Danielle Steel - Happy Birthday - A Novel

“Okay, I’ll come back for pancakes the next time I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

“You’re welcome anytime. The pancakes are on me.”

“It was nice of you to invite me here tonight. I figured you hated me after what I wrote about the restaurant.”

“I did for a while,” she said honestly, “but I got over it.”

“I’m glad you did. The meal was fantastic tonight.” He was beginning to understand that she was trying to do something for everyone, the more refined palate as well as the simpler one, and even food that children loved. There was a certain merit to her theory, although it had escaped him before. “So why did you ask me here, since I can’t write a review this soon, and you said it wasn’t a date? Burying the hatchet in lobster and white truffle pasta?” he asked with an amused look, and she smiled at him, wondering if their child would look like him, or her, or a combination of both. It was strange to think about that.

“I have something to tell you that I just figure you should know. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need anything. But I figure you have a right to the information too.” She didn’t beat around the bush. She wanted to let him know. That was all. She was having his baby and he had a right to decide how and if he wanted to deal with it, or not at all, which was fine with her too. She had no expectations of him. “I was on an antibiotic for strep throat when we saw each other in September. I didn’t realize it could do that, but it screwed up the Pill I was on, and to be honest, I got so drunk that night that I forgot to take the Pill. I’m three months pregnant. I’m having a baby in June. I found out four weeks ago, and I decided to keep it. I’m thirty years old, and I don’t want to have an abortion. You don’t have to have anything to do with me or it, if you don’t want to. But I thought you ought to know, and at least give you the choice.” It was as direct and honest as she could be with him, and he looked across the table at her as though he was going into shock. He looked pale. His hair was as dark as hers, he had dark brown eyes, and his face was as white as the tablecloth when he spoke.

“Are you serious? You’re telling me that now? You invited me here to dinner to tell me that ? Are you crazy? You’re having it? You don’t even know me. You don’t know if I’m an ax murderer or a lunatic or a child molester, and you’re having a baby by a guy you slept with once? Why aren’t you having an abortion? Why didn’t you ask me how I felt about that before it was too late to do anything about it?” He looked furious as his eyes blazed at her across the table. For a moment, she was sorry she had told him at all.

“Because my decision to keep it is none of your business,” she said just as harshly. “It’s my body and my baby, and I’m not asking you for a goddamn thing. You don’t ever have to see me again, if you don’t want to. And frankly, I don’t care either way. You don’t ever have to see the kid. That’s up to you. But if there were a child wandering around who was mine, I’d want to know about it, so I could decide if I wanted to be part of its life or not. That’s the opportunity I’m giving you, no strings attached. You don’t have to support me or the baby, or contribute anything. I can manage by myself, and if not, my parents are willing to help me, which is nice of them. But they thought, and I agree, that I owe you at least the information that you’re having a baby in June. That’s all. The rest is up to you.”

She glared back at him then, and he fumed silently at her for a minute. He had to admit, she was being decent about it, but he did not want a baby, with her or anyone else. He had been clear about that all his life. And she was screwing up everything for him. Now he had to decide if he wanted to be a father or not. Because like it or not, and without even consulting him about it, she was having his baby, because they had both been stupid enough to get drunk and sleep with each other and her birth control had malfunctioned. How romantic was that? But she didn’t look sentimental about it either. Just honest and practical, and she was trying to be fair to him. But he didn’t like it anyway. He was sorry he had come to dinner and found out about it, and even sorrier that three months before he had slept with her.

“And who are your parents, that they’re being so noble about this?” She looked startled by the question. It was hard for him to imagine parents of a thirty-year-old woman who were willing to be so supportive of her. He didn’t even know parents like that, and surely not his own, whom he hadn’t seen in ten years and didn’t want to see again.

“My parents are perfectly nice, normal people,” she answered him directly. “My father is a medieval art professor at Columbia, my stepmother is a speech therapist and a wonderful woman, and my mother is Valerie Wyatt, she talks about home decorating and weddings on TV.” She said it as though she had a job like everyone else as he stared at her.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “That’s who your mother is? Of course … Wyatt … why didn’t I think of that? For chrissake, your mother is the arbiter of everything that happens in the home, or at a wedding. What do they think of this? Don’t they think you’re crazy to have this baby too? How are you going to manage a restaurant and a kid all on your own?”

“That’s my problem, not yours. I’m not asking you to show up and change diapers. You can visit it if you want to, but if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

“What if I want more than that?” he said angrily. He was furious at her now, for what she and fate had done to him. He realized it had happened to her too, but she had decided to keep it. He never would have. And her plan to have it sounded utterly stupid and wrong to him. It wasn’t fair, in his opinion, to bring a child into the world with parents who didn’t know or love each other. But it seemed even worse to her to get rid of it, so she was having it, whether he liked it or wanted to participate, or not. “What if I want to be a father and want joint custody, for instance? I’m not saying I do, and I don’t. But what if I did? Then what would you do, since you’re so independent about it? Would you share the child with me?” She looked stunned by the idea. She hadn’t thought of that possibility at all.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I guess we’d have to talk about it, and come to some agreement.” She didn’t like the sound of it. She didn’t know him well enough to know if she’d trust a child with him, or a baby, but he had a point. He was one of the baby’s parents too.

“Well, you’re off the hook on that one. I don’t want children. I never did. My childhood was a nightmare, with alcoholic, abusive parents. My parents hated each other, and me. My brother committed suicide when he was fifteen. And the last thing I want in this world is a wife and children. My own childhood was screwed up enough, I don’t want to fuck up someone else’s. A month before I met you, I broke up with a woman I was in love with. We were together for five years, and she finally put it to me. She wanted to get married and have babies, or find someone else who would. I gave her my blessing, kissed her goodbye, and left her. I don’t want a baby, April, yours or anyone else’s. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else hurting the way I did as a kid. I don’t feel suited to be a parent, but I don’t want to abandon someone either. If I don’t see this child, or involve myself in its life in some way, it will always feel that I rejected it. It’s not right that you’re doing this to me, or the kid. It’s fine for you to say you’ll manage on your own and your parents will help you. But how are you going to explain the father that walked out on you and him or her? What’s that going to do to a child? Did you ever think of that when you decided to keep it? It may sound cruel to you to have an abortion, but there’s nothing between us, and there never will be. It’s not fair to bring a child into this world with only one parent who wants it, and another one who never did.”