Forks, Knives, and Spoons

by Leah DeCesare

  Her stomach clenched from the memories of that bathroom. She grasped the huge finial on the railing beside her. She felt an overpowering bond to Andrew beyond loving him; he had saved her when she needed saving, had rescued her when she was vulnerable.

  “Please, Aim. Please.”

  She returned her eyes to him. He looked sincere in his sorrow, in his remorse. He was more emotional than she had ever seen him and she was drawn like a yo-yo back to his palm. Everyone was watching; she felt like she had to save him from this shame. Slowly, she climbed back to Andrew, resolving to forgive him with each step.

  AMY DRAGGED OUT PACKING the last of her things, slowly putting them into the same plastic crates she’d brought in 1988. She sat on the floor and opened her childhood Treasure Box. She pored over the party pictures from four years of formals and pledge days, neat scraps of wrapping paper from special gifts, the pressed rose petals and secret admirer notes from four Valentine’s Days, all with her initials. She fingered the bundles of letters and cards tied together with lengths of grosgrain ribbon, the letters from Zach Bennett after freshman year’s spring break bound together in their own pile. It surprised her that she still fluttered at the thought of him, and she wondered if they’d see each other in New York City. Though Doug and Veronica had decided not to pursue long-distance love after their summer together, they stayed in touch and got together in Newport. Veronica had not so discreetly shared details on Zach and let Amy know that he was working in Manhattan.

  How strange to be untethering herself from the home she had known for what felt like more than four years. How monumental it seemed to be stepping out, a woman with a real job, into real life, her college days through. Four years ago, at that first floor-meeting on Brewster 8, she had looked around the circle of faces, strangers from all over thrown together by a computer to live side by side for a year. Her floor mates were united by their nervous anticipation, each unknown to the others. They were suddenly living all the typical graduation card expressions: “reaching for dreams,” “another chapter,” “a fresh start,” “a new beginning.” Perhaps even, for some, a blank slate. They could feel the reality of it all vibrating around them, universally wondering where 1988 and their college days would take them. Amy thought of the parallels in life as she was again about to receive graduation cards with the same wishes for a bright future. She was, one more time, on the cusp of something wonderfully brand new.

  A postcard slipped from a stack of papers. Amy grinned, holding up the Footloose picture of Ren McCormack. She hadn’t thought of this trinket, which had been important enough to bring to school, in years. She ran her fingers over the image. Before the Kappa fire alarm, she thought she had found her Ren in Andrew, but now she wavered. Her father’s thinly concealed urgency for her to find someone flickered to her mind. He worried about her, concerned in his old-fashioned way that she find a man to care for her as he aged. It had always been the two of them and it had always been easy to make him happy, to make him proud. She wondered now if she was holding on so tightly to Andrew for her sake or for her father’s.

  Maybe this was just a bump with Andrew, just a small slipup, she thought. Everything had been great between them after she confessed to kissing Zach; they could get through this indiscretion, too, she told herself. She set the postcard aside with her uncertainty then continued through the keepsakes.

  She scanned through her Panhellenic rush schedules, the freshman-year fire-alarm tally sheet (eighty-three in all), her Kappa bid letter, the ransom note for her toothbrush missing a few of the pasted letters, and a picture she didn’t remember having. It was of her and Matt, faces smooshed together, smiling out at her older self. Her hairstyle marked it as their sophomore year. It was like seeing the two of them with outside eyes. They looked happy and comfortable, like they were sharing a private knowledge. The boy she had stumbled upon in the computer lab had been a constant in her time at school. They’d been friends as long as she and Andrew had been a couple.

  Gazing at the picture, she recalled slivers of phrases and snippets of times when her dad or Veronica had shared tactful concerns about Andrew and offered thinly disguised suggestions of how Matt liked her as more than a friend. How often she’d dismissed them, Amy realized. As a faint scent of Old Spice wafted up from the box, she considered the words she’d ignored. Thinking of Matt, Amy felt a surge of compassion and belonging. She felt safe with him, her favorite spoon; he was a friend who understood and accepted her, who was familiar and always present for her. Does he think of me as more than a friend? Amy skeptically puzzled the question her father and friend had posed more than once through the years.

  Dubious, her focus shifted to a snapshot of Andrew. She smiled at his good looks and his success, at his public display of love for her in giving her his pin. She cherished his attention and understood how everyone loved being around him. Amy was comforted by his ease in every situation. I’m only questioning Andrew now because of what happened with Dawn. It’s normal to feel nervous at a time of big changes in life, she justified, concluding that Matt was just a friend. He had never once indicated he was interested in her in any way other than friends. Andrew was her steak knife. And because of that label, Amy tucked her doubts with the pictures into her Treasure Box.

  “IS THIS REALLY THE CHECKOUT LINE?” Amy asked the girl standing beside the Syracuse poster display. The girl nodded and rolled her eyes. “All the way back here? Wow! Well, this line always goes fast, I bet it won’t be too bad,” Amy said.

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it? I think we all waited until the end of the year to pick out our Syracuse memorabilia,” the girl commented. She was shorter than Amy and just a little “fluffy,” as her friend Pam liked to describe the size between skinny and chubby. Her pale eyes smiled even when her rosy, cherubic mouth didn’t.

  “I know, I bought tons of SU stuff freshman year then not too much after that. Now I feel like I need to stock up before leaving.” Amy hugged the orange-and-blue apparel to her chest and dangled mugs from her fingers.

  “I did the same thing. Everyone in my family got Syracuse sweatshirts, T-shirts, and car stickers for Hanukkah and birthdays my freshman year.”

  “Yup, and Syracuse baseball hats and umbrellas and magnets . . .” Amy laughed as they took one step closer to the registers they still couldn’t see.

  “Amy! I’m so glad I ran into you before we leave!” Amy heard the voice and shifted the clothes lower so she could peer over the pile.

  “Kate, hi!” Looking around, Amy found a clearance display of winter hats and dumped her pile onto them, freeing her arms to hug Kate.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “New York City. I got a job at a small weekly newspaper, the New York Observer. They’re pretty new—they just started publishing five years ago—but they print on pink paper. Isn’t that cool? How about you?”

  “That sounds perfect for you. I’m going back to Ohio. I’ll live at home and start grad school for education in the fall.”

  “A teacher like your parents. That’s great.” Amy realized that the cherub-faced girl was politely turning her body away from their conversation. “Oh, Kate, this is, uh . . .” She smiled at the girl. “Sorry, we never introduced ourselves. I’m Amy, this is Kate.”

  Her sweet mouth grew into a smile. “I’m Laura. But it’s okay, go ahead, catch up. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The line shuffled forward. Amy scooped up her selections and Kate moved alongside with them. Her eyes scanned the line curling through three departments.

  “Before I go to the end of the line,” she said, loud enough for the people giving her watchful looks to hear, “I have something for you.” While shuffling through the basket on her wrist, she explained, “I saw this and had to get it for you. I was going to swing by the Kappa house to drop it off, but it’s perfect that I’m seeing you now.”

  She held her hand behind her back and had that bursting look of someone who can barely contain a surprise. Then she thrust
her hand forward, presenting Amy with a package of Syracuse toothbrushes. Amy’s laugh turned heads from both directions.

  “I love it! Seriously, that is so funny! Thank you, Kate.” Amy side-hugged her freshman friend.

  “Okay, so give them back. I have to pay for them, then I guess I’ll have to drop them off at the house after all.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the atrium. We can grab one final Schine cookie together.” Amy was ready for an afternoon snack and the chocolate chip cookies at the student-center dining hall were her favorite.

  Once Kate had followed the queue to find the end, Laura turned to face Amy again.

  “So, what did she get you that was so hilarious?”

  Amy recounted the tale of the Great Toothbrush Kidnapping, then peppered Laura with questions about home, what school she’d studied in, and her postgraduation plans.

  “I was in VPA, a theater major,” Laura began.

  Amy’s mouth popped open, then clamped shut. Her eyes widened just a fraction, but enough for Laura to notice and interrupt herself.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Well, it’s just that, do you know Matt Saxon?”

  “Oh my gosh, yes! How did you make that connection?” Laura asked.

  “You dated him, right?” Amy couldn’t stop herself. Since freshman year, she had wondered about Matt’s secret Laura. Because Matt always tended to brush over the topic of dating, saying little even in response to Amy’s inquiries, she remembered one of the few names he’d ever mentioned.

  “Well, not really. I mean, yes, a couple of times. We went out on Valentine’s Day freshman year. After that, he took me out to dinner and once to the movies. I thought we would go to his spring formal, but he didn’t ask me.”

  Amy felt a blush climb her neck and hoped that her bundle of clothes hid it. She had been Matt’s date to that formal freshman year. Andrew understood that Amy was a stand-in date for Matt; he teased Amy about it but had never protested their friendship. In all their time together, Matt had never come on to Amy, had never even reached to hold her hand except to help her off a bus. Amy heard Laura’s voice continuing as she wondered why Matt had taken her to that fraternity formal if he had another sweet, available date option.

  “Matt is such a great guy,” Laura said with conviction and wistfulness. “He would make the best boyfriend.”

  Amy raised her eyebrow, pondering Laura’s assessment and marveling at how a long line can open up strangers to one another. She glanced at the gift tucked in her pile for Matt, a navy necktie with a pattern of tiny orange S’s for his new job. Giving it a moment’s thought, she supposed Laura was right. She was another person who saw Matt in a way that Amy hadn’t. It was true, she realized. Matt would make someone a great boyfriend.

  VERONICA REACHED OUT AND straightened Amy’s graduation cap.

  “I liked it off to the side—I think it adds a little style,” Amy said, and kicked up her heel, catching a pouf of air under the rented blue gown. She twirled the honors cords around her neck.

  Veronica laughed but left her matching gold cords where they belonged as they headed across campus to the graduation ceremony.

  “We’re grown-ups now,” Veronica said, thinking about her new human resources job at the Saks Fifth Avenue corporate offices. “Full-time jobs in New York City and no more summers off.” Her stomach tumbled at the realization.

  “I’m really glad we’re doing this together.”

  “I feel like I’m different in so many ways from four years ago. For one thing, I came into college hanging on to my high school boyfriend and we didn’t even get through freshman year,” Veronica said without regret.

  “And you’ve had dates with an interesting assortment of silverware since then. Jeremy the silver-plated knife, Sean the ladle—he was such a big, goofy nerd—and remember Jeff? That pompous, gigantic butcher knife.”

  “Oh, brother.” Veronica recalled nights giving Kate and Amy details of the one-time-only dates while the two of them dissected the guys with the UCS. “You and your silverware labels.”

  “Yeah, and I came in without anyone and I’m leaving with a steak knife.”

  Veronica rested her hand on Amy’s back but said nothing. She wasn’t as quick to forgive Andrew as Amy had been. The image of his silhouetted figure leaning in toward Dawn still made her angry and stirred up visions of Eric and Jenny at another fire alarm, snuggled up in her purple blanket. She thought of their psychoanalysis of Andrew through the years and all the confidences Amy had shared along the way. She had listened as her roommate described Andrew’s emotional reaction to her breaking up with him, she had listened to her reasoning and justifying and rationalizing. It wasn’t that Veronica didn’t like Andrew, but she worried that Amy’s romantic comedy standards would leave her heartbroken. She worried that Andrew was too magnetic, too much like a character in Amy’s favorite movies, too appealing to everyone he met.

  “I’m psyched that we’ll still be living together. I can’t imagine not having you for a roommate,” Amy said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Me, too. It’s crazy to think that we’re best friends just because we were randomly matched up freshman year.” Veronica retucked a bobby pin through her red curls and into her cap to secure it. “Come on, we’re over there.”

  Lining up in their designated and rehearsed order, Amy was between Trevor Yoland and Dan Young. Veronica was in the row in front of her only two people down. Over her shoulder, she saw Amy craning and searching. Veronica wondered where her parents were among the blur of colors. The crowd of parents, families, and faculty filled every seat in the vast Carrier Dome, and she took in the moment, scanning the stadium like a slow-moving security camera recording the details. Armfuls of congratulatory bouquets, flashes of cameras, banners, and flags. If she focused, she could see a child on a lap, a grandma’s face, but without sustained concentration, the individuals knitted into a mob of celebration.

  “Amy!” Veronica heard someone call, and she noticed Amy’s row of graduates standing and shifting their legs to the side, allowing Andrew to pass. He made his way through and clutched Amy in his arms, swathed in blue polyester. Veronica faced forward again, but her peripheral vision caught the couple, and their words were almost directly behind her.

  “You look hot in a dress,” Amy teased.

  “I needed to see you one last time as a college student.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was looking for you, too. Here.” She dug into the small bag by her seat for a package wrapped in thick navy paper. “Happy graduation, I couldn’t wait to give this to you.”

  The lightness left his face and his jaw fell slack. “Uh, thanks, I didn’t know we were getting gifts for each other.”

  Veronica could tell that Amy forced a nonchalance into her voice. “It’s okay. Open it.” Amy had used the last bit of her summer waitressing money to purchase the watch; she had returned to the jewelers every day for a week, dragging Veronica along, trying to decide on the best one for Andrew. She finally selected one with a brown leather strap and a rectangular face and paid extra for the engraving on the back, For All Time. She’d bought it before the kiss, before the almost-breakup. Veronica was deliberately trying not to turn, but knowing how much this meant to her friend, her head drifted to the side, keeping Amy’s face in view. She was watching Andrew put it on his wrist.

  “I love it! You’re so good to me, Aim. Thanks.”

  “There’s an inscription,” she said, but her words were swallowed in the drone of the dome.

  Andrew nudged Veronica’s shoulder and handed her a disposable camera. “Hey, Veronica, can you take a picture of us?”

  He pulled Amy close and they posed, marking the moment.

  “Thanks! Congratulations, Veronica!” Turning back to Amy, he said, “Here’s one for you.” He gave her a second cardboard camera and a kiss, then excused his way back out to the main aisle just as the band started playing to corral the crowd’s attention. Veronica
reached her hand back, hovering across Dan Young, and squeezed Amy’s outstretched hand.

  Amy leaned toward her. “I expected to feel happier when I gave that to him.”

  AS NAMES WERE CALLED, echoing rhythmically around her, they nudged at Veronica’s memory: a familiar name from a group project, someone a friend had dated, one of her sorority sisters, an old Brewster floor-mate. Acquaintances, classmates, true friends, and strangers marched across the stage to accept their diplomas. A history of names stirred emotions all the way through the alphabet.

  Veronica was fixing the strap of her sandal when the voice reverberated through the microphone: “Isadora Jennifer Callista.”

  She bolted upright and hit her head on the seat in front of her, connecting the name spoken with Jenny. Isadora? She turned to see Amy’s questioning expression that matched her own. Jenny pranced toward the congratulatory receiving line, her blond hair swept behind her shoulders. Even from row Ty–Xh, Veronica could see that Jenny’s robe wasn’t zipped up all the way. Instead of fastening at her collarbone, it dipped, exposing cleavage. She stepped toward the dean, and his chin seemed to rise, as if working to keep his eyes on her face. Jenny reached out to shake his hand and retrieve her certificate but stumbled. Her high heel appeared to get stuck behind her and she fell toward the dean. Like one would to catch a tottering child, he put his hands out to steady her, but instead of grasping her armpits, he caught her squarely by the breasts. His action kept Jenny upright, but instantly, the dean pulled back, as if he had touched flame, and then he held his hands up in a show of innocence as Jenny’s bare foot hit the stage, balancing herself inches from him.