Happy Birthday: A Novel

“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.