Happy Birthday (4 page)

As she drank her café au lait in the immaculate, quiet restaurant kitchen, she made some notes for additions to the menu that day. They would introduce the white truffle pasta at dinner, and they had two fish specials that day, and she added a Grand Marnier soufflé just for fun. The people who worked in the kitchen would start drifting in at nine, to start doing the prep work. The waiters came in at eleven, and the restaurant opened at noon.

April left just as the first of the sous-chefs, the under chefs, came in. She had an acupuncture appointment at nine. She went religiously twice a week, mostly to help her handle stress.

The acupuncturist she went to was on Charles Street, three blocks away. And over the years she’d gone to her, they had become friends. Unlike April, Ellen Puccinelli was married and had
three kids. She had trained in England with a Chinese master, and said that she kept working just to stay sane and get some time away from them. April always enjoyed her time with her, it was part relaxation, part gossip with a girlfriend, and part shrink. Ellen usually brought her husband, Larry, and kids to dinner at the restaurant on Sunday nights. She was four years older than April, and her three rowdy boys were cute kids. She had been married for ten years. Her husband was a contractor, and life was something of a juggling act for them, living in New York.

Ellen smiled broadly as soon as April walked in, wearing jeans and a heavy sweater and the clogs she wore to work. Both women enjoyed what they did.

April took off her shoes, watch, and heavy sweater and laid her long, thin frame down on the immaculately draped table. Ellen’s office was always warm and cozy. It was the perfect place for her to relax. April’s long dark hair was in a braid that hung off the table. Ellen was a small woman, with short blond hair and big blue eyes. She looked like a pixie, and so did her kids. She had pictures of them on her desk.

“Isn’t today your birthday?” Ellen asked her, as she reached for April’s wrist to take her pulse. It always told her what was happening with her, which part of her body was being impacted by stress, long hours, or too much work.

“Yes,” April acknowledged with a rueful grin, “it is. I thought about it this morning and started getting really depressed, and then I figured what the hell. I’m lucky I have the restaurant, I can’t worry about what I don’t have.” Ellen was frowning as she
took April’s pulse and didn’t comment. “Okay. What’s wrong? My liver, my lungs, or my heart? I had a cold last weekend, but I got over it in two days,” she said proudly, and Ellen smiled.

“Nah, just the usual stuff.” Ellen smiled at her friend. “Some of your defenses are down, but that’s normal for this time of year. We’ll do some moxa.” April loved the warm pungent smell of the moxa that Ellen lit on her belly and deftly removed before it burned her skin. It was both warming and healing and the part April loved best, but she didn’t mind the needles either. Ellen was so good at what she did that she never hurt her, and April always felt relaxed when she left. She’d been doing acupuncture since she got back from Europe, and swore by it, and Ellen was very good. “Any new men in your life?” she asked with interest, and April laughed.

“Four of them, in fact. Three new weekend waiters, and a sommelier I stole from Daniel Boulud.” She chuckled and Ellen shook her head.

“I meant real ones. There’s more to life than just cooking.”

“So they tell me,” April said, and closed her eyes, as Ellen continued to heat the moxa on April’s belly. It felt great. “I was thinking about that this morning. I used to think I’d be married and have kids by the time I was thirty. Now I can’t even imagine it for the next several years. Maybe when I’m thirty-five. I used to think thirty was so old. I still feel like a kid.” She looked like one as well. Like her mother, April didn’t look her age, and she had her mother’s looks, except for the dark hair. They had the same hazel eyes and perfect unlined skin. They were lucky. And April
never wore makeup, she couldn’t see the point. It just melted on her face in the heat of the kitchen. She only wore it when she got dressed up and went out to a dinner party or on a date, which hadn’t happened for several years.

“You’ve got a lot to feel good about,” Ellen reminded her. “Most people don’t have successful restaurants at thirty. I’d say you’ve done pretty well.”

“Thank you,” April said quietly, as Ellen removed the moxa and started with the needles. She stopped after a minute and took April’s pulse again. She had an uncanny knack for sensing anything that was off balance, and she was rarely wrong.

“Are your periods screwed up again?” she asked after doing two more needles, and April smiled. Hers had been irregular for years. It was one of the ways the stress of her work manifested itself. Sometimes she didn’t have a period for several months. She was on the Pill, to try and stay regular, and to cover the occasional “slip,” although she didn’t have many. But she didn’t want to take the risk. And she hadn’t had a sexual “slip” in quite a while.

“I haven’t had a period in two months,” April said without concern. “Whenever I work a lot, I don’t get one for months. I’ve been pushing pretty hard. We added some new things to the menu last month.”

“Maybe you should check it out,” Ellen said casually as she did needles on April’s upper arms.

“You think something’s wrong?” April looked surprised.

“No, I don’t,” she reassured her, “but your pulse is funny. I keep picking something up.”

“Like what?”

“When was the last time you had sex?”

“I can’t remember. Why?”

“I’m probably crazy. And I know you’re on the Pill. But maybe you should take a pregnancy test. Did you miss a Pill or two the last time you had sex?”

“You think I’m pregnant?” April sat up, looking shocked. “That’s ridiculous. I slept with a guy I don’t even like. A food critic. He was cute and smart. I plied him with our best wines to impress him, and had too much to drink myself, trying to be friendly. The next thing I knew, I woke up with him in my bed in the morning. I haven’t done anything like that in years. And the bastard even gave us a bad review. He said the menu was childish and overly simplistic, and I’m not using my training or my skills. He was a real jerk.”

“I don’t think not liking a guy is considered birth control,” Ellen said calmly, as April lay down again, looking disturbed.

“Now that I think of it, I only missed one Pill. I was so hung over the next day, I forgot, and I had a sore throat. I hope he got it. I had strep.” She remembered it now, although she had given herself a pass for the indiscretion and had done her best to forget. She almost had, but it came back to her now, with Ellen’s questions.

“Were you on antibiotics?”

“Yeah. Penicillin.”

“That can knock the Pill out of commission. I think you should check it out.”

“I’m not pregnant,” April said firmly.

“I’m sure you’re not. But it never hurts to check.”

“Don’t freak me out. Today is my birthday,” April reminded her, and they both laughed.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Ellen reassured her, but it was too late for that. April was already stressed about it.

“So am I,” April said firmly, trying to convince them both.

They talked about other things then, but Ellen reminded her of it again when she left. April didn’t want to think about it, and she was sure she wasn’t pregnant. She had no symptoms, other than the period she often missed anyway. She was still annoyed at herself for sleeping with him. Mike Steinman. It had been a stupid thing to do. She was old enough to know better, but he had been good-looking and intelligent. It had happened over Labor Day weekend, at the beginning of September, two months before. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of him since.

She walked past a drugstore on the way back to work, and she felt stupid for doing it, but she walked in and bought a pregnancy kit. She hadn’t worried about something like that in years. She had had a scare once in Paris, but fortunately she hadn’t been pregnant. She was sure she wasn’t this time either, but she bought the kit anyway, just so she could tell Ellen that she had made a mistake and to reassure herself. That was a headache she didn’t need.

April stopped in the kitchen on her way in. Everything was in order, and the prep was well under way for lunch. They weren’t opening for another two hours, and she had to go upstairs to dress for lunch with her mother. The rooms above the restaurant that were her apartment were almost entirely unfurnished. There were wooden crates and cardboard boxes, and several ugly lamps. And what furniture she did have—a desk, couch, dresser, and double bed—she had bought at Goodwill. She refused to spend her money on decor. She had spent it on the best possible secondhand equipment she could buy for the kitchen. Her mother had offered to furnish the apartment for her, and she had refused. All she ever did upstairs was work at her desk or sleep; she never entertained. In that respect, she was not her mother’s daughter. She looked like she was camping out.

She checked on the invoices of the orders that had come in, and then went to take a shower. She forgot all about the pregnancy test she had bought until she was halfway dressed. She almost decided not to do it, and then decided what the hell. Now that Ellen had raised the question, it was better to have confirmation that she wasn’t pregnant than to let it gnaw at her without knowing for sure. She followed the directions, set the test down on the counter after she used it, and finished getting dressed. She was wearing black slacks and a black sweater, with flat shoes and her hair in a braid. Her long dark hair was smooth and sleek, and she put on lipstick, looking in the mirror. And then she glanced down at the test. She picked it up then, and stared at it, and put it down again. She walked out of the room
and came back and stared at it again. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t happen. She was on the Pill. She had only missed one, for chrissake … or was it two? She had been so damn drunk that night she couldn’t remember. This couldn’t be happening to her. It just couldn’t. Not with a man she scarcely knew, and hated, who didn’t even like her restaurant or understand what she was doing. It was her birthday today, for God’s sake. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen. But sometimes they did. She was pregnant, by a total stranger. Now what the hell was she going to do? There was no room in her life for this. How could she make such a terrible mistake? And how could life be so cruel?

She sat down on her bed in the empty room with tears running down her cheeks. This was the bed where she had slept with him. She bitterly regretted it now. This was a hell of a price to pay for one incredibly stupid mistake.

She looked panicked when she put on a black coat her mother had given her, then tied the belt tightly around her waist as though to prove that she still could. She picked up her bag and hurried down the stairs.

She didn’t stop in the kitchen, which was unusual for her. She walked right into the street and hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of La Grenouille. The last thing she wanted to do now was have lunch with anyone, or celebrate with her mother. She wasn’t going to say anything to her, but as they drove uptown, all April could think was that this was the worst birthday of her life.

Chapter 3

A
pril arrived at the restaurant two minutes before her mother and was led to the table Valerie had reserved for them. Her mother went there often with friends—it was her favorite place to dine, other than April’s restaurant, which she loved too. But La Grenouille was more her style. It was elegant and chic and had been fashionable for years. The flower arrangements were fabulous, the service impeccable, and April and Valerie both agreed that the food was superb, the best in the city.

April was sitting at the table lost in thought, in a state of shock, when her mother arrived. Valerie looked beautiful, and she kissed April on the cheek with a broad smile and then sat down.

“Sorry I’m late. I had a busy morning. I’m trying to lock down our Christmas show. Happy birthday! I hope it’s been a good one so far.”

There was no way April was going to tell her mother the truth. Maybe eventually, but certainly not now. She had to digest it first herself, and figure out what to do. Maybe she’d never tell her at all.

“It’s been okay. I was at the fish market and the produce market at the crack of dawn. We’re starting white truffle season tonight. They came in two days ago. You should come for dinner this weekend.” She smiled at her mother. They had a good relationship, and always had, and they liked each other even better now as adults. And April would always be grateful to her for making her dream come true and lending her the money for the restaurant. It had been an enormous gift to her. “Happy birthday to you too,” she added.

Valerie ordered champagne for both of them and lowered her voice as she looked at her daughter across the table. “They announced my age on the radio today,” she said, looking as unhappy about it as she had been all morning, since she heard it.

“I know. I figured you’d be upset. I’m sorry, Mom. It doesn’t matter. No one would believe it. You hardly look older than I do.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Valerie said ruefully, “but now everyone knows the truth.”

“You can say they made a mistake.” April tried to console her, but she was too shaken up herself to be very reassuring.

“I can’t believe I’m sixty,” Valerie said, as April smiled at her.

“I can’t believe I’m thirty,” and pregnant, she silently added. Thirty wasn’t the end of the world, but getting pregnant by a man she didn’t know or love was about as bad as it could get.

“You don’t look it either,” Valerie said, smiling at her, “especially
with your hair in a braid and no makeup.” She had long since given up trying to get her to wear any. April said it made no sense with her job and lifestyle. Although their features and their figures were strikingly similar, the two women couldn’t have been more different. One looked as though she had stepped off the pages of
Vogue
, and the other was a totally natural beauty. With Valerie’s careful attention to her appearance, they could almost have been sisters.