The Birthday Singer

I made a goal to write one piece of fiction every month, just for fun and to keep my mind in a creative mode. I have a bunch of ideas in mind, but this one was inspired last night, when I was out with my family at a restaurant. There was a guy who had a really deep singing voice and it seemed like everyone had birthdays all of a sudden, just to get him to sing more. This story isn't about him, but while he was singing, I got to wondering what it's like for people who absolutely do NOT want someone singing to them at a restaurant for their birthday. I'm also reading a book about a woman who has to write about NYC romance in the style of Nora Ephron (and flunks out big time), so that inspired me to try my hand at it. I turned this all into a little chick lit story, and there you have it! 

The Birthday Singer

“Clear your calendar for tonight because I’m taking you out.”

Dave, my boyfriend of two years, always cuts to the chase before I even get a chance to say “hello” whenever I pick up the phone.

“Um, okay… Where are we going?” Please don’t let it be Friday’s, I pray silently to myself. For that matter, don’t let it be Applebee’s or Olive Garden either.

“How does Cleo’s sound?”

“Cleo’s, the Italian place that’s impossible to get into without a reservation?”

“The hostess owes me a favor.”

“Oh, really?!?”

“I helped her refinance her mortgage last week. What were you thinking?”

“Ah ha. Got it. So, what time?”

“I’ll be downstairs at seven. See you then, sweetie.”

“Okay, hon.” I glance at my clock, now showing 6:23. “I better get showered then.”

I had a feeling Dave would take me out for my birthday. I don’t clue people in to it being my birthday and won’t even list it on Facebook. Ever since the Farrell’s incident on my fifth birthday, I’ve had an aversion to birthday singers. I don’t even want to take the chance that we’ll end up at a restaurant where they make a big deal out of everyone’s birthday. I’ll take the free dessert, mind you, but just leave the singing out of it and we’re golden.

To say I was traumatized on my fifth birthday is an understatement. I was almost killed. At least that’s how I see it! They came by with this big drum and there was an ice cream sundae with a sparkler in it. The banging on the drum startled me so much that I knocked the sundae over, but managed to catch the sparkler on my hair, which instantly got singed. So yeah, I don’t like birthday singers. I’m pretty sure that was a condition for going out with Dave in the first place. Last year, we stayed in for my birthday and it was perfect. He even brought me a dozen cupcakes from Magnolia.

As I’m fastening my favorite diamond earrings into place, the buzzer sounds to indicate that Dave is here.

“I hope you’re hungry. Cleo’s has the best Italian food on the Upper West Side.”

“Starved. I was so busy today that I worked through lunch. I think I had a few carrot sticks this afternoon, but I can’t even remember if I actually ate them.”

“Be prepared for a feast then.” Dave opened the cab door and I slid in, the stench of cigarette smoke and body odor wafting around me. I opened the window, even though it was only 20 degrees outside.

Thankfully, it was a short ride to Cleo’s. Lindsay, the hostess, greeted us warmly, air kissing Dave. I tried not to look too jealous. “You must be Summer! So nice to meet you! I was telling my husband how Dave is a genius. He totally got us a good percentage rate on our condo. He’s definitely a keeper.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep him.”

Lindsay laughed nervously. “Follow me right this way. I got you a table in the back, where it’s a little quieter.”

After browsing the menu for a good 10 minutes, I still wasn’t sure what to order. “How about you surprise me, since you seem to know what their best dishes are.”

“Sounds good. In fact, I will go talk to our waiter right now so you’ll be completely surprised by what we’re having.”

“That won’t be necessary. You can just tell him in front of me.”

“Sweetie, if you’re worried about what I think you’re worried about, I promise you they don’t do that here.”

“You’ve never been here before, so how would you know?”

“I asked Lindsay when I made the reservation and she assured me it wouldn’t happen.”

“That’s a relief then.” I jokingly brushed my hand against my forehead to wipe off imaginary sweat. “In that case, I’ll go to the bathroom since I have nothing to worry about while I’m gone,” I say pointedly.

When I return from the bathroom, there’s a basket of warm bread with a plate of olive oil and balsamic vinegar next to it, along with a bottle of my favorite Merlot and two glasses.

“Aww, thanks hon. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s your special day. Besides, I think you need to relax.” Dave pours us each a glass. “To your 28^th birthday. Hope we can celebrate many more together.”

I blush as I take my first sip. Dave is as perfect as they get. I still don’t know what I did to deserve him. I don’t even believe that just being in the right place at the right time was all it took. There was just that instant chemistry the first time we met, when our orders got mixed up at Wu’s and we had to bring them in to exchange them in person. Somehow the timing was just right. I still think Mr. Wu did it on purpose in an attempt to play matchmaker. Dave thinks it was just a random coincidence.

Our food arrives and we dig in. The truffle lasagna and chicken Picatta practically melt in my mouth. I haven’t had Italian food this good since…well, never!

“Have you thought about dessert yet?” The waiter interrupts our conversation about last night’s episode of The Big Bang Theory. “Oh, that Sheldon, he cracks me up!”

“Yeah. He’s great. Anyway, I think we’ll split the tiramisu. I’m full but I was told we just had to try it. Lindsay is a good salesperson. I hope you’re giving her commission on this meal.” Dave grins and winks at the waiter.

“One tiramisu, two forks, coming right up.”

I reach across the table to hold Dave’s hand. “This has to be the best meal I’ve ever had. Thanks so much!”

“The best is yet to come, sweetie.”

“Well, you know I can never resist good tiramisu!”

Suddenly, the room seems like it went silent as a few waiters, along with Lindsay, stand over our table. There’s a candle in the tiramisu and I hear the strains of a violin about to be played.

“I heard it’s someone’s special day and everyone at Cleo’s wants to help you celebrate. One, two, one, two, three…Happy Birth--”

I spring up from the table, knocking over the bottle of Merlot and spilling the rest of the contents. I don’t care, as I can barely see from the tears clouding my eyes and my heart is racing at full speed.

I grab my coat as I hear someone yell “Wait!” but don’t bother to look back.

“Eighty-sixth and Amsterdam” I say, as I slam the cab door and slide in. This cab doesn’t reek like the last one did, but I roll down the window anyway to get some fresh air anyway. In a matter of minutes, I’m back at the door of my building and I race upstairs and lock the door behind me, still shaking from embarrassment and anger.

I turn on my iPhone and open my Twitter account. It’s taking forever to load up and when I’m finally able to tweet “Worst birthday EVER!,” I’m interrupted by the buzzer.

“Go home, Dave! You lied to me!”

“Please let me in. I want to explain.”

“You lied! I feel like such an idiot!”

“Sweetie. Why would I want to throw away two years? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“I don’t have an answer for you. But you have one minute to explain yourself.”

“Can you let me in? It’s freezing.”

“One minute. If I don’t like what I hear, you might as well get another cab home.”

“I warned Lindsay that you don’t like birthday singers and she assured me that they never do that at Cleo’s. Maybe she lied? I don’t know. All I know is that I love you and if I had any idea they would embarrass you like that, I would have just taken you to McDonald’s for dinner.”

I start laughing a little. “McDonald’s? Really?!? You expect me to think that you could substitute the best Italian food in New York City with McDonalds?” I hit the buzzer to let him in.

He’s at my door practically five seconds later with a box from Cleo’s. “I thought we could still have the tiramisu. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind.”

“Well, you know me and my level of resistance to tiramisu.”

“You can have the first bite. It’s your birthday, after all.”

I take a bit off the top. As soon as I put the fork to my lips, I’m transported to another dimension of food heaven. Dave and I take turns eating it, as well as feeding each other bites from time to time. Suddenly, my fork hits something hard. “Great. There’s something wrong with it. You’re going to have to bring this last part back.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Dave grabs the plate and suddenly gets down on one knee. “Summer, we’ve been together for two years and I know you’re my one true love. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Dave wipes off the tiramisu from the hard item, revealing a gorgeous diamond ring that goes perfectly with the earrings he got me for our first dating anniversary.

“I’ll have to think about it. I mean, you did break my first condition of dating.” Dave looked shocked and almost crestfallen. “Just kidding! Of course I will!” I kneel down to him and kiss him on his tiramisu flavored lips.

“Would you mind just giving me a moment?” I grab my iPhone and see the tweet I never sent, given that I was so pleasantly interrupted. I change the tweet to “BEST birthday ever!” Then I resume kissing Dave, letting the taste of tiramisu linger, along with the feeling of this amazing moment.