Forks, Knives, and Spoons

by Leah DeCesare

“Cabernet, please,” Veronica said with a sigh.

  JOEY STOOD IN LINE at the bar while dates, juggling handfuls of drinks, balanced their way through the waiting mass of men.

  “Never seems to be enough bartenders at these things,” Joey commented to the guy beside him who wore a pale blue shirt under his suit jacket; a Rolex peeked out at his wrist. The guy grunted with a nod, then turned away and clapped a neighboring guy on the back. Joey rolled his eyes and stepped up to place his order, catching the pink-shirted ex in the corner of his eye. He maneuvered away from the bar line and sipped his vodka, straight up with a twist.

  He wandered his way back toward table seven, where he saw Veronica’s handbag on the table, her wrap hung over the back of the corresponding chair. Browsing the room, he found her standing just outside the ballroom doors on the terrace among a group of women. He admired the dip in the back of her dress. She worried it was too revealing, but Joey had reassured her and repeatedly complimented her until she conceded and wore the dress.

  The September sun glinted off the water of Long Island Sound and the smell of salty air poured in through the doorway. Couples and girlfriends were squeezing their way back into the ballroom while others jockeyed to claim space outdoors. Joey stood aside, allowing a group to pass. From there he could see Veronica and he heard a burst of her laughter, a sound he craved when they were apart. Her voice carried in on the breeze, making him smile, proud to be here with her. The entry was clearing and Joey moved forward to join her.

  “No, no, we’re just friends. I could never go out with him—he’s just my electrician,” Veronica told the semicircle of friends. “You know, I got the plus-one invitation and needed someone to bring.”

  He stood frozen. He held her glass of wine extended toward her, unable to retract his arm. He watched the widening eyes of her friends; one tried to discreetly catch Veronica’s eye and, with a guarded hand, she made a slicing motion across her throat.

  “He’s really not my type, you know,” Veronica continued, unaware as another friend stared at Joey without disguise, her mouth gaping. “Why do you all look so shocked? I told you we’re not together.”

  Veronica turned and gasped with her whole body, knocking her friend’s drink down her dress. She opened her mouth to speak but was numb. Joey placed her glass of wine on the cocktail table beside her, then turned and walked away.

  Joey felt dizzy and focused on making his feet move one after the other. He walked with his back erect and his eyes fixed on the main lobby door they had entered. He crossed the ballroom in deliberate strides.

  “Hey, buddy, watch it,” Pink Shirt called after him, dabbing at his hand with a cocktail napkin.

  Joey burst out into the parking lot. The afternoon sun was high and he felt spotlighted in its brightness. His throat clenched and his chest heaved like he was onstage alone and had forgotten his lines, exposed and vulnerable. He heard his name in the distance and kept his back to the building. He squeezed his eyes, then wiped at them with the back of his hand. When he reached the car, he leaned against the hood for support and gulped for air. The black metal burned under his palms and he pressed harder, wishing that pain would eclipse the pain in his heart.

  VERONICA SAW JOEY’S BACK confidently retreating from her, watched Eric say something to him as he passed. She couldn’t think clearly, yet thoughts overwhelmed her mind and fear overflowed her heart. Her head throbbed like a warning light in thick fog. Her vision was singular and she followed Joey’s back as fast as her heeled shoes allowed.

  “Joey!” She forced her mouth to form the word, to call out to him. “Joey!”

  Breathless, Veronica yanked off her shoes and, crossing her hands over her chest, ran to him. “Joey.”

  She stopped short, leaving a distance between them. Now that she had raced to catch him, she couldn’t speak. No words, or too many words, scrambled around inside her and she was afraid of what she’d done. Joey stood neutral and hard to read. He stretched to his full height and pursed his lips, holding in anger, rebukes, or tears.

  “Joey, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You know that I love you. You know that, right?” Veronica begged him, willing her hurtful words erased.

  The sun beat down on the exposed skin of Veronica’s back. The squawk of a seagull overhead and the faint sound of music from the building gave her the feeling of being outside of something, of life continuing around them, though to her, it had stopped.

  “Joey?” she pleaded.

  His chest rose as he inhaled, then with a tender voice, in almost a whisper, he said, “I can see you are trying to sabotage a really good thing. You know that I love you. I love you very much, but you need to figure this out on your own.” He handed her his car keys. “I’m leaving. Think about what you want because this isn’t about me. I know who I am and I know what I want. I’ll get a cab to the train. Leave the keys with the garage attendant when you get back.”

  “Joey,” she sobbed.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

  “DON’T GO KISSING ANYONE, Aim.” Andrew nudged Amy as he carried her bag down to the sidewalk to meet Veronica. “I know how much you love making out.”

  Amy punched his arm and reached up to kiss him. “I save all my kissing for you. I wish you could come. All the Sigma Chis will wonder where I’m hiding you and you’ll miss the big homecoming game.”

  “Wish I could, too, but work beckons. I called a few of the guys this week to let them know I’ve got a deadline and asked them to keep an eye on you.”

  “It sounds like you don’t trust me. You know I’ve always told you the truth.”

  “Of course I trust you, I just want you to be safe.” He patted her rear. “Have a great time. I’ll be waiting for you to come home Sunday night.”

  Veronica pulled up in her parents’ shiny new car, on loan for the weekend. “Hi, you two. Ready to go, Amy?”

  “Whoa! Nice wheels. I can’t believe you’re driving a Lexus. You’re one of the first people I know with one.” Andrew examined it with admiration. “Awesome.”

  With a final kiss good-bye, Amy slid into the front seat while Andrew waved, his eyes caressing the car. Veronica drove cautiously, obeying the traffic rules and keeping within the posted speed limits, even as Amy teased and urged her to go faster. They alternated between long, analytical discussions about Joey and the Incident and loud, carefree sing-alongs. At the first sign for Syracuse, fifty miles outside of the city, the sky darkened and a few raindrops speckled the windshield. The duo laughed at the familiar bad weather and broke into new snacks for the final leg of the trip.

  “I just don’t know what to do,” Veronica said for the umpteenth time as she stuck a potato chip into her mouth. “Should I just knock on his door? No, I couldn’t do that. What would I say? I’ve tried writing him a couple letters but they never sound right. What if I call him? Should I call him?”

  Amy inserted a few yeses and words into Veronica’s monologues as she tried to work things out, speaking her options and feelings aloud, reviewing her actions over and over.

  “I feel horrible, I was such a jerk. He probably has a new girlfriend. I’ve totally lost him, I’m sure of it. And all because he didn’t fit into some dumb outward idea of what I expected in a boyfriend. But he was what I want in a boyfriend in a million ways. I was so stupid. He is—well, was—the best boyfriend. I don’t know what made me lie—I never lie. How could I have lied and been so awful?

  “I felt so judged and so looked down on by all those old friends, and it just came out. I was sick to my stomach the whole time, but I still kept denying we were together. It was really hard to say those things, but these girls wouldn’t stop asking me about the ‘slick guy’ I was with. They said it with such disdain, but that’s no reason to be dishonest. I can’t believe I lied. I can’t believe I let appearances and people I don’t care about make me hurt Joey so badly. I deserved to get caught, I deserve to feel miserable.” Amy let her talk, recogni
zing her crisis of integrity.

  “Do you know I haven’t seen him once in the building? Actually, I did see his back one time in the lobby, but I couldn’t even say hello to him. I was so ashamed and also scared of what he might say to me. I just watched him. I was standing by the elevator and he walked out. Walked away like he did in Mystic.” Veronica went on until they came to the Syracuse exit and she pointed the car through the familiar streets.

  “It’s strange to be back here, isn’t it? Hard to believe we graduated a year and a half ago,” Veronica commented, gathering herself as they passed M Street and turned up Crouse to the only on-campus hotel. Thanks to her efficient planning, Veronica had secured a room a year prior on the chance they decided to return for homecoming weekend. “Let’s check in, clean up, and head out,” she said with an unconvincing brightness.

  Amy squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m sorry, V, I wish I could make it better for you.”

  “MATT!” AMY SPOTTED HIM from across the quad and ran. It was early Saturday afternoon. Amy and Veronica had caught up with their Kappa sisters on Friday night, and then, after sleeping in, they had wandered the campus, went to part of the homecoming game, and shopped on M Street until Amy’s designated meeting time with Matt.

  The space and time since their last visit vanished with the ease of true friendship. They settled beneath a tree on the speckled blanket of orange and yellow leaves as Amy took in Matt’s thick eyebrows, his Traveling Wilburys T-shirt under a plaid flannel button-down, his worn-through Levi’s, and the familiar stubble emerging from his fresh shave.

  “You’re still wearing those Converse high-tops and ratty old jeans. Going right from rocker to grunge, are you?” Amy joked, sticking a fingertip into the hole in his knee.

  “Nah, always rock ’n’ roll for me. You know fashion’s not my thing. I’m just a computer geek wearing what’s comfortable, at least outside of the office.”

  When he smiled at her, Amy felt like she was the most important person in the world. Matt’s focus was intent, affable, and comfortable.

  “I miss you,” she said. “Writing and calling isn’t the same as sharing our everyday details. We used to know each other’s schedules and the small things in our lives, but now I feel like we can only get to the bigger stuff. So, let’s have it, fill me in on the details.”

  Amy hesitated, then came out with what she most wanted to know: “Where’s Leslie?” He and Patty had broken up a few weeks after the New Year’s Eve party and Matt never willingly shared anything about his dating life with her. He finally mentioned Leslie after Amy’s prying over the summer.

  Matt shrugged. “We just dated a few times, it was nothing serious.”

  Amy worked to keep the relief from her face and voice, and said only, “Oh.”

  “I have something for you,” Matt said, diverting the discussion. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a tiny organza pouch.

  “What? Why?” Amy carefully untied the ribbon that cinched it closed.

  “For your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away and I won’t see you until Christmas.”

  “You’re so thoughtful, Matt.” She jiggled the pouch, letting a small silver Santa Claus charm fall into her palm.

  “It’s for Train Santa, to represent you coming to my mom’s funeral and for always remembering her with me. You know, I’m still amazed by the strange appearance that day. It’s hard to believe it was over a year ago.”

  “As weird as it was, that jolly ol’ elf comes to my mind way too often. Thank you. Look, I always wear the bracelet.” She tugged up her sleeve to show him. Unclasping it, Matt helped her add the charm to the others he’d chosen since graduation: an apple for New York City, a newspaper for her first big story. She wiggled her wrist, letting the meaningful tokens jingle.

  Music blared from somewhere beyond the quad and bounced off the buildings. Amy picked up a newly fallen leaf and spun it by its stem. As she watched it twirl between her fingers, she asked, “So . . . Leslie didn’t work out, are you dating anyone now?”

  Matt playfully rolled his eyes and leaned back against the tree. As Amy looked up from her spinning leaf, a flash of brown streaked in her peripheral vision. Too fast for understanding, the whirling object cracked into her temple, hurling her backward onto the ground. She couldn’t focus her eyes—there were only blurred colors. For a moment, she wondered where she was, then she heard someone calling her name, a cacophony of voices, pressure on her head. Her head ached and she lifted her hand toward it, but even as she felt skin, her head had no sensation.

  “I can’t feel my head.” Amy formed the words, but they sounded outside of her.

  “It’s okay, Amy, I have my hand there, you’re touching my hand,” Matt explained softly.

  She held on to his hand and his voice among the chatter, letting her eyes fall closed again.

  “Is she okay, man?”

  “Shit! She’s really bleeding a lot!”

  “God, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe that got her square in the head.”

  “Why’d you miss the toss, asshole?”

  “I’ll get her to the health center.” She heard Matt’s voice among the ebbing tones. “Here, take your weapon.”

  “Matt? My head hurts. What happened?”

  “You got pegged by a rather fierce football. Go slow, I’ve got you.” As she tried to sit up, Matt held one hand to her bleeding head and the other guided her. “Take it easy, rest there, don’t sit up all the way yet.”

  “Your shirt.” Amy saw splotches of blood down the front of him and realized that he had pulled the long shirtsleeve past his hand and was using the balled-up cuff to press against her bleeding head.

  “Aw, this old thing, you told me yourself I need to update my clothes.”

  Amy leaned against his chest, getting her balance. Matt shifted and followed her head with his palm. She felt his free arm wrap around her and sensed his breathing slow until it seemed he was almost holding it. She relaxed into him and they were both still. Beneath her ear, his heart beat in sync with the pulsing at her temple. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs from their very bottom and smelling Matt, before she leaned back, sitting upright.

  “I think I can stand up now.”

  Matt startled and carefully peered under his sleeve at Amy’s head. Blood soaked the plaid fabric and trickled into her hair when he released the pressure.

  “It’s still bleeding. Here, let me hold your head this way—yup, like that—then wrap your arm around my waist, okay, lean on me, go easy,” Matt coached, positioning her. Walking together as if connected in a three-legged race, they started for the health center. Amy realized that the only other time she’d been to the campus clinic was when she had a stomach virus junior year. Matt had taken her that time, too, borrowing a friend’s car while Andrew gave a class presentation.

  After a short distance, Matt asked, “Do you need to rest? Sit here a minute.”

  He guided her to a smooth stone plank covered in fall leaves. It was a moment before Amy realized they were sitting on the Kissing Bench. The bench was a gift from the graduating class of 1912; the tradition evolved through the years, but the legend was that a couple who kissed on the bench would eventually get married. Amy thought of the time she had tugged Andrew and, only half teasingly, had him kiss her while they sat on the bench, which was then covered in an early December snow. She wanted to believe in the tradition but wondered when Andrew’s “someday” would arrive.

  “HI, MATT. OH MY God, what’s all that blood? What happened to you, Amy?” Seeing Matt’s stained shirts and the white bandage on Amy’s face, Veronica covered the few yards across their hotel room, repeating, “What happened?”

  The stat care visit had taken hours, but Matt and Amy condensed the saga for Veronica. They decided to forgo their night out on M Street and instead ordered Chinese food and sat on the two double beds to eat.

  “Are we seriously getting old?” Veronica asked, catching the dangling noodles with chopstick
s and tucking them little by little into her mouth. “Who stays in at our age?”

  “Either we’re old or it’s stitches and a concussion keeping us from hitting the town.”

  Veronica coughed on her noodles, laughing. “Right, forgot for a minute why we’re sitting in a hotel room on a Saturday night of homecoming weekend.”

  “You should go out, Veronica,” Amy insisted again. “This shouldn’t have to ruin your weekend. You, too, Matt, you both should go out.”

  Ignoring her continued urging, Matt said, “That concussion sure hasn’t affected your appetite,” and he scooped more broccoli and chicken onto her paper plate.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Veronica said, then finished chewing and swallowing before she continued. “I ran into Kate this afternoon, Kate Anula from Brewster? Guess what she told me.”

  “How is she?”

  “Great, she just got married.”

  “That’s quick. I got a letter from her last spring and she said she’d met her steak knife. It only took her months, and I’m still waiting on my steak knife years later.”

  “Just another example of how the whole fork, knife, and spoon thing doesn’t work. Anyway, they’re both teachers in the town where she grew up. But that’s not the part I wanted to tell you.”

  “Steak knife? Spoons? What’s that?” Matt asked.

  Veronica hit her forehead with her palm. “Oh, brother. ”

  There weren’t many guys who knew about the Utensil Classification System, but year after year it trickled out. One night sophomore year, Amy and some Kappa sisters started ticking off the types of guys they’d spotted that night. Andrew said it was like he was listening to another language; he could understand each individual word but couldn’t decipher them to make any sense. In hysterics, the girls dramatically filled him in on the forks, knives, spoons, and everything in between, all while Veronica twisted a curl, waiting for the descriptions she’d heard a million times to end.

  “What am I?” was Andrew’s first question.

  Veronica had answered him: “It doesn’t matter, the whole thing’s gotten out of control. Your girlfriend thinks she can label any guy with this system of hers. It’s ludicrous.”