“No, I haven’t. He disappeared. I did something stupid, I guess. We had a nice evening over Chinese dinner, and I invited him to the doctor’s visit, to see the baby on a sonogram. And he freaked. He walked out, and texted me after that he just can’t. I guess he had a pretty awful childhood, and doesn’t want to be part of anyone else’s. He broke up with a girlfriend a few months ago, because she wanted to get married and have children. I guess he’s one of those damaged people who is never going to be able to commit to anyone.” She saw that now, and Valerie looked annoyed.
“That’s all very nice to cry about your childhood. But this baby exists now, and so do you. You didn’t ask for it either, and you thought you were being careful. It’s not like you threw caution to the winds. It happened to both of you. He can’t just walk away from it because it makes him uncomfortable. So what? How comfortable are you? Not very, I would guess. You’re running a business and pregnant all alone with a baby you didn’t want. I think he owes you more than just running away and hiding. That’s a little too easy. I thought he was better than that.” She sounded disappointed, and although she didn’t say it, so was April. For a crazy minute, when he had agreed to go to the doctor with her, she had hoped he would get involved. But that was obviously not going to happen. She hadn’t heard a word from him since he walked out of the doctor’s office and sent her the text. And she wasn’t going to call him and try to force the baby or herself on him. She knew that would be a huge mistake. She had to let him go, if that was what he wanted. It was her baby now, not his.
“I decided to have it, Mom. He didn’t. It was my decision. I didn’t consult him about it. I told him. He doesn’t want this child.” April was as firm about it as he was, and realistic. No matter what she felt for him, if he didn’t feel the same things for her, or the baby, she couldn’t beat her head into a brick wall, and she wouldn’t try.
Valerie was still worried about her, when she left her after lunch. April wandered out to the kitchen, looking wistful. She enjoyed seeing her mother, but had been down ever since the last time she’d seen Mike. They’d had such a good time at dinner. It had made her hopeful about a possible relationship between them, which she realized now was impossible. She would always be the woman who had forced him to have a baby he didn’t want, and he would never forgive her for it. Their relationship had been doomed from the beginning.
Jean-Pierre the sommelier was watching her as she helped herself to an orange, and sat down at the counter to look at some bills. There had been some irregularities in their butcher bills recently, and she wanted to stay on top of it and make sure they hadn’t been cheated. She had already spotted a charge for a leg of lamb they’d never gotten, and several pork loins. She didn’t like that at all.
“Can I make you a cup of tea, April?” Jean-Pierre asked her, and she nodded, distracted by the bills she was poring through with infinite precision.
“That would be nice, thank you,” she said, and when he handed the cup to her, she looked up and smiled. It was a cup of the vanilla tea that she ordered from Paris and their customers loved. And it was decaf, which was even better.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. She had told no one about the pregnancy yet. It didn’t show as long as she kept her apron on, although she knew it would any day. And if you looked closely, there was a noticeable bump. Those who had observed it just thought she was gaining weight. Her face was rounder too. But nothing else had changed.
“I’m fine,” she answered the sommelier, and thanked him for the tea. He had added a cookie to it, which she ate.
“You work too hard, April,” he scolded gently.
“We all do,” she said honestly. “That’s what it takes to run a good restaurant. Constant attention to detail and being on deck at all times.” She did both, and she really liked the way he worked with the customers and the suggestions he made. He already had a deep respect for her ability to buy great wines at good prices. He thought she was brilliant at what she did, and he loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, and her theories about it, and passion. He thought she was a remarkable woman. And he hadn’t seen a chef he respected more, since France, and he had worked with some very good ones. He had a strong case of hero worship for her, and they were the same age. He had grown up and trained in Bordeaux, and had been in New York for five years. His English was surprisingly good, and he had married an American and gotten a green card, which was important for April. He and his wife had just gotten divorced. They had a three-year-old little boy. She had left Jean-Pierre for someone else, a waiter in another French restaurant, this one from Lyon.
“I know you’re not telling anyone,” he said softly, as April sipped her tea. “But I’ve noticed the changes lately.”
