Forks, Knives, and Spoons

by Leah DeCesare

  “No, we can’t. You have a girlfriend and I have a boyfriend . . .” she began.

  “A girlfriend? Wait, you have a boyfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend. Why did you think that? We broke up months ago.”

  Amy felt her perceptions of the evening shift, their interactions colored by this news.

  “But Mrs. Warren said—”

  “Well, the moms don’t always have the latest updates.” He smiled and rolled on his back. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. I’m sorry.”

  Wow, this guy is incredible and so respectful, Amy thought, and she liked him even more, but Andrew had rescued her and she couldn’t be unfaithful. Realizing she already had been, guilt coursed through her heart beside the beat of desire.

  THE GIRLS LEFT NEWPORT later than planned so that Doug and Veronica could delay good-byes. The four had spent Saturday morning together with breakfast at the Hotel Viking. To give his brother time alone, Zach took Amy to the Cliff Walk and they meandered along the Newport streets, talking like old friends. Both of them consciously tried to ignore the attraction between them, but as Amy pulled her jacket tighter around her, Zach looped his arm around her and she leaned into him. He slowed and looked into her face, an invitation. Remorse tugged against want as she allowed herself to be swept into another sweet kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” Amy said aloud to Zach and silently to Andrew.

  Zach nodded and added space between them.

  THE WHOLE WAY FROM Rhode Island to Syracuse, Veronica talked nonstop about Doug while Amy suppressed her parallel emotions for his brother. Of course, the previous night, Amy had told her best friend about the kiss. They had interpreted its meaning in the context of Andrew for hours, but as they traveled back to school, Amy was relieved to downplay Zach and focus on Veronica’s connection with Doug. Still, thoughts of Zach intermingled with the anticipation of seeing Andrew, but she wouldn’t let herself verbalize any more about him. She guarded against elevating the ethereal night to something more important than she could allow it to be. She protected that glimmer of enchantment and kept it only for herself.

  AMY AND VERONICA ARRIVED back on campus late Saturday night, then lost an hour for daylight saving time, as if some April Fool’s Day trick. After sleeping in, Amy spent Sunday in the Brewster 8 lobby waiting for Andrew’s call. Midmorning, Amy jumped up, thrilled by the sound of the ringing, but the message was for Kate and the phone didn’t ring again for hours. She painted her nails, studied for her news-writing exam, munched snacks, and wrote letters.

  Amy’s mind drifted between Andrew and Zach, between the boy she loved and who loved her and the novelty of the guy she’d just met. She blew out a breath filled with wisps of worry and wonder. Fighting to deny her feelings, she kept vigil by the pay phone. While all was quiet, she scooted to the bathroom, moving quickly. As she was washing her hands, she heard the sound she’d been wishing for all day. Two rings, she wiped her hands dry on her jeans; three rings, she flung the door open; four rings, she ran toward the lobby; five rings—Hold on, keep ringing—she raced to pick up the receiver. On the seventh ring, Amy answered breathlessly: “Hello? Hello?”

  “Amy?” Andrew’s voice sounded strange to her, but she exhaled with relief at hearing him. “You got back safely,” he commented.

  “Yes. Wait. Who is this?”

  She heard his laugh and smiled in recognition, sliding onto the stool to catch up with Matt after a week apart. He’d visited his cousin in Washington, D.C., and they swapped tidbits on the monuments and mansions and the things that reminded one of the other.

  “You would’ve liked the band we saw,” Amy told him.

  “I thought of you from the top of the Washington Monument—there was an incredible sunset and I know how you love a good movie-scene sunset. Oh, and we ate nonstop, you would’ve loved all the food,” Matt teased. They shared the stories of their spring breaks and Amy avoided any mention of Zach, though he tiptoed at the edges of every thought.

  Veronica padded down the hall and mouthed to Amy, “Andrew?” Amy gasped. She’d forgotten that she was waiting on his call and had tied up the line for how long? The sun had blinked out from behind the clouds and she’d watched the square of light move along the wall while she talked with Matt.

  Shoot! Now she wouldn’t know if Andrew was returning as expected between six and seven that evening. Amy hurriedly disconnected with Matt, showered, and sprayed on Anaïs Anaïs, Andrew’s favorite. She crossed campus and sat on the front steps of his dorm building a half hour before the anticipated time of his return and waited again. Amy zipped her jacket higher and wished she’d brought something to sit on as the cool cement made her shiver. She forced herself to read one sentence in her textbook before glancing up to check for him. Finally, the Winnebago ambled up the road and a jumble of raucous boys spilled out to stretch. Seeing Amy, Andrew broke away from the pack and lifted her into his arms, squeezing her so tightly that she stopped breathing while he held her.

  “I tried to call you like we’d planned, but I got a busy signal.” He was golden brown and his eyes twinkled like someone who had just made memories. He was relaxed, rested, and he was licking her ear, whispering, “I missed you.”

  In his room, Andrew dumped out his bag beside Amy on his bed and went across the hall to shower while Amy waited some more. A stack of photos beside his dirty laundry fanned out toward her. Amy knew he didn’t own a camera and was surprised that the guys would be organized enough to have already developed their film. Leaving her textbook untouched, she thumbed through the pile mindlessly, scanning through pictures of every combination of the guys. She chuckled to herself upon seeing the familiar faces playing beach volleyball, sitting by a pool, eating hot dogs, riding mopeds, and drinking beer. Every picture was dotted with beer cans or beer bottles or cups of beer. They were all variations on the same picture, but as she went to lay them down, her thumb hit a bikini-clad blonde.

  Amy put the pictures at the beginning of the deck upside down on her lap and slowly flipped through the rest of the pile. Images of spring break that were shown on TV sat in her hands: perky girls with perky boobs between googly-eyed boys. One after the other peered out at her. She was disappointed to see one of Mark Goldberg, who had the sweetest girlfriend, with his tongue in a girl’s mouth and his hands cupping each of her breasts. Another revealed the guys at what had to be a strip club, posing in the darkness in front of busty women in G-strings and flirtatious positions. Amy felt an odd nervousness in her stomach; the whole scene unsettled her. She whisked through the pictures quicker, not wanting to focus on them but propelled by curiosity, and then she saw it.

  It wasn’t in the nightclub or even at a bar. It was a beach shot, palm trees and surf in the background. She would’ve passed it except she saw Andrew in the background of the picture. She noticed those solid arms that she loved to be in, loved to touch. His colorful bathing suit drew her eye and she lifted the photo closer. He was standing with his side to the camera, but it was unmistakable. It was a picture of Andrew holding out the new towel she’d given him to a shiny, wet Bree O’Connell.

  Amy’s eyes burned and her heart felt jittery as if filled with caffeine. She didn’t hear the room door click open over the faint vibration in her ears. She felt sick. She hadn’t been completely faithful; had he? Emotions swam through her, splashing in her heart and out her eyes. Amy was crying and clutching the picture, the stack spilled in her lap.

  “Aim, what’s wrong?”

  In only his towel, Andrew sat beside her and tried to glimpse the picture in her hand.

  “Mark bought a few disposable cameras and we all passed them around during the week,” he started to explain. “You saw them. Some of the guys didn’t want their girlfriends to see, but since there’s nothing of me, they picked me to keep them.”

  Amy thought she could see his mind scanning the images. Was he preparing to defend himself as she was? She couldn’t stop her tears and she couldn’t speak; only a hiccup escaped between
sobs.

  “I know there are strippers in there, but I just went because all the guys wanted to go, it was just for fun, Aim.”

  She sniffled.

  “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” he asked again with a tenderness in his tone that pulled Amy’s eyes to meet his even as her heart ached with guilt.

  “Bree was there?” Her voice was a whisper but the pain seeped through—pain as she wondered about Andrew’s fidelity and pain as she felt her own disloyalty.

  Andrew fell back onto the piles of stuff on his bed. He stroked the wet hair above his forehead. “Bree? You’re upset about Bree?”

  He put his hand on Amy’s back and rubbed her, then sat up again. She’d deliberately worked to keep her doubts and insecurities about Bree to herself, but now everything was bubbling out of her and she couldn’t stop crying.

  “There’s nothing between us. It was high school, it was a long time ago, and it’s completely over. I’ve told you, she’s just a friend. She was in Daytona with some other Tri-Delts and we hung out one day at the beach.” He spoke the words calmly and without defensiveness. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “You didn’t hook up with her?”

  “I told you, you have nothing to worry about, Aim,” he said with finality, then kissed her and turned to get dressed.

  Amy felt the rush of tears and her shoulders shuddered. She had been prepared to be left behind for him to go away with his friends, but with Bree? Had he known she would be there? Within her confusion and hurt, Amy worried. I’m the one who kissed someone else. But did he, too? Why did Andrew’s relationship with Bree keep unsettling her? Before she could decide, she spoke.

  “I kissed someone.”

  Andrew stopped putting on his socks and turned to her with an unbearable slowness.

  “What did you say?”

  Amy bit her lip and she lowered her head, heavy with tears and shame.

  “What did you say, Amy?” Andrew’s voice cut with a tone she had never heard. “You kissed someone? You’re crying because there’s a picture of Bree and you kissed someone?”

  “I’m crying because I kissed someone,” Amy choked out. “I’m sorry, Drew.”

  He marched in a small circle before her, yanking his fingers through his damp hair.

  “I’m sorry. I promise, it was only a kiss.”

  Andrew abruptly turned and grabbed the stack of pictures and threw them at Amy. The images scattered like leaves around her: boobs, beaches, beer, and Bree. She picked at the nail polish she’d painted while waiting for Andrew.

  “Only a kiss? I broke up with Bree because I caught her kissing someone else. That was ‘only a kiss,’ too!”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  He took a deep breath and sat beside her, crushing the glossy pictures beneath him. She looked into his eyes, seeing hurt more than anger. She felt an urgency for Andrew to forgive her but was overcome with dread.

  “Please say you’re not breaking up with me. I always want to be honest with you, and I’m sorry, Drew.”

  “Who knows that you kissed this guy?”

  “Only Veronica.”

  Through puffed cheeks, he exhaled, letting his lips flutter. “I’m not breaking up with you,” he said, seeming to decide in that moment. “I’m glad you told me, but this won’t happen again. No extracurricular kissing.”

  She was grateful that the familiar Andrew was peeking out, grateful that he wasn’t ending it. First he had saved her from Paul, and now he was saving her from herself.

  A FLURRY OF DEADLINES, papers, and exams marked the weeks after spring break. Freshman year was coming to a close. Weather on campus turned mild, and the moment temperatures hit 50 degrees, shorts replaced sweats. Amy invited Veronica to spend a weekend in Newtown, a retreat from school to study before the final crunch.

  “How is it that Jenny has been to the York Manor before your best friend has?” Veronica teased on the trip to Connecticut.

  Entering the white colonial on a hill, Veronica noted how different it was from her Newport friends’ homes. With a stab of regret, she pushed away the ingrained snobbishness that crept into her thoughts. The home was modest but tidy and welcoming.

  Veronica took in the country decor, ginghams and plaids, floral prints and baskets. The smell of a home-cooked meal greeted them, Mr. York’s standard pot roast, and he proudly gave the girls a tour of the seedlings growing in the kitchen window, readying to be planted in his freshly turned vegetable garden.

  Around the dinner table that night, Veronica felt at ease with the Yorks and their comfortable banter. She laughed with Mr. York as she told stories of Amy doing laundry and her kidnapped toothbrush. Within her enjoyment, she felt longing. It was so unlike the Warren family dinners, yet without her brother at home, she was struck by the similarity of being the only child at a family meal and she filled with missing him.

  Over the weekend, between study sessions and cookie breaks, the girls worked on photo albums of freshman year and their spring break. They carefully lifted the clear plastic off the sticky pages, cut construction paper shapes, and lettered titles on colored scraps, laughing at the memories. Carefully snipping around tines and blades, Amy added thick borders of utensils and silhouettes of forks, knifes, and spoons, subtly labeling as she went. Veronica’s book was void of silverware shapes as she lined up the edges of her “Party Pix” and neatly arranged the snapshots. She noticed Amy place the shape of a knife next to the only picture they had of the Bennett brothers.

  Piecing together the images of her first year away from home, Veronica realized she had mapped a series of changes in herself. Glancing between the Yorks’ small, love-filled home and the pages before her, she glimpsed the effects of her upbringing on her impressions. She was awash with gratitude for the perspective and determined to branch away from her parents’ views of the world.

  IN A RUSH OF TIME, freshman year was over. Packing up, Veronica pondered life since arriving on campus in August, the changes as dramatic as a baby’s first years: from an infancy of the unknown, to crawling through changes in awareness and relationships, to toddling surely into new understandings of herself and into deeper friendships. Over the summer, she would miss Amy, her endless snacks and teeth brushing, her optimistic outlook on everything, and their twin-like ease of connecting. The phone bills will be big, she thought, and shrugged, secure in knowing they would live together sophomore year in the coveted and newly remodeled Watson dorm.

  While Amy’s absence would leave a hole, another would be filled. Doug Bennett was also returning to Newport for the summer. The two had not seen each other since spring break, but the older Bennett brother had called regularly to talk with Veronica, who wondered after each call why she hadn’t looked into paying extra to the phone company to get a line in their room. Next year. She was done with shared pay phones and calling cards and pledged to use some of her money from her summer job at the Preservation Society of Newport County to ensure some privacy.

  After spring break, Veronica noticed a nervous twinkle in Amy when they talked about Doug, as if speaking of him were entwined with his brother, as if the mention of Zach’s name exposed something in Amy. Veronica was torn about Amy’s kisses with Zach if only because of their dishonesty to Andrew, but she understood the desire. She was relieved to learn that Amy had told Andrew the truth and was impressed by his loyalty to her.

  Zach had sent Amy a few letters, and Veronica had watched her read them slowly, digesting the meaning behind the words, enjoying his paper flirtations, only to tuck them into her yellow box. Close as they were, Veronica asked about her feelings only once after spring break and accepted Amy’s response. She had said, “I’m not entirely sure how to feel, V, he’s definitely a knife and I’d be interested if I didn’t have Andrew. But I do have Andrew and I’m happy. He’s been there for me and he forgave me, so I can’t think about Zach Bennett.”

  Veronica knew that Andrew loved her best friend and knew that he and A
my were good together. Doug had begun to restore her trust in guys, allowing her to see Andrew without filtering him through an Eric-tainted lens. She had to admit, he was a catch. He was a superstar on campus and loved by anyone who knew him. He had smarts, athleticism, charm, and friendliness. He embraced life and did everything with enthusiasm. He befriended everyone in his path and Veronica realized that he’d won her over, too.

  1992–1993

  Senior Year and Moving On

  “WHERE IS ANDREW TAKING you? You’re so dressed up.” Veronica sat on her bed in the Kappa house, chatting as Amy got ready for her Valentine’s Day dinner.

  “I have no idea, he just told me to wear something nice.”

  “Here, take this.” Veronica hopped up and pulled a cashmere scarf from her closet. “Remember freshman year when he forgot about Valentine’s Day? I couldn’t believe you weren’t more upset.”

  Amy looped the scarf around her neck and shrugged. “Yeah, that stunk, but every Valentine’s Day it’s like he’s still trying to make up for that first year.”

  “Boyfriends are supposed to be on top of that day.” Veronica had guidelines and she was holding Andrew to her standard. “They at least have to remember birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day.”

  The knock on the propped open door set them both to giggling. “Man on three.” Andrew made the required sorority house announcement too late and they wondered if he’d overheard Veronica’s “Rules for Boyfriends” from the hallway.

  At the restaurant, Amy felt proud walking into the fancy dining room with Andrew. He looked gorgeous. His butt fit just right in his khakis and his freshly cut hair made him look older. By his side, as he gave his name to the hostess, she imagined someday being his wife as she had countless times before. Mrs. Andrew Gabel. Andrew and Amy Gabel. She pictured her byline one day in the New York Times, Amy Gabel. Or would she use Amy York Gabel?