Forks, Knives, and Spoons

  When Veronica told her mother she was bringing her boyfriend home for her birthday, Susan Warren had gushed. Veronica knew her mother would want to entertain, but she made a birthday request to have a low-key weekend with the freedom to come and go as they wanted with no social obligations, and in return, she promised her mother that she and Joey would have her birthday dinner with them on Saturday night.

  “Ready?” Joey asked, closing their luggage into the trunk of his Eldorado and climbing into the driver’s seat.

  “Let’s go.”

  Veronica would have normally insisted that Joey drive with two hands on the wheel, but when he held her hand across the red leather bench seat, she clung to it and didn’t let go. They barely noticed the thick Friday afternoon traffic out of the city as they laughed and talked. Veronica told Joey about her homecoming trip to Syracuse and Amy’s football accident as the sun set at their backs.

  “Wow, sounds like Andrew overreacted,” Joey said. “He’s fine to hang out with now and then, but sometimes I don’t really trust the guy. He’s a little too perfect.”

  “It’s like Amy’s transfixed on the whole steak knife thing and I worry sometimes.”

  “When we’re all together, I often get the sense that he’s got somewhere he’d rather be, like there’s something he’s missing out on.”

  “He’s always been Mr. Life-of-the-Party, and I know what you mean, he can definitely seem distracted.”

  Veronica felt the need to fill Joey in on every detail of her life when they were apart, and he, too, knit together the gap between September and November. They both realized they had each put their lives in slow motion with little of consequence happening without the other.

  “Did you date anyone?” Veronica whispered, not really wanting to know.

  Joey answered slowly. “I went out on a couple of dates”—he glanced from the road to look at Veronica—“but no one was you, dolcezza.”

  She smiled at the affectionate term; she had missed his sweet name for her. Out the window she watched as they passed the Mystic exit. The green sign screamed at her: EXIT 90—MYSTIC—1 MILE. Silently, she sent up a simple prayer: Thank you for not letting me lose him.

  Veronica dozed as they traveled out of Connecticut into Rhode Island, on the winding back roads past the University of Rhode Island and over the Jamestown Bridge.

  “Wake up,” Joey said, touching Veronica’s arm. “We’re at the second bridge, where to now?”

  Veronica directed him through the old cobbled streets of Newport and along the water to her parents’ house.

  “You maybe could’ve warned me a little about this,” Joey said, sweeping his hand across the expanse of the windshield as they rode down the driveway. Even in the dark the house looked enormous and the grounds glowed with landscape lighting.

  Veronica bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders. “Home sweet home.”

  He parked the car and carried their bags up to the front door, where they stood together, Veronica’s hand on the grand door handle. She kissed him. Then she took a breath and blew it out like she was already blowing out birthday candles. “Here we go,” she said more for herself than for him.

  The door pushed open into the deep foyer, and Susan and Gerald Warren were already walking from the living room to greet them, as the alarm system would have chirped an alert of a car entering the driveway gate.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Joey DiNatali. Joey, this is my mom and dad, Susan and Gerald Warren.”

  Joey bypassed Susan’s outstretched hand and gave her a genial hug. Veronica stiffened, then saw her mother’s face fill with a genuine smile—she even appeared grateful. Then, knowing how the men in Joey’s family collided in embraces, Veronica wondered if he would hug her father, too, certain that wouldn’t be as comfortable, but she watched as Joey read the situation with ease and gave her father a strong gentleman’s handshake. Veronica exhaled: step one, done.

  “Joey, welcome, we’re so happy you’re here. Come in, leave the bags. Would you like something to drink?” her mother said, taking Joey by the elbow and leading him into the living room. Her father rested his hand on her shoulder and they followed, smiling at the forever hostess.

  Settled into the formal living room, Veronica wished they would have chosen the more casual family room for their first visit. Joey had selected his clothing to make a good first impression: he wore pressed gray pants and a black button-down shirt that had a broad white band running vertically down the left side. Veronica caught herself both enjoying the spot of his exposed chest and wishing he had buttoned one more button. He crossed one ankle over the other knee and conversed easily with her parents. She felt a blush come to her face, sorry that she had doubted him, sorry that she had almost lost him because of her fear of this very meeting.

  “So, Joe, what do you do for a living?” her dad asked. Veronica tapped the air with her foot, watching her father’s face as Joey spoke.

  Proudly, he said, “I’m an electrician. I run a good business; I have six guys working for me now. Just two years ago I had three, so we’re growing well.”

  Gerald Warren nodded through Joey’s answer. Finally, he took a sip of his Scotch and said only, “Hmm.”

  After more interview questions, and catching up on Veronica’s life, Susan Warren jumped up. “Let’s have some dinner, shall we?”

  Her parents led the way to the dining room, and Veronica laced her fingers through Joey’s and squeezed. Her mother had the table set with an autumn theme; the browns, coppers, and rust tones were elegant in the orange candlelight. Susan sat Joey across from Veronica as she and Gerald took opposite heads of the table.

  “Please, help yourself,” Susan invited, sliding the shrimp and scallop curry dish toward Joey.

  If we have to be in the dining room, at least it’s family-style serving, Veronica thought.

  “So maybe tomorrow, Joe, you could take a look at my lighting setup by the pool. I think something’s hooked up wrong because all summer I’ve had to jiggle the switch to make those lights work,” Gerald said, heaping seafood onto his china with the silver serving spoon.

  “Gerald!” Susan scolded. Veronica felt unsettled by her father’s request and grateful for her mother’s rescue. Then Susan continued. “You have people to call for that—you don’t need to bother Veronica’s, um, Veronica’s boyfriend on his day off.”

  Veronica looked at Joey, who graciously held a smile on his face.

  “No problem, I’d be happy to take a look. This is delicious, Mrs. Warren,” Joey said, looking her in the eye.

  “Joey’s an amazing cook,” Veronica told her parents. “He makes the best eggplant Parmesan ever.”

  “An electrician who cooks—now that’s a combination you don’t hear every day,” her father said, taking a bite.

  “Well, I guess if you get home earlier than people in office jobs, you have time to learn to cook,” her mother said. “I don’t know many men working on Wall Street who are home in time to prepare dinner.”

  Veronica fought to swallow her food through her closing throat. She looked at her parents, who seemed unaware of their rudeness, their judgments. The very fight she’d struggled with, the fight she had finally overcome, was being projected through them.

  “So, Joey, do electricians have to go to college?”

  “Stop it!” Veronica shouted, hitting her palm on the table. “This is exactly the reason I didn’t want to introduce you to Joey.”

  “Well, honey, you’ve only just started dating, it can’t be that serious, now,” Susan Warren said with a tinge of hopefulness.

  “We are serious and we’ve been together for almost a year and a half.”

  Her parents gasped, forks frozen in the air above their plates.

  “And you’ve never mentioned him before?” her mother accused. “And to think, we’ve raised you to always be able to talk to us about anything.”

  “Anything that fits into your mold of what is proper, of what looks good to other peopl
e. Outside of that there’s no room for openness. Do you have any idea how that’s affected me? I knew from the start how perfect and right Joey is for me, but because I was hung up on the wrong things I almost completely ruined everything. It’s taken me this long to bring him home because I was worried about what you would think.” Veronica shook her head, sad that she’d been right.

  “Even though I’m a grown woman living on my own, I still feel like a little girl filling in the hole of a brother who died and needing Mommy and Daddy’s approval. Well, I’m done. I don’t need your approval anymore and I know Henry would have been happy for me. I love Joey. He is kinder and better to me than all of those ‘boys from nice families’ you’ve fixed me up with, Mom. Isn’t that what you want for me? Don’t you want me to be happy?” Veronica pulled air into her lungs then exhaled into the silence.

  Her hands were balled into fists and her heart raced, knowing she had just broken a long list of unspoken rules. She felt both freed and burdened. Her father laid down his fork and stared at his daughter; her mother’s face crumpled, her shoulders shaking. Joey sat with his hands in his lap, unmoving. She saw a glimmer in his dark brown eyes that communicated, Did you really just say all that?, Are you okay?, and Thank you all in one look.

  Veronica’s mother dabbed at her eyes with her linen napkin and pushed back her chair. Veronica worried that she’d hurt her mother’s feelings, that she’d gone too far, but she remained confident in the conviction of her words. She feared her mother would walk out, but instead, she took a step toward Veronica, leaned and wrapped her arms around her, and continued to cry.

  “I’m sorry, I am sorry you’ve ever felt like that. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like that.” She stroked Veronica’s curls and tucked one behind her ear like she did when Veronica was in elementary school. Turning to Joey, she said, “Joey, forgive us. We can be foolish old parents. Thank you for loving our daughter. Gerald?”

  Gerald was sitting back in his chair as if watching a debate on television or listening to one of his committees present a report, and he startled slightly when his wife addressed him.

  “Yes, yes, that’s right.” He went to Veronica, too, and she stood up to accept their hugs.

  “Joe.” Her father walked to the other side of the table and clasped Joey’s shoulder with his left hand while giving him his right hand in their second handshake of the night. The gesture was his apology.

  Blowing out a sigh, Veronica wondered how many imaginary candles she’d be extinguishing on her birthday weekend.

  SATURDAY MORNING, VERONICA HOPPED out of bed onto the birds on her rug. I’m that flying bird now. I’m soaring free, Veronica thought with a fullness in her heart. She tapped on the guest room door, which swung ajar; Joey’s bed was made and the morning light poured in the windows. She skipped down the back staircase to the kitchen.

  “There you are.” She kissed Joey, who sat beside her mother with coffee, a folded newspaper, and an old photo album on the table in front of them.

  “Morning, sweetheart. Joey and I are just getting to know each other a little bit. Coffee’s made.”

  “Your mother and I just finished off today’s crossword puzzle,” Joey said, lifting the mug to his smile.

  “Right, of course, something you two have in common.”

  “Joey tells me you told him about your brother.”

  Veronica became a statue pouring cream into her coffee; she knew mentioning Henry last night may have gone too far. No one talked with Susan Warren about her son. His name was scarcely mentioned and only in hushed tones. It was silently decided years ago that it was better to hold it deep down. Veronica had always wondered, Better for whom? She had yearned to talk with her parents about Henry, to laugh through old memories and pictures, and to cry, too. Crying was okay. Who were they trying to protect in tamping down the subject? Veronica or Susan?

  “It’s okay, sweetheart, it was quite a lovely way to start the morning, showing Joey pictures of your brother. Of Henry.”

  Veronica’s eyes grew wide. Her mother had mentioned his name at normal volume, and she seemed happy.

  “Do you want to see?”

  Veronica almost ran across the kitchen to go through the photos with her mother. She couldn’t understand this shift, this sudden willingness to talk about Henry, but she didn’t want it to disappear. Joey gave Veronica his seat beside her mother and looked on with love. They meandered through the pages, pointing and saying, “Do you remember when . . . ?” and “Oh, look at this,” speaking snippets of memories. They traveled through Easter egg hunts with sister and brother in sweet matching outfits, they rambled along beaches and Cape Cod dunes and through vast flower gardens. They saw Henry lift his little sister onto his shoulders, pull her in a sled behind him, and tuck her onto the back of his bicycle. They trimmed Christmas trees, posed before the Rhode Island State House, and watched Henry make the winning goal again and again.

  “Thank you, Mom.” Veronica hugged her mother, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “Really, I should thank you and Joey. I was up most of the night thinking. About everything. And as stunned as I was by your speech, I realized that we needed to hear it. We needed your honesty. So thank you, my love.” Patting Veronica’s hand, she kissed her and left the room, her long bathrobe floated above the floor behind her. She hadn’t dressed or put on makeup before coming down. She was being herself; a self she had, for too long, stored away.

  “SHE’S A BEAUTY! THOUGH that was the year they made the mistake by making the Eldorado smaller—the ’86 was only 188 inches long, you know,” Gerald Warren said, running his hand along the hood and giving Joey’s car an affectionate pat. “I had the Commemorative Edition Eldorado in ’85. That one was just short of 205 inches. It was the last year they made that version.”

  “I know that car. A buddy of mine fixed one up—it was in real mint condition,” Joey said.

  “Boy, that was a good car, all top-of-the-line features for that time. She even had gold wheel center caps and emblems on the taillights. Where’s Veronica taking you today? Out and about in Newport?”

  “I left the plans to her, but I think there’s a mansion tour on the itinerary.”

  “Better you than me. I’ll be waiting for you with a stiff drink when you return, and Susan’s got a birthday dinner planned for tonight. Promise, it’ll be nothing like last night.” Gerald nodded his head toward the house. “Let’s go in, they’ll be wondering what’s happened to us.”

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, happy birthday to you, Joey and the Warrens sang to Veronica from their seats in the darkened dining room. The candlelight twinkled on the ceiling and walls, and Veronica remembered how she loved to watch birthday candles as a child. She waited until they finished singing; she filled her lungs and closed her eyes and made a wish for her twenty-fourth birthday, even though she sensed that her wishes were already coming true.

  “What did you wish for?” her father asked, sliding the knife toward her for the first cut.

  “Dad, you know I can’t tell you.”

  “Joe, I’m sure you’ve noticed that Veronica isn’t one to break the rules. Nope, we never had to worry about her missing curfew or throwing a party while we were out.” Gerald laughed from his belly.

  “What do you mean, Dad? I can break the rules sometimes. One time I took your car without permission and you never knew.”

  “You mean the time you drove it to the end of the driveway, then put it in reverse and came right back?” He laughed even harder, and Joey, Susan, and Veronica joined him. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  “Open your present, sweetheart,” her mother said, handing her a blue Tiffany box.

  Veronica received the gift with a flush in her cheeks.

  “Oh, let us spoil you.” Her father waved his hand for her to open the box.

  “Daddy picked these out for you.”

  She untied the white ribbon and lifted the lid. Diamond stud earrings glittered out at her.

&nbs
p; “Oh my gosh, Dad, Mom, thank you so much, they’re incredible.” She unfastened her simple, classic gold hoops and screwed the Tiffany diamonds in their place. Turning her head side to side, she noticed Joey looking down and nibbling small pieces of his cake.

  Veronica’s mom kissed her head and cleared the cake and their dishes. “Turn off the kitchen lights when you’re done, kids. Happy birthday, my love. Just leave the rest, I’ll do it in the morning—no working on your birthday.”

  “Happy birthday, honey, we’re glad to have you home,” said her father with a kiss. “Night, Joe.”

  And the Warrens climbed the stairs to bed.

  Alone and snuggled together in the family room, Joey stared into the waning fire, thoughtful and silent.

  “Is something wrong, Joey?”

  He remained quiet for a long moment before answering. “I just keep thinking that I’ll never be able to provide for you the way your parents do.”

  “But you don’t—”

  “Wait, let me finish. I can give you a nice life, I can give us a good life, but not a life like this.” He threw his arms out in a large Italian gesture. “Now that I’m here and I can see the differences between our upbringings, I understand better why you didn’t bring me here sooner. We really do come from different places,” he said, his voice drifting away.

  “Joey, what are you saying?”

  “Here’s my birthday gift to you,” he answered, holding out an envelope and a small wrapped package.

  Inside the envelope was a handmade card. Joey had sketched a caricature of the two of them smiling with huge teeth. Veronica chuckled and looked at him with amazement; she hadn’t known he could draw. He was showing her more of himself, she realized. Inside, she read in his boyish script:

  To My Dolcezza—

  You are my light, my breath, and my happiness. My heart is yours. The pearl is said to bring clarity and grace. You have brought me both. Your open eyes and open mind have brought you back to me. I love you. Happy birthday.

  Yours forever,

  Joey

  Tears clouded her sight as she read the last words, Yours forever. Never could she have imagined receiving such a beautiful letter—that kind of writing wasn’t even on her “perfect guy” list. This was beyond anything she could wish for, and now she wondered if their weekend trip had changed his mind. Did he feel differently since he’d written this in New York? Her stomach constricted with worry.