Tips For Better Living (Inc Outtake) by AdorableCullens COMPLETE.pdf

FanfictionBasedOnCharactersFromStephanieMeyer’sTwilightSeries

Rated M for Mature Content.

Tips For Better Living

By AdorableCullens

Summary: Edward is a self-centered college drop-out, waiting on tables and living an empty life.

Redemption arrives in the guise of a quirky customer who offers him some much-needed advice for

happiness. Does Edward have the character to rise to the challenge?

~*~

Chapter One

~~ - ~~

January

It was 3:30 p.m., and Edward Cullen was leaning against the lunch counter, staring at Rosalie Hale's

ass. It was a very fine ass, peach shaped and firm. She was squatting and the black pants they all

woreintherestaurantwereridinglowenoughforhimtoseeherthongand

"I'm done here. Rose, take your dinner break please. Edward, stop staring at Rose's ass. Table 12

has been waiting for a warm-up for about 10 minutes now." Poppy, the owner of Poppy's Deli and

Edward's boss, smacked him none too gently up the back of the head as she sailed past on her way

to the door. Rose spun around and glared furiously at him.

"What?" he said with a smirk. "Just admiring the view." His coworker gave him the finger and

stomped away to clock out for break, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her. Edward laughed.

Women loved him. They all loved it when Edward Cullen paid attention to them, no matter how they

protested. Maybe Rose is a lesbian, he thought sagely.

"Excuse me," came a voice behind him. He sighed and turned around with a phony smile plastered

on his face. "Could I get some more coffee please?"

I hate this shitty job , he thought glumly, taking up a fresh pot from the burner. Edward trudged over

to Table 12 and freshened his customer's coffee.

But shitty as it was, waiting tables at Poppy's seemed to be the only work available for college drop-

outs in their early 20s with very few skills and even less ambition. He'd been fired from his last job

for showing up late (and stoned) one too many times. His father never failed to remind him how

many favors he'd had to call in to get him the job at Poppy's.

He knew his parents, Carlisle and Esme, were in despair over him, although he was quite sure they

were making a fuss over nothing. He was 22, and there was plenty of time yet to work and get

serious about life. For now, he wanted to have a little fun – what was so bad about that? Yeah, he had

flunked out of a couple of college programs. Some minor run-ins with the law for being drunk and

disorderly,orforsmokingalittleweedBrokenafewheartsOK,maybemorethanafewhearts.

But it had been the issue of money – and its remarkable ability to slip through Edward's fingers –

that had paved the road to Poppy's Deli. Besides himself, the thing Edward loved most in this world

was spending money. Expensive clothes, the latest electronic gadgets, Grey Goose vodka and his

seemingly endless appetite for recreational pharmaceuticals – Edward burned through every penny

his parents gave him and much, much more. After Edward's latest binge on the party circuit had

come to light, Carlisle Cullen's seemingly endless patience for his beautiful, self-absorbed oldest son

finally ran out.

Edward had been faced with a choice – get a job and start paying back the massive bills he had run

up, or find his belongings on the curb with the door locks changed on the family house. With winter

coming on in Chicago and nowhere to crash, that choice was no choice for Edward. Resentfully, he

had fallen back on the only kind of work he had ever known – waiting tables.

He hated it. Long hours on his feet in an ugly polyester uniform being treated like shit by people

Edward wouldn't normally be caught dead around. Blue-haired old ladies who smelled like

mothballs and handed out miserly tips. Crabby parents with their bratty, out-of-control kids.

Women – and men – groping him when he brushed by their tables. All this for a pathetic wage and

anemic tips that he had to hand over to his parents for payment of his debts? It was a good thing he

pushed a little weed on the side, or he'd have no mad money at all.

Coffee pot still in hand, Edward glared out the front window. It was showing signs of getting dark

and it wasn't even 4 p.m. yet. Winter in Chicago was a grim affair. Working Saturday nights at a

neighborhood deli made it that much worse. The restaurant was dead quiet right now – Edward

hadn't realized there was anyone in there until Poppy had pointed out Table 12 to him – and likely

to remain so until the senior citizens showed up around 5:30 for their blue plate specials. He sighed

heavily and looked down at his lone customer in the diner.

It seemed that he couldn't catch a break there either.

The woman was thin and plainly dressed. (Edward prided himself on wearing only the coolest

clothes and brands, and this woman definitely wasn't sharing any of his fashion taste.) Her jeans

weren't a recognizable brand, and she was wearing scuffed, clunky snow boots. The winter jacket

hanging over the back of the chair was non-descript. The end of a Burberry scarf poked out of one

sleeve – probably fake, he thought with an inner sniff of disdain. Her frizzy brown hair was bundled

into a lopsided pony tail that was sprinkled with gray.

As Edward stared off into space beside Table 12, the woman seated there cleared her throat and

looked up at him inquiringly. He realized he had been wool-gathering and started guiltily. Then he

looked down at her, and his heart gave a sudden, great leap.

Her face was as plain as the rest of her. Pale skin, no make up, a few wrinkles around the eyes.

Edward was lousy at guessing ages; all he could tell was that she was older than him and definitely

not hot. But her wide brown eyes were deep and intense as she looked at him – looked at him . For

the first time since he had started at Poppy's six weeks ago, Edward felt like someone had actually

seen him – not as her personal purveyor of coffee and corned beef sandwiches, but as a human

being. The feeling was so unexpected that he jerked backward, slopping coffee on the table in the

process.

"Sorry," Edward mumbled. He fetched a rag, wiping up the coffee which had fortunately not spilled

on the documents she had strewn on the table in front of her. Glancing at the pages, he wondered if

she was a student – it looked like she was writing an essay.

"Thanks," the woman said when he was done, her voice mild and polite. But both the moment and

the feeling had vanished, and Edward's chronically short attention span had drifted to his sudden,

powerful desire for a smoke. He retreated behind the counter for a few minutes, fidgeting

impatiently. Rose wouldn't be back from her break for another 30 minutes. He couldn't wait that

long for cigarette!

Edward rang up Table 12's coffee bill and dropped it on the table in front of the woman, hoping

she'd take the hint and pack up. He shot the shit with the dude washing dishes in the kitchen for 15

minutes. Ducked out of the kitchen to check - no sign of Table 12 leaving.

Fuck it, he suddenly thought. She won't even notice I'm gone . Grabbing his leather jacket, Edward

slipped out the back door. He shivered in the alley as he lit up his Camel Light, inhaling the smoke

greedily. It tasted so good that he figured Table 12 could wait while he smoked a second one.

Ten minutes later, his face red with cold and his reddish brown hair wind-blown, Edward ambled

back into the dining area. Table 12 was empty. Probably a dine 'n dash , he thought. Good thing it was

only a coffee.

Glumly, he walked over and picked up the little black tray with the bill in it. A bottomless cup of

coffee at Poppy's cost $1.68 – and there was a stack of coins on top of the bill that totaled exactly

$1.68, right to the penny. Peering down, he could see something written on the slip. He picked it up,

his lips moving silently as he read to himself.

Tip #1: Never judge a book by its cover.

"Thanks a lotfuckingcheap bitch ," he cursed, tossing the plastic tray back on the table. Coins

bounced in all directions, and the invoice slip fluttered off the tray to the floor.

Underneath the slip was a crisp $20 bill.

Edward froze, confused. He picked up the bill slowly, squinting at it. There was something more

written on the money.

Tip #2: And never make assumptions either, kiddo.

Edward spotted a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced up at the big

window at the front of the restaurant. Outside in the fading winter light, he saw a woman walking

away down the sidewalk, the ends of her scarf fluttering wildly in the wind.

He looked back down at the $20, his heart thumping uncomfortably and a strange sensation stealing

over him. No one had ever left him a tip that good on just a coffee order before. His tips tended to be

small; the generous ones usually came from hot cougars or gays looking to get into his pants.

Sometimes they even wrote their phone numbers or email addresses on the bill, hoping to score

some young ass. But big tips certainly didn't come from shabby customers whom he had basically

ignored and then abandoned.

The feeling in him got stronger as he stared at the Jackson in his hand. It took him a moment to

place it because it had been so long since he had felt anything remotely like it.

It was shame.

~~ - ~~

Chapter Two

~~ - ~~

February

The $20 lasted about as long as his impression of the mysterious woman who gave it to him. In

other words, not very long at all.

Edward gleefully showed the $20 to the dishwasher, who told the story to Rose when she came back

from her supper break. Who told Jessica the next day, who told everyone else who worked at the

diner. Twice. Consequently, when Edward arrived on Wednesday for his evening shift, all his

coworkers congratulated him on landing such a big tip. Poppy, standing by the kitchen door in her

wide apron, gave him the stinkeye.

"She must have been in a generous mood," she said doubtfully, wiping her hands.

"Maybe Edward gave her something extra with her coffee," leered one of the busboys.

Gross,saidEdward,makingafaceShewasoldLike,youknowmaybeinher30sOrevenher

40s ." Poppy's face went slightly purple and Edward realized that he had just made an error. He

sidled away, and took the long way around to the kitchen to get his order pad.

Needless to say, no one else tipped him $20 that week, not even the big table of 10 with the

screaming twins. But the week ended well anyway with a wild party at a dance club downtown.

Edward and his posse had partied until the wee hours. He woke up Sunday morning, hung over,

with a vague memory of getting blown by some girl whose name he didn't remember – if he had

ever gotten it at all.

Sunday was the busiest day of the week at Poppy's, with customers lining up outside the door for

corned beef hash, platters of eggs, and lox and cream cheese piled high on toasted bagels. And coffee

lotsandlotsofcoffeeEdwardhustledasbesthecouldwithathunderingheadacheand a mouth

that felt like it was lined with cotton batting.

Things slacked off a bit after 1 p.m., and Edward was wondering if he could take his break when

Rose and Jessica suddenly came squealing with excitement around him. He winced at the shrill

sound of their voices.

"So how much didja get?" asked Rose.

"Yeah, what did she leave you this time?" Jessica chimed in immediately. Edward stared at them,

wishing they'd leave him alone so he could go have a smoke. They looked back at him expectantly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Rose looked at him a moment longer, then her expression

hardened.

"You little prick," she said in a low voice. "You didn't recognize her, did you?"

"Recognize who?" he asked, bewildered.

Thatladytheonewholeftyou the $20 you were bragging about last week. You just served her

breakfast and didn't even recognize her. Even I recognized her, and I saw her a lot less than you did

last weekend." Edward gave his head a shake, trying to clear the cobwebs. He had just done what?

Rose eyed him more closely. "Dude, you're not high, are you?"

Nono,ImnotReally,ImnotWell,hedidnt think he was. He was pretty sure he wasn't. He cast

his mind back, trying to remember. "Which table?" he asked.

"Table 8," said Rose, pointing behind them. "She left not five minutes ago." They all turned to see the

busboy clearing away the little table for two. Edward thought for a moment, then laughed at Rose.

"Dumb ass," he said. "That wasn't her. That was some lady with her kid." He hadn't been paying

attention to his customers today with all the rush and the hangover, but he remembered for sure

that he had served a woman and a kid at that table. Edward didn't like children – they were loud,

demanding, and they ate the lowest priced things on the menu. They required more work than

adults (especially when they made messes), yet their parents never seemed to realize this and tip

accordingly. But this one had struck him as being a bit more tolerable than most.

A little girl, he remembered, with brown hair. He had no idea how old she had been – old enough to

orderfromthemenuherselfHermotherhermotherhadbeen

"Eddie," called the busboy, waving the plastic tray at him. Edward plucked the tray from his hands.

The bill was $23.01; the lone penny slid from one corner to the other as he picked up the twenty and

three singles. With Jessica and Rose peering over his shoulders, he flipped up the little invoice then

slammed it back down again.

"Ooooooooh!" shrieked Jessica. "Another $20 tip – and there's a NOTE on it!" She reached out with

her manicured claws and snapped at the tray like an adder. Edward smacked her hand away

roughly.

"Would you two just fuck off?" he snapped. "That's my tip and my receipt. Piss off." He held the tray

against his chest, signaled to Poppy that he was taking his break, and fled to the men's room. He

locked himself in the stall, feeling strangely nervous. Suddenly his headache felt much, much worse

as he held up the invoice to read what was written there.

Tip #3: Always make eye contact with people. Don't just look – see.

Edward let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Eye contact, sure. She must have noticed that

he didn't recognize her, and was telling him that he needed to pay attention to her. Just like all

women wanted. This mystery figured out, he picked up the $20 and looked at what was written

there. Probably her phone number.

Tip #4: Starting with yourself. Right now. Go look.

Irrationally, Edward looked over his shoulder as if he expected his customer to come popping out

from behind the toilet. He was quite alone. But why did it suddenly feel like she was standing right

there with him, waiting for him to do as she'd written? And why did he feel so uneasy at her

instructions?

Slowly, Edward opened the stall door and stepped out into the washroom. He shuffled up to the

sink, leaned over and looked in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, merciless under the

harsh fluorescents.

Helookedterrible

Edward automatically checked out his hair first; it was artfully tousled as usual, with just enough

gel to keep it from falling over his eyes. He knew it was one of his best assets, and he was very vain

about it. But closer inspection showed it was dull and a bit clumpy on the side – he hadn't much time

for proper personal hygiene after oversleeping this morning. His skin had an unhealthy tone to it,

his normally high color muted by the excesses of the night before. All the smoking seemed to be

catching up with him too; he could see tiny wrinkles developing around the corners of his mouth.

Then he looked up into his own eyes.

He looked back at himself, his eyes bloodshot from last night's weed. Even the green of his irises

looked weary. But the worst part was how dead his eyes were. It was like looking into the eyes of a

character in a video game – blank, flat and empty. The comparison bothered him, and he turned

away just as the door creaked open. It was Jasper Whitlock, one of his coworkers.

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