Forks, Knives, and Spoons

by Leah DeCesare

  “It’s been a couple years. How are you?” Ian asked, his eyes full of genuine interest and his tone reminding Veronica of his mature nature.

  “Good. I’m good, thanks. I’m in New York City, working in human resources. How about you?”

  He grinned at her, his madras bow tie lifting with the upturn of his mouth. “I’m glad to hear about what you’re doing, but how are you doing? Is that bossy guy who interrupted our dinner still after you? Are you happy in the city?”

  Disarmed, Veronica stepped back and away from his questions. The heel of her sandal sank into the grass and she lifted her other foot for balance, but she toppled with the edge of her dress fluttering in the fall. All at once, her heart skipped, her arms grasped at air, and in a flurry of seconds, she braced herself, praying the satin dress wouldn’t show off more than her shoulders.

  Suddenly, her face was pressed against buttons. She blinked against crisp white linen and breathed in Calvin Klein Eternity. Veronica felt Ian’s hands gently standing her upright, and she tucked a curl behind her ear, blushing.

  “Oops, sorry,” she said, searching the grass with her bare foot for her sandal.

  “Here you go.” Ian bent and held it for her like the prince slipping the glass slipper on Cinderella.

  “Prince Butter Knife,” Veronica thought, shocked that her years-ago label for him was the first thing that came to mind.

  “What?” Ian asked, standing again.

  “What?” Veronica reddened. Crap, did I say that out loud? “Oh, God. Nothing. Thanks for catching me—I mean, for not letting me fall.”

  “Quite a graceful way to avoid answering my questions.” Ian smiled with kindness spilling from his eyes. “Let’s get a drink and you can tell me about your life.”

  They sat on a white-cushioned wicker couch on the low-cut lawn. Vases of late summer black-eyed Susans and white wild-flowers decorated the accent tables. Ian drank his beer from a glass and Veronica sipped a fruity pink cocktail.

  “I’ve forgotten what you asked me,” she said, linking one ankle behind the other and angling herself to face him. “Well, I’ve kind of forgotten.”

  “Is there something you’re trying to forget?”

  “No, that’s not it. Oh, what the hell, we haven’t seen each other in a couple of years—why is that, by the way?”

  “You’re stalling.”

  “Fine. I may as well just lay it out there. I’ve been seeing this guy but I’m not sure how to introduce him to my parents. He’s not exactly the kind of guy they expect me to be with.”

  “What kind of guy is he?” Ian’s long, thin finger traced a drip of condensation on his glass.

  “He’s amazing, he’s so good to me. I feel happy when I’m with him and lost when I’m not.” Veronica’s shoulders relaxed under the silky straps.

  “So your parents wouldn’t expect you to be with someone who makes you happy and who cares for you? You’re losing me.”

  Veronica exhaled, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He’s an electrician.” She looked up, waiting for Ian’s response, but his face remained open and thoughtful. Veronica glanced around the party, taking note of her parents’ positions, then continued. “He runs his own company. He went to college but never finished—he was the first in his family to go, but he’s still in a blue-collar profession. He drives a huge old car, a Cadillac or something with ugly red leather inside.” She remembered when he’d polished the seats to gleaming before taking her out one time. The leather was so slick that at the first right turn, Veronica slid across the seat, the loose seat belt stretched, and she landed almost at Joey’s side before the car straightened and sent her careening back to the passenger door. Their cheeks were streaked with tears from laughter and Joey had to pull the car over to catch his breath.

  “You’re smiling at that ugly car,” Ian pointed out.

  “Yeah. And his family is so different from mine. They’re so much more, I don’t know, down-to-earth. He’s one hundred percent Italian and his parents and most of his aunts and uncles were born in Italy.” The skin around Veronica’s eyes crinkled and the words poured out of her with enthusiasm. “They’re great and so much fun, really loud, but fun. And they welcome me and make me feel comfortable. He’s an incredible cook, too.”

  “Sounds like this guy’s a real problem: company owner, responsible, good cook, friendly with a fun family, and he makes you laugh.” Ian smirked.

  “Forget it.”

  Ian reached for her arm, his hand soft and nonthreatening against her bare skin, and she relaxed against the cushion, sighing.

  “I’m sorry for my sarcasm. Our families have some set ideas about things, it’s true, but we both know that even with all these fancy parties and high-end finery”—Ian swept his hand out like a ringmaster introducing the sword swallowers—“appearances aren’t everything. Even though we want our parents’ approval, it’s more important to find what makes us happy. That’s what really matters.”

  He looked to his lap and twirled the glass in his hands.

  “What?” Veronica asked. “Your turn.”

  Ian looked around the party as Veronica had, taking in the locations of his parents and noting who was nearby, and then he moved closer.

  “I get it. I understand what you’re feeling more than you know.”

  Veronica waited. Ian shifted, glanced behind her, and inhaled audibly.

  “Only a few people know. I haven’t told my parents, either, because, same as you, it doesn’t fit into the way they think things should be.” He looked down, then right into Veronica’s eyes. “I’m gay.”

  “I guess that would be hard to tell them. Have you found someone? Someone who makes you happy?”

  He nodded.

  Veronica thought about the AIDS epidemic and all the questions and uncertainties. She had seen the trailer and news coverage surrounding the new Tom Hanks movie, Philadelphia, coming out in December, and it worried her for Ian.

  He nodded again. “This is part of why we haven’t seen each other. Though, I wish we had, you’ve always been easy to talk to. I’ve had a lot to think about, to figure out.”

  Ian handed his empty beer glass to a passing server. He stood to return a wave from someone across the rosebushes, and then he leaned down to give Veronica a good-bye peck on the cheek. Through her curls, he said, “I get it, but stop hiding your electrician.”

  Veronica watched Ian’s skinny body walk away, his pressed khaki pants loose at his hips. His appearance didn’t match his confidence, she thought, feeling the familiar fondness for him. She took in the sloping lawn and the tent draped with flowers, filled with bejeweled and coiffed guests. They sparkled, sipped, and small-talked. She tried to picture Ian there with another man. Impossible. Then she envisioned Joey mingling among them with a maroon button-down, his stiff, gelled hair, and his gold chain. Using every bit of her power of visualization, she could not make him fit into the scene.

  THE BUZZER STARTLED AMY as it always did. Andrew got up from beside her and pressed the talk button. “Yeah?”

  “Food’s here,” the doorman squawked through the intercom.

  “Okay. I’ll be right down.”

  As the apartment door closed behind Andrew, the buzzer zapped again. Amy jumped slightly, then walked to the button, laughing at herself for being jarred every time.

  “Um, food’s here from another guy?”

  “Thanks, Sam. Andrew’s on his way down, he’ll get them both.”

  They had decided on sushi and Indian food because they couldn’t choose. It was a cozy Sunday evening. They had spent the rare free day together meandering in Central Park and around the city. They’d stopped to rent videos, Andrew letting Amy choose, and after much deliberation, she finally selected The Firm and Sleepless in Seattle—a little suspense and a little romance.

  “Sam cracked up at the delivery guys lining up for us tonight.” Andrew tossed his wallet on the side table and set the armfuls of stapled brown bags on the cof
fee table. “This has been a really fun day, Aim. I’ve missed the two of us just hanging out together.” He kissed her temple, started the movie, and sat on the edge of the couch while Amy laid out the food containers.

  “Oh, almost forgot, I got yesterday’s mail. Here.” He laid a postcard with a photograph of a sunset behind the Carrier Dome on the table. “That’s all there was. I’ve never known a guy who writes so often, and he doesn’t even really say anything.”

  “You read them?” Amy held the postcard up like she was guarding a winning poker hand.

  “It’s not like they’re in an envelope or anything. I mean, the mailman and the guy who sorts our mail could read Matt’s notes, but they’re so dull who would care?” Andrew tucked a piece of tuna sashimi into his mouth.

  “They’re not dull! He tells me about things in his life and asks me about mine,” Amy said defensively. She read the words written in Matt’s familiar, angular handwriting.

  The TriStar Pictures Pegasus ran toward them on the small TV screen as Sleepless in Seattle started. Amy read Matt’s note one more time; he asked her about going up for homecoming in October. She hadn’t thought about it but nodded at the idea.

  “Let’s go to homecoming this year.” Amy dabbed a paper napkin at a drip of soy sauce on her lip. “Then again, you already know the idea from reading Matt’s postcard.”

  “Sure, sounds fun. Your movie’s on.” Andrew portioned some basmati rice onto his plate and began scooping the lumpy green mush and the red sauce with chickpeas over it.

  When Annie Reed was hiding in the broom closet with her radio and the red telephone cord hanging out, Amy said for the third time since the movie began, “I love Meg Ryan.” Andrew laughed, hugging her closer to him. The boxes and dishes, napkins and containers, lay on the coffee table, rice drying on the plates. Andrew had tried to tidy it up, but he let Amy overrule him, snuggling up and dimming the lights.

  Just before Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks finally meet on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day, the phone rang. They paused the movie, listening and waiting for the answering machine to pick up.

  “Amy? Are you there?” Veronica’s voice asked through the room.

  “Go ahead,” Andrew said as he stacked the plates and gathered the empty boxes to take to the garbage chute.

  “You’re back,” Amy answered, and strolled to the window, missing the view of the Empire State Building that Veronica could be seeing as they spoke. “How was your weekend?”

  “Well, I thought about everything with Joey the whole weekend, and I think I’m going to invite him to my friend Bitsy Everett’s wedding next month.”

  “That’s great! I’m sure he’ll be very excited to hear that,” Amy said, returning to the couch. “Want to go to homecoming this fall? Andrew and I are planning to go. Maybe you can bring Joey to that, too.”

  “Let’s take one big journey into my past at a time, but that does sound like fun. I already booked a room in case we wanted to go, remember?”

  Andrew returned to the apartment. He put his mouth next to Amy’s and called into the receiver, “Hi, Veronica. My turn again, I’m hogging Amy tonight, bye.”

  “She says hi and good-bye.”

  Clicking the off button, Amy tossed the phone onto the cleared table.

  “She’s bringing Joey to a wedding next month with all of her old high school friends.”

  “It’s about time,” Andrew said, reaching for the VCR remote. “I don’t get why he hangs around waiting, not knowing where he stands.”

  Amy looked directly at him. “Like me?”

  “What are you talking about? Like you, what?”

  “Like me not knowing where I stand.”

  “You know where you stand—we live together for God’s sake. I love you, you know that.”

  “Yes, but are we ever going to get married? We’ve been together for five years. Owen and Holly have already been married for almost a year and they only met two years ago, and now Karen and Mark and Molly and Michael are married, too.”

  Andrew blew air out, letting it vibrate his lips.

  “Forget it, just hit play.”

  “Amy, let’s not ruin a great day. We’ll get married. We will. I love you. Trying to get this promotion is killing me, but one day, we will.”

  He hugged her to him, optimistically kissing her all over her face and neck.

  “Maybe I’ll even meet you on the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.” His words pulled Amy’s face to his like a magnet; her eyebrows lifted and a smile played at the corners of her lips. As the screen filled with Tom Hanks’s face looking completely in love, she laid her head against Andrew’s chest, appeased one more time.

  VERONICA TAPPED THE LUXURIOUS wedding invitation between her fingers. She gazed out the window as the highway streaked past the black Eldorado. Then she added her foot to the rhythmic tapping sound, hitting it against the dash.

  “You’re a real one-woman band over there.” Joey grinned, drumming out a complementary beat on the steering wheel.

  “What? Oh, sorry.” Veronica stilled herself, sitting on her hands. “It’s just four more exits, I think.”

  “Mystic exit, right? Okay. So the bride is Bitsy, but she goes by Elizabeth now so I shouldn’t call her Bitsy,” Joey quizzed himself.

  “I should never have told you that. Don’t let that slip out or she’ll kill me. We haven’t been allowed to call her Bitsy since senior year, when she tried to reinvent herself for college. It never really stuck, but she practically had a nervous breakdown when the yearbook editor left a ‘Bitsy’ caption in there.”

  “Okay, got it, and Elizabeth is marrying Jackson, who is some publishing bigwig. His family has mountains of money and he grew up with more pimples than they have dollars.”

  “Oh, God, I’m in trouble. You wouldn’t mention that, would you? I think I gave you way too many background details.” Veronica was tapping the invitation against her fingers again.

  Joey laughed out loud. “Man, you’re a nervous Nellie about this wedding, as Aunt Tessie would say.”

  “I’m not nervous,” Veronica said flatly, and laid the invitation on the seat beside her. “I just haven’t seen this group in years.”

  “You’ll be the talk of the wedding, you’re so beautiful, and I’m afraid you may outshine Bitsy the Bride.”

  Veronica fought it, but then she chuckled, relaxing. “How do you always know how to make me laugh? One mile, exit ninety.”

  They wound through the old whaling town, following the directions Veronica had handwritten on the back of the wedding envelope. “Park over there. It’s such a nice day, we can walk a little bit,” she said, pointing to an empty area in the back of the parking lot. “This is where the reception is. If we park here, we can walk to the church and then already be here after the reception.”

  “Very efficient planning,” Joey teased, parking and following her toward the church.

  Veronica smiled and greeted friends briefly as she directed Joey to a pew in the back of the sanctuary. From her seat, she politely nodded and returned small waves as long-ago classmates sought eye contact. When the ceremony was over and Elizabeth and Jackson had exited the church, Veronica excused herself to find a restroom. Joey waited at the doorway, observing the receiving line, the birdseed pelting the couple, the crowd dispersing, and then the couple riding away in their Bentley, until Veronica returned.

  “Sorry I took so long. My stomach’s a little queasy.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Thanks, I’ll be fine.”

  Looping his arm around her, they walked back to the Eldorado to retrieve the professionally wrapped wedding present. Veronica straightened the new tie and smoothed the white shirt she had bought Joey for the wedding. Finally, she patted the lapel of his gray suit and, clutching the gift with both arms, led the way toward the reception.

  The room, elaborately decorated in an upscale coastal theme, overflowed with flowers in whites and
pale yellows, which perfectly coordinated with the bridesmaids’ dresses, which were perfectly coordinated with the napkins, which were perfectly coordinated with the groomsmen’s bow ties and cummerbunds. Carefully placed seashells ornamented the centerpieces, and place cards were neatly hand-calligraphed. The band played favorite oldies intermingled with versions of Top 40 ballad hits, from Eric Clapton to Boyz II Men to Mariah Carey. Veronica placed the gift on the designated table and, after scanning the place cards for who they were seated with, located table number seven.

  “Are we sitting with anyone good or are we relegated to the cousin table?”

  Veronica’s face remained serious. “We’re with some old friends from our group”—she paused—“and an ex-boyfriend.”

  “Don’t worry, I can take him, whoever he is. I’ll knock him out if he makes even one move for you.” Joey grinned, putting up mock fists.

  “Stop it,” Veronica whispered. She lightly grabbed his hands and pushed them down. Glancing around, she surveyed the roomful of faces from her past.

  “Which one is he? Wait, let me guess. I bet he’s a real preppy boy, but that’s about everyone in here,” Joey said with a hushed voice as he examined the guests milling around the room in pastels and post–Labor Day madras. He noticed someone looking straight his way. Joey recognized how he was using his buddy as a shield in a typical move, pretending to talk and laugh while he stalked his ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend. This was the guy. He had beach-blond hair neatly combed across his forehead, meticulously styled to look casual.

  “That’s him. In the pink shirt by the bar.” Joey smiled. “Want a glass of wine?” he offered quietly.

  “Um, yeah, but how did you know that was Eric? You’re not going to say anything to him, are you?”

  Joey grinned and Veronica straightened her shoulders, creating a small space between her and Joey.

  “Have a little faith,” he teased, but Veronica remained stiff and serious.