Happy Birthday: A Novel

“Happy birthday, Mom,” April said sadly, as they hugged outside La Grenouille. “Thanks for being so good to me. And believe me, no one would ever believe you’re sixty.”

“Just don’t make me a grandmother yet,” Valerie said ruefully. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Neither am I,” April said honestly. “I never expected to be dealing with something like this.”

“Well, happy birthday anyway, sweetheart.” Valerie blew her a kiss, they got into separate cabs, and both of them went back to work.

When April got to the restaurant, she went upstairs to change her clothes, and was in the kitchen five minutes later, grateful for the distraction. She worked straight through the afternoon, doing the prep work herself for dinner, and it was midnight before she finally stopped and sat down. It had been the best way to spend her birthday, too busy and too tired to think.

They had sold seven truffle pasta dinners, despite the price. And the Grand Marnier soufflés had been delicious. Her staff had presented her with a birthday cake and the entire restaurant had sung “Happy Birthday.” If it hadn’t been for the positive pregnancy test, it would have been a nice evening. But it was impossible not to think of that. It changed everything, and April felt as though she had a thousand-pound weight on her shoulders. She felt as though she had aged ten years in a single day, facing this awful decision. She blew out the candles on her cake, praying that everything would turn out right.

In her bed that night, Valerie wished the same for her. Suddenly turning sixty didn’t seem so devastating. She was worried about her daughter. And as she turned out the light, she suddenly remembered Alan’s prediction about April, that she was going to have a baby. A shiver ran down Valerie’s spine as she thought of it. He had been right, about the pregnancy anyway. It remained to be seen if there would be a baby. It made her think too of the new man he had predicted for her. If he’d been accurate about April, maybe he would be about that too. That would be nice for a change. But for now all she could think about was April.

Jack Adams lay in his bed, blasted on painkillers that night. He never made it to Cipriani. He had crawled home from the office and gone to bed. There was no acrobatic sex for him, and no twenty-two-year-old models to help him celebrate his fiftieth birthday. He was in bed, in agony, watching TV, thinking back on all the fun he had had for so many years, and convinced now that life as he had known it was over forever. It had been one hell of a birthday. He felt as though he was in mourning for his youth, which had ended in the arms of Catwoman the night before. He was convinced she had killed Superman for good. Fifty had turned out to be just as bad as he had feared it would be, and worse.

Chapter 4

April went back to see Ellen the same day she had an appointment with her doctor. As soon as she walked in, she told Ellen she had been right, she was pregnant.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said sympathetically. “I was hoping I was wrong. Your pulses just felt like you might be.”

“You’re better than you think.” April smiled at her ruefully, and lay down on the table. “I was hoping you were wrong too.”

“What are you going to do?” Ellen was worried about her friend.

“I don’t think I have much choice,” April said sadly. She had been wrestling with it all week and didn’t like any conclusion she came to. It was the hardest decision of her life. “I can’t manage the restaurant and a kid. I have to have an abortion. I’m seeing my doctor this afternoon.”

“It’s not as hard as you think, managing one kid, if you decide to have it.”

“You have a husband to help you,” April reminded her. “I don’t. I don’t even know this guy, and I probably wouldn’t tell him.”

“Larry’s not much help with the kids. Most of the time, I pretty much take care of them on my own, and I have three. I have other friends who’ve done it alone. Some of them have gone to sperm banks because they wanted kids, even without a husband. The beginning is a little dicey, but after that, it settles down.”

“I work twenty hours a day, most of the time, seven days a week. When am I going to find time for a baby, or a two-year-old? I don’t think I could do it. Maybe I never will. The restaurant is my baby.” April knew what she had to do or should. She just didn’t like it.

“You’ll figure it out,” Ellen said quietly. “Just do whatever is right for you.”