Happy Birthday: A Novel

Chapter 6

April woke up early the day after Thanksgiving. She sat in the kitchen, drinking a bowl of café au lait. No one had come in yet, and she had the restaurant to herself, which was rare. The staff had left everything in good order the night before, and the tables were already set for lunch. She was thinking about what her father had said and his loving toast. And she finally made the decision she had been wrestling with for weeks. She went upstairs to her office and looked for the number he had given her when he called about reviewing the restaurant. She had his office number and a cell phone. She called Mike, and he answered on the second ring. His voice was deep and sexy, but he didn’t sound happy to hear from her when she said who she was. It wasn’t an encouraging beginning, but she decided to get it over with anyway. She didn’t want to tell him on the phone, but he had a right to know, so she invited him to dinner at the restaurant, and he instantly sounded hesitant and almost stern.

“It’s too soon for me to write another review,” he warned her, and then his voice softened a little. “I’m sorry about the one I wrote. I just think you could reach higher than you are.” He could tell from the dishes she had prepared that her skills were worthy of a much more important restaurant, and he knew from her CV that she had worked in some. Other than the selection of delicacies on the menu, he had no idea why she wanted to serve food that anyone could make at home. He had missed the whole point of April in New York, but April no longer cared. She didn’t want another review, or a better one, she only wanted to tell him about their child. And if they never saw each other again after that, that was fine with her too. She had no illusions about having a relationship with him, since he had never called her. And she didn’t need anything from him, nor did her child. She had her family’s support now, and she could take care of herself and a baby, hopefully. Knowing that made it easier to call him, no matter what he thought her motivations were. They were very different than he thought.

“The restaurant seems to work,” she said casually, not wanting to get into it with him. They had entirely different points of view, and she could tell from other reviews of his she’d read that he was a snob about food. She wasn’t. “People like it, and this is what I always wanted to do. A restaurant like this was my dream. It’s not for everyone, I guess, but it works for us. And I wasn’t calling for another review,” she corrected him. “How was your Thanksgiving?” she asked, sounding pleasant.

“I don’t do holidays. And I hate turkey anyway.” They weren’t off to a very good start. And then he sounded awkward for a moment as he broached another subject, one that they were both uncomfortable about. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you after that night. It was great, but I figured you’d be mad at me once you read the review, so I didn’t call. It’s a little strange writing a harsh review about a restaurant, and then inviting the owner out. I had a really good time though, and I’m sorry if I was rude not calling afterward.” At least he knew enough to be embarrassed about it, and to acknowledge that the review was harsh. He wasn’t totally without manners or brains, even if he didn’t have a heart, which seemed to be the case. He sounded chilly on the phone.

“Don’t worry about it,” April said easily. “I just wondered if you’d like to come to dinner. It’s not a date, and I’m not trying to butter you up, or ply you with wines this time.” They both laughed at her admission.

“The wines were great,” he conceded. And he had mentioned that in his review too. It was the only positive thing he had said, that she had a remarkable wine list of obscure, excellent, and inexpensive wines. He had looked down his nose at the food, but not the wines. That was something at least. “And you were pretty goddamn great too,” he said, warming up a little. “What I remember anyway. I don’t think I’ve gotten that drunk in years. I had a hangover for three days.” He laughed about it now, but she suspected he wouldn’t be laughing when he heard what else had happened that night. And the aftermath of their fling was going to last a lot longer than three days, more like the rest of their lives, or hers, since he didn’t have to be involved.

“Yeah, me too,” she admitted. “I don’t usually do things like that. The wine went to my head” and other parts. He had been younger and better looking than she’d expected. He was thirty-four years old, single, and sexy as hell. He had been hard to resist with all that wine under their belts.

“That’s what people always say,” he teased her about their one-night stand, which was embarrassing for them both, but they were handling it pretty well on the phone. She was glad that she had called. Her parents were right. He didn’t sound like a bad guy, for a food snob and a one-night stand who had never called her afterward.

“How about an easy dinner tonight?” she persisted, and he was flattered. She was a beautiful girl, and there was nothing he could do for her, since he had already told her he couldn’t write another review of the restaurant this soon, which was true. “We’re fully booked, but if you come around nine, I can save a small table in the back. And I won’t serve you turkey since you hate it. How does lobster sound?”

“Excellent. I’ll try to get to an AA meeting first,” he teased her. He had a sense of humor, which was something at least. She tried not to sound seductive on the phone, or even interested in him as a man. She didn’t want to mislead him about the reason for their dinner. She tried to make it sound like she just wanted to be friends. Even that would be a stretch, but it would be helpful since they were going to share a child. “Thanks for asking me,” he said easily. “See you at nine.” He was impressed that she had called him after the bad review he’d given her, but they had slept with each other, which wasn’t entirely negligible. He had liked her a lot, but thought it politically incorrect to call her since he had bashed her as a chef, and her restaurant. He almost hadn’t written the review so he could see her again, but in the end decided to be true to himself as a journalist. He owed that to his paper. So he had given up on her instead, which he was sorry about at the time. He was glad she had called him out of the blue and invited him to dinner, although he couldn’t imagine why. But he had to admit, the sex had been great, for both of them, even though they were drunk at the time. It had obviously impressed her too. Enough to call him three months later. And he was glad she had. He was looking forward to that night.

Mike showed up at the restaurant a few minutes after nine. He was even better looking than she had remembered. He had both a serious look and a boyish quality about him. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him. He looked sexy, appealing, and casual in jeans, hiking boots, and an old fisherman’s sweater. She remembered that he had been a journalism major at Brown. He had wanted to be a war correspondent, and write from danger zones, and had told her that a bad case of malaria had sent him home from his first assignment, and it had taken a year to get over it. And by then he’d been assigned to food and wine and become a restaurant critic. He didn’t love it and would have preferred to do something more exciting, but he had a reputation now and a solid job. It accounted for some of the acerbic comments in some of what he wrote. He had a certain disregard for some of the restaurants he covered, and many of the chefs. But the paper liked his tough comments and often tart remarks. It was his style, and he had been doing restaurant reviews now for ten years, and people responded to what he wrote, so he was locked into his job, whether he liked it or not.

He looked around the restaurant for April as soon as he arrived, and the headwaiter led him to their table, in a quiet corner in the back. April came out of the kitchen in her apron shortly after, wiping her hands on a cloth, which she handed to one of the busboys. She stopped to greet people at several tables, smiled when she saw Mike, and finally sat down. She certainly hadn’t dressed for a date, he noticed. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a wild ponytail pulled up in an elastic, she had no makeup on, and she was wearing clogs with her traditional black and white checked pants, and white chef’s jacket, covered with spots from the food she’d prepared that night.

She was a little fuller in the face than he remembered, but it suited her, and she was even prettier as she smiled at him. She had deep hazel eyes that looked slightly worried as she smiled and thanked him for coming. She ordered a bottle of Chilean wine for them, he stuck with the lobster she had suggested, and she offered him some of the last remaining white truffles on pasta. It sounded like a perfect meal to him, and much better than the meat loaf, roast chicken, or steak tartare she was famous for. His tastes were more refined and his palate more critical, but she knew that about him now. And the wines Jean-Pierre suggested for the meal were even better than the ones he had had with her before.

“See what I mean?” he said, savoring the pasta, and the lobster afterward. “You’re better than what you usually do. Why would you want to make hamburgers, when you could be in Paris earning three stars for your restaurant, or doing the equivalent here? You’re underachieving, April. That’s what I was trying to say in my review.” It had come out harsher than he had intended it to sound, which he was slightly sorry for now, but he believed that the essence of what he had said was true.

“How often do you think people want to eat food like that?” April asked him honestly. “Once a month, every couple of months, for a special occasion? No one can eat that way all the time. I can’t, and I don’t want to. Maybe you do, but most people don’t. Our customers, our regulars, come here once or twice a week, some more than that. I want to make the best possible version of what they want to eat every day, and the occasional exotic treat, like truffle pasta or escargots. That’s the kind of restaurant I always wanted. I can still do special things, and we do. We offer that too, but most of the time I want to offer real food to real people for real life. That’s what this restaurant is all about,” she said honestly. It had been her theory behind it since the beginning, and it had worked. The tables had been jammed around them all night, and people were still coming in close to midnight, begging to be seated and eat her food. Mike had noticed it while he chatted with her about restaurants in France and Italy that they both loved. And as he had noticed the first time he met her, she knew her stuff, and also about wines.

“Maybe I missed the point,” he admitted. “I just figured you were being lazy and going for an easy shot.” She laughed at what he said. Lazy she was not, and anyone who knew her knew that wasn’t the case.

“I want to serve people’s favorite foods, whatever they are, fancy or simple. I want to be the restaurant they wish they could go to every night. My mother and I love La Grenouille, but I can’t go there every day, although my mother does, or close to it. Maybe I’m a simpler person than you are and she is. I need comfort food sometimes. Don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” he confessed sheepishly. “I go to a pancake house when I want that, not a top-notch restaurant. When I go out to dinner, I want a great meal,” he said, savoring the last of the lobster. It had been absolutely perfect as far as he was concerned, four star, and would have won a flawless review from him if he’d been writing about it, which he wasn’t.

“That’s my point,” April insisted. “You can get fantastic pancakes here, or waffles, or mashed potatoes, or mac and cheese. You should try my pancakes sometime,” she recommended seriously, and he laughed at the intense look on her face. She really believed in what she was doing. He hadn’t fully understood that before. Maybe he’d been too drunk. But that had been her fault, she had absolutely buried him in wines that had been too good to resist. He was more careful tonight, he didn’t want to drink too much again and make an ass of himself. He liked her, and her passion for her restaurant.

“Okay, I’ll come back for pancakes the next time I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

“You’re welcome anytime. The pancakes are on me.”

“It was nice of you to invite me here tonight. I figured you hated me after what I wrote about the restaurant.”

“I did for a while,” she said honestly, “but I got over it.”

“I’m glad you did. The meal was fantastic tonight.” He was beginning to understand that she was trying to do something for everyone, the more refined palate as well as the simpler one, and even food that children loved. There was a certain merit to her theory, although it had escaped him before. “So why did you ask me here, since I can’t write a review this soon, and you said it wasn’t a date? Burying the hatchet in lobster and white truffle pasta?” he asked with an amused look, and she smiled at him, wondering if their child would look like him, or her, or a combination of both. It was strange to think about that.

“I have something to tell you that I just figure you should know. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need anything. But I figure you have a right to the information too.” She didn’t beat around the bush. She wanted to let him know. That was all. She was having his baby and he had a right to decide how and if he wanted to deal with it, or not at all, which was fine with her too. She had no expectations of him. “I was on an antibiotic for strep throat when we saw each other in September. I didn’t realize it could do that, but it screwed up the Pill I was on, and to be honest, I got so drunk that night that I forgot to take the Pill. I’m three months pregnant. I’m having a baby in June. I found out four weeks ago, and I decided to keep it. I’m thirty years old, and I don’t want to have an abortion. You don’t have to have anything to do with me or it, if you don’t want to. But I thought you ought to know, and at least give you the choice.” It was as direct and honest as she could be with him, and he looked across the table at her as though he was going into shock. He looked pale. His hair was as dark as hers, he had dark brown eyes, and his face was as white as the tablecloth when he spoke.

“Are you serious? You’re telling me that now? You invited me here to dinner to tell me that? Are you crazy? You’re having it? You don’t even know me. You don’t know if I’m an ax murderer or a lunatic or a child molester, and you’re having a baby by a guy you slept with once? Why aren’t you having an abortion? Why didn’t you ask me how I felt about that before it was too late to do anything about it?” He looked furious as his eyes blazed at her across the table. For a moment, she was sorry she had told him at all.

“Because my decision to keep it is none of your business,” she said just as harshly. “It’s my body and my baby, and I’m not asking you for a goddamn thing. You don’t ever have to see me again, if you don’t want to. And frankly, I don’t care either way. You don’t ever have to see the kid. That’s up to you. But if there were a child wandering around who was mine, I’d want to know about it, so I could decide if I wanted to be part of its life or not. That’s the opportunity I’m giving you, no strings attached. You don’t have to support me or the baby, or contribute anything. I can manage by myself, and if not, my parents are willing to help me, which is nice of them. But they thought, and I agree, that I owe you at least the information that you’re having a baby in June. That’s all. The rest is up to you.”

She glared back at him then, and he fumed silently at her for a minute. He had to admit, she was being decent about it, but he did not want a baby, with her or anyone else. He had been clear about that all his life. And she was screwing up everything for him. Now he had to decide if he wanted to be a father or not. Because like it or not, and without even consulting him about it, she was having his baby, because they had both been stupid enough to get drunk and sleep with each other and her birth control had malfunctioned. How romantic was that? But she didn’t look sentimental about it either. Just honest and practical, and she was trying to be fair to him. But he didn’t like it anyway. He was sorry he had come to dinner and found out about it, and even sorrier that three months before he had slept with her.

“And who are your parents, that they’re being so noble about this?” She looked startled by the question. It was hard for him to imagine parents of a thirty-year-old woman who were willing to be so supportive of her. He didn’t even know parents like that, and surely not his own, whom he hadn’t seen in ten years and didn’t want to see again.

“My parents are perfectly nice, normal people,” she answered him directly. “My father is a medieval art professor at Columbia, my stepmother is a speech therapist and a wonderful woman, and my mother is Valerie Wyatt, she talks about home decorating and weddings on TV.” She said it as though she had a job like everyone else as he stared at her.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “That’s who your mother is? Of course … Wyatt … why didn’t I think of that? For chrissake, your mother is the arbiter of everything that happens in the home, or at a wedding. What do they think of this? Don’t they think you’re crazy to have this baby too? How are you going to manage a restaurant and a kid all on your own?”

“That’s my problem, not yours. I’m not asking you to show up and change diapers. You can visit it if you want to, but if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

“What if I want more than that?” he said angrily. He was furious at her now, for what she and fate had done to him. He realized it had happened to her too, but she had decided to keep it. He never would have. And her plan to have it sounded utterly stupid and wrong to him. It wasn’t fair, in his opinion, to bring a child into the world with parents who didn’t know or love each other. But it seemed even worse to her to get rid of it, so she was having it, whether he liked it or wanted to participate, or not. “What if I want to be a father and want joint custody, for instance? I’m not saying I do, and I don’t. But what if I did? Then what would you do, since you’re so independent about it? Would you share the child with me?” She looked stunned by the idea. She hadn’t thought of that possibility at all.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I guess we’d have to talk about it, and come to some agreement.” She didn’t like the sound of it. She didn’t know him well enough to know if she’d trust a child with him, or a baby, but he had a point. He was one of the baby’s parents too.

“Well, you’re off the hook on that one. I don’t want children. I never did. My childhood was a nightmare, with alcoholic, abusive parents. My parents hated each other, and me. My brother committed suicide when he was fifteen. And the last thing I want in this world is a wife and children. My own childhood was screwed up enough, I don’t want to fuck up someone else’s. A month before I met you, I broke up with a woman I was in love with. We were together for five years, and she finally put it to me. She wanted to get married and have babies, or find someone else who would. I gave her my blessing, kissed her goodbye, and left her. I don’t want a baby, April, yours or anyone else’s. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else hurting the way I did as a kid. I don’t feel suited to be a parent, but I don’t want to abandon someone either. If I don’t see this child, or involve myself in its life in some way, it will always feel that I rejected it. It’s not right that you’re doing this to me, or the kid. It’s fine for you to say you’ll manage on your own and your parents will help you. But how are you going to explain the father that walked out on you and him or her? What’s that going to do to a child? Did you ever think of that when you decided to keep it? It may sound cruel to you to have an abortion, but there’s nothing between us, and there never will be. It’s not fair to bring a child into this world with only one parent who wants it, and another one who never did.”

“What if we loved each other and were married, and you died? Then what, should I kill the child then too because you wouldn’t be around?” She had a point, but he wouldn’t concede it. He was adamant on this subject, and had given up a woman he loved over just these arguments. She had had two abortions for him in five years and refused to have any more. She wanted kids, and he didn’t.

“That’s different and you know it,” Mike fumed at her, squirming in his seat. It had turned into a miserable evening. The lobster dinner hadn’t been worth it, and he never wanted to see her again. She was always plying him with something, with some ulterior motive and scheme, but as far as he was concerned, this was the worst of all. Feeding him exquisite food in order to tell him about the baby she was having that he didn’t want was far more serious than getting him drunk to get a good review.

“Mike, lots of people have only one parent. And these days, lots of women have babies without men. They go to sperm banks, they get gay men friends to donate sperm for them so they know who the father is, single gay men and women adopt babies. I’m not saying it’s ideal, but people alone have babies. Sometimes people who even love each other, if one of them dies or disappears. I saw this baby on the sonogram, its heart was beating, it looked like a baby, it’s going to be a baby one day, a person. I didn’t want to have a child either, it’s not in my scheme of things right now, and it won’t be easy for me. And you’re right, I don’t know who the hell you are, or if you’re a decent person. But I’m not going to kill this baby, my baby, our baby, because your parents were shitty to you. I’m sorry as hell about that, and those things shouldn’t happen, but sometimes they do. But now that it’s there and it happened, this baby has a right to live, so I’m giving it that opportunity, even if it’s not convenient for me. I’ll do the best possible job I can. And I have three parents and two sisters who will love it too.

“If you want to step up to the plate and be its father, terrific. And if you don’t, it’ll be okay too. This was an accident that happened to both of us. I’m trying to make the best of a tough situation, that’s all we can do.” She was being very sensible about it, but he shook his head miserably. He had had the same conversation with his previous girlfriend before her second abortion. He had managed to convince her, but he could see that April had made up her mind. He was screwed, or he felt that way at least.

“This is an accident that can be fixed, if you’ll be reasonable about it,” Mike said quietly but intensely, still hoping to deter her. “If you want kids, find some guy who wants them too. I’m not that person. I never will be. I don’t want children. I don’t want to be married, to anyone, April, and I don’t want this baby.” She didn’t want him either, but she was still going to have his child, and nothing would convince her otherwise. He could see it in her eyes.

“I wasn’t looking to have children,” she said clearly. “I’m not after you. I want nothing from you. But I’m going to have this child. Whether you want to be involved or not, or even see it, is up to you. I’ll let you know when the baby is born, and you can decide then.”

She could see that he was very angry with her, but more than that, he was scared. She had faced him with something he had done everything to avoid until now, even giving up a woman he had truly loved. He told her that she was already seeing someone else, and hoping to get married soon. She was thirty-four years old and felt she didn’t have time to waste if she wanted kids. Mike said he had been willing to let her go rather than do that with her. And now April had just sprung a baby on him that was already in the works. It was just too cruel, as far as he was concerned.

He stood up finally, still looking furious. “Thanks for dinner,” he said coldly. “I’m not sure it was worth it, given the acute indigestion at the end of the meal. I’ll call you when I figure out what I want to do about this.”

“There’s no rush,” she said quietly, standing up and facing him. She was beautiful, but he didn’t care about that now. All he could think about was what she had just told him. “The baby’s not due till June. Thanks for coming to dinner. I’m sorry it’s such bad news for you.” He nodded and said nothing, and walked out of the restaurant with his head down, without ever looking back at her. The waiters and sommelier could see that they’d had an argument, and they knew who he was, the critic who had given them the bad review three months before. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to be giving her a good one anytime soon.