers going about their daily business. The city was like a pulsating heart and the people were its blood supply, flowing back and forth, keeping it alive.
By the time I got to the airport, I was starving. I’d only had coffee for breakfast and had spent my entire morning and most of the afternoon writing a roundup of fashion week that would be published on Monday. I left my home office desk littered with notes, lookbooks, an entire weeks’ worth of Women’s Wear Daily, and a Sony Mavica camera packed with digital images of models, designers, accessories, and even a few of Lucy and me in the tents at Bryant Park. Of course, Lucy and Vogue had much better seats at all of the shows than I did, but she used her clout to get me bumped up to the second row for Michael Kors, where I coveted every single piece that appeared on the runway (sans the fur.) I also got to see Sarah Jessica Parker and Kristen Davis in person. I still could not believe this was my life. That I was actually getting paid to write about fashion and more specifically, New York Fashion Week.
Even though the previous week had exposed me to super-tall models and super-skinny starlets, making me feel a little bit short 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.
<
br /> “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 me. If we’re seeing other people, that can never happen.”
“I would never cheat on you.”
“You say that now, but you have no idea what’s going to happen when you’re in L.A. And I have no idea what’s gonna happen here. The way I look at, we have two logical choices. We break up or we just take a step back and see how thing go.”
“Meaning?”
“You said you weren’t going to be in L.A. forever, right? That eventually you guys would open a gym here in Manhattan and you’d be back.”
“Yeah, that’s been my plan all along.”
“So, baby. Go do your thing. Make it happen. And we’ll just do the best we can until you’re back.”
“Fuck!” he yelled as he laid back on the bed. “This is not what I want. I know you’re right, but this is so not what I wanted for us.”
“I have something for you.” I got up and walked over to my desk in the living room. I walked back into the bedroom and handed him an envelope.
“What’s this?” He sat up on the bed.
“An early Valentine’s Day present.” He opened the envelope. It contained six round-trip tickets from New York to Los Angeles. I had gone ahead and booked myself a monthly weekend trip to California for the next six months. He looked up at me and smiled.
“See?” I said as he reached over and wrapped his arms around me. “We’re still going to see each other. At least once a month for the next six months.”
The Waiter Page 20