“Of course not. I don’t see why I have to do one or the other. I can do both, work and be a mother.” Her mother always had, and she was her role model. And Valerie’s career had been far more demanding, but April had always had her father too. This baby wouldn’t. All this baby would have was its mother, three grandparents, and two aunts. It didn’t sound like a bad start to April, and it was all she could provide.
“I know you can do it,” her father said quietly, trying to absorb what she had told him. He would never have expected this from April, neither the one-night stand nor the decision to have the baby. He wondered if turning thirty had been an important part of the decision for her and made her feel that it was now or never. He knew that more and more women were deciding to have babies alone these days, so it didn’t totally surprise him. But it seemed completely out of character for April. “I just hate to see you take on something so difficult all by yourself. I think you should talk to the father. He may be a nicer guy than you think and want to help you and be involved. It’s his child too. And you’re going to need all the help you can get. It’s going to be a hell of a juggling act for you, particularly if you keep the restaurant and continue working as hard as you do. That’s going to be really rough on you.” Much rougher than he wanted for his daughter. He had always hoped she would marry and have children, in that order. What parent didn’t? And April appreciated the fact that so far he hadn’t condemned her for what had happened, and he didn’t look like he was going to.
“I’ve been thinking about calling the father. I just feel kind of stupid, and I don’t know what to say to him. ‘Thanks for the bad review, and remember the night we spent together when you got drunk at my restaurant on Labor Day weekend?’ If he’d called me after, it would have been different. Or easier anyway.”
“I think I saw his review. It was nasty and sarcastic,” her father said, sounding angry. Pat’s loyalty to his children was fierce, and he expected others to be too. Mike Steinman, the food critic April had mentioned, clearly hadn’t liked the restaurant, and hadn’t been afraid to say so.
“That’s the guy.” Steinman’s critique of their food and April’s efforts had been demeaning and disdainful. It didn’t bode well for the future, or the news she was going to tell him. And his silence for the past few months didn’t encourage her either. He obviously hadn’t wanted to see her again, for whatever reason. It made calling him that much harder. “Remember me? I’m having your baby.” She couldn’t imagine him being thrilled to hear that piece of news. She hadn’t been either. But she was adjusting to it now. And it was no longer “bad news” to her, it was a baby.
“Well, this is certainly important,” her father said, smiling at her, trying to be supportive. “I have to admit, it’s a surprise, and it’s not how I would have wanted things to happen for you. But if you’re determined to go ahead with it, Maddie and I support you.” He glanced at Valerie then, and she was nodding with tears in her eyes. “And your mother does too, I think. So it looks like we’re going to have a baby,” he said, as he waved to the sommelier who arrived at the table quickly to serve them. Pat asked them for a bottle of champagne. “When is it due?” her father asked as the waiter went to get the bottle he had ordered.
“In June,” April said, as tears spilled down her cheeks and she put her arms around her father. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, all of you,” she said, looking at her family, as she reached out to touch her mother and Maddie, and both women smiled at her and were crying. “I’m sorry I did this so stupidly. Thank you for being nice to me about it. I promise I’ll do a really good job of it, and try to be a good mother like both of you.”
“Don’t worry, darling, you will be,” her stepmother said kindly. “I don’t doubt it for a moment, and it will be nice to have a baby in the family. Do you know what it is yet?” Maddie asked with interest, holding April’s hand across the table.
“I won’t know till I have another sonogram in February.” She was young enough not to need any invasive tests to check about defects or genetics, which was a relief to her. At thirty, the process was routine.
The sommelier returned with the champagne then, and poured it just as Annie and Heather returned from the kitchen, and he poured each of them a glass too and left with the empty bottle. He could tell that something emotional was going on at the table, and didn’t want to intrude on his employer. He was the sommelier who had just come to her from Daniel Boulud. His name was Jean-Pierre, and he was from Bordeaux. He had learned about wines since he was a very young boy, and he had been a great addition to the restaurant.
“What are we celebrating?” her sisters asked as they sat down.
April looked at them, embarrassed, but there was no point in hiding it now, they had to know sooner or later. “I’m having a baby,” she said, looking at both of them as they stared at her in amazement.
“You have a boyfriend?” Heather looked astonished, and a little hurt not to be told sooner as April smiled.
“No, I don’t. Just a baby.”
“How did you get pregnant then?” she asked her older sister, and this time April laughed.
“The stork brought this one, I’m afraid, and I decided to keep it. So you’re both going to be aunts in June,” she said, looking from Heather to Annie, who looked at her and smiled, as their father raised his glass.
“I am proposing a toast to the new member of this family, who will be with us at this table next Thanksgiving. And actually, I think I should thank April for not burdening me with a son-in-law whom I may not have liked, who might have dragged me to football games in the freezing cold, or expected me to play softball with him, which I hate. I don’t have to impress him. All we have to do here is love April, and welcome this new member of the family into our midst.” They all raised their glasses as April started to cry again. She didn’t sip the champagne, since she wasn’t supposed to drink, and passed her glass to her dad. She hadn’t had a drink of anything alcoholic since she’d made the decision to have the baby, and only two glasses of champagne on her birthday before that.
“Thank you, everybody, for your support. I love you,” she said softly, looking at each of them gratefully. And a little while later they left, and she went out to the kitchen to see what was happening there as the dishwashers cleaned up. It had been a beautiful Thanksgiving for her, and her unexpected announcement had gone over surprisingly well. Her father had been wonderful, her stepmother as loving as ever, Valerie seemed to be adjusting to the idea a little, as long as no one called her “grandmother,” and both of her sisters had promised to help. She couldn’t ask for more than that. And with a sigh, she finally took off her apron and went upstairs. She was exhausted and felt emotionally drained as she fell into bed. She had a lot to be grateful for, she knew, her family, the restaurant, and now this baby, which was a mixed blessing of sorts, but maybe it would work out for the best. She hoped so, as she closed her eyes and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. It had been a long and important day for her.
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 h
arsher 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?”
Happy Birthday: A Novel Page 7
