Forks, Knives, and Spoons

by Leah DeCesare

  “This is the best letter I have ever gotten. Ever. I love you.” She kissed him.

  She turned to the package in her lap, peeled the paper off, and lifted the fuzzy, hinged box cover. Pearl earrings pierced the cardboard backing.

  “Oh, Joey, they’re beautiful. This is the best birthday, I have you and I am the luckiest girl alive.” Veronica reached to her ears to replace the diamonds with Joey’s pearls, but he darted his arm out, stopping her.

  “No, it’s okay, leave those in. Let’s go to bed.”

  Veronica flipped off the kitchen light and followed Joey upstairs. She kissed him in the hall outside his bedroom, spotlighted by a puddle of November moonlight.

  “Thank you, Joey. I love you.”

  “Me, too.” He kissed her cheek and closed the guest room door behind him, leaving Veronica to agonize if she had wished hard enough on her birthday candles.

  VERONICA CALLED HOME TO wish her parents a happy Thanksgiving. “Thank you for checking on us, but don’t worry, sweetheart, your father and I will be just fine. Of course we’ll miss you, but we understand. Everyone will be sorry not to see you and meet Joey at the annual Thanksgiving eve party tonight.” Susan Warren both reassured Veronica and made her flush with guilt. “You have fun with Joey and his family. Please tell them happy Thanksgiving for us.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving, and tell Dad, too.” Veronica hung up the phone and slumped on the couch.

  The late November sun had long ago disappeared behind the buildings, and twilight gave way to the artificial glow of the city at night. The Empire State Building was lit in Veronica’s favorite all-white lights, not yet covered in blue for Hanukkah or in green and red for Christmas. She lifted herself from the sofa, and pressed her face against the picture window, watching people pass on the sidewalk below. She saw a woman hail a cab, an old man pull his hood up, and a mom with a stroller struggle to get onto a bus. She looked uptown to see the line of taillights and traffic lights stretching out of view. Newport felt far away when she was here with Joey right down the hall.

  Since returning from Rhode Island, Veronica sensed things were different between them, shifted somehow. It felt like a widening; it was indecipherable yet lingered like a splinter in your palm that reminds you with every touch something’s there that shouldn’t be. Whenever the splinter zinged Veronica, she tried harder, gave more of herself, but she hadn’t talked to Joey about it. She closed the curtains, switched on a lamp, and left the city outside for the night. Tomorrow, she pledged to herself, tomorrow she would talk with him.

  ANDREW AND AMY ARRIVED in Connecticut on Thanksgiving morning, their arms filled with New York bakery-fresh breads and pies, and flowers from the corner market for Aunt Joanie. Amy smiled at the familiar and happy smell, the smell of home, family, and Thanksgiving warmth. Amy called out, announcing their arrival, as they dropped their bounty onto the kitchen counters.

  Her father came to greet them from the family room with the faint scent of fire on his sweater, trailed by Uncle Arthur. Aunt Joanie bounded down the stairs, grabbing Andrew and Amy into hugs. “I’m so happy you’re here. Everyone else should be arriving by two. Do you want a snack before you help me peel potatoes?” She grinned, removing plastic wrap from a platter of cheese.

  As the three men went to refill the woodpile, Amy and her aunt chattered and chopped.

  “How are things with you two?”

  “Good. Really good, actually. Veronica swears that he’s going to propose this Christmas. Or else at Valentine’s Day.”

  “What do you think?” Aunt Joanie asked, leaning into the oven to baste the turkey.

  “Sometimes I feel like he’s ready and that he’s going to ask me, like on Saint John last summer, but then other times, I don’t know. Other times, I feel like he’s just going to keep putting it off and I can’t picture it ever happening.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I don’t know. We’re happy, so I guess I should just be grateful for that, right? I want him to be really ready before we get married, and I know that if I want a strong marriage, then I need to make some compromises, so I’ll wait until he’s ready.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “It’s the next step.”

  “Being a wife doesn’t mean waiting for him or compromising who you are. It means being able to be completely you before joining yourself with another. You should make each other better. There was a time I needed to learn that. I was young when Uncle Arthur and I got married. It took some time to figure out that I needed to truly be myself, and even longer to learn how to do that. Arthur has always been my best friend. I wish that for you, sweetheart.”

  Amy let her aunt’s words drizzle into her idealism as she busied her hands wondering if she and Andrew made each other better.

  JOEY KNOCKED AT VERONICA’S door promptly at ten a.m. He wore a patterned sweater that fit closely, showing off his strong build, and the gray pants he’d worn to her parents’ house. Veronica grabbed her coat, handbag, and hostess gift for Joey’s mother. She had on a classic navy shift with a cashmere cardigan and Joey’s pearls were in her ears.

  Joey turned across Forty-Second Street toward the Lincoln Tunnel as beside him, Veronica tapped her foot, her navy pump flipping on and off her heel.

  “You don’t call me dolcezza anymore,” she blurted out, her well-scripted opening forgotten.

  Joey fixed his gaze forward, but his arms stiffened against the steering wheel, pushing his back deeper into the seat. Veronica watched his Adam’s apple glide up and back before he spoke.

  “I don’t?”

  She shook her head, looking at her lap.

  “I don’t, you’re right.”

  She waited for him to go on, but silence assailed her ears.

  “Why, Joey? I’m so confused. I finally got the courage to bring you to meet them, to see where I grew up. I finally thought I’d figured things out and it seems like instead of making things better, it made you love me less.”

  “No!” He was emphatic. “No, Veronica, I love you. I told you I will love you forever and I meant it.”

  “Then what? What is it? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you again? Please tell me.”

  Veronica noticed that he’d pulled over; they were parked in the small lot of the Market Diner on Eleventh Avenue. Joey turned his whole body to face hers, unlatched the seat belts, and slid her across the red leather to him. He ran his hands down her arms to find her hands.

  “Listen to me, you did nothing wrong. I love you, dolcezza, I love you.” He looked down, shaking his head. “Sometimes I—” he started, but pressed his lips together and shook his head again. “I try hard to not act like my pigheaded Italian father with his Mediterranean machismo, but I grew up with the belief that the man is supposed to take care of his family, to care for them in many ways, but first of all, to care for them financially.”

  Veronica stroked the tops of his hands with her thumbs; she saw his strength in them. She wanted to speak, to protest, to relieve or console him, but she could tell that he was only pausing to neaten his thoughts.

  “When I met your parents and saw how you were raised, I saw that even with my business and its success, I will never be able to give you the life you grew up with. I will never be able to match that for you and it breaks my heart.” He slowed to take a breath and Veronica could no longer wait.

  “But I don’t care about that! Don’t you see? I love you and I want to be with you and the money doesn’t matter, I don’t need all of that.”

  “You say that now, and I believe you mean it, but what about in five years? Ten years? What about when we have children and you want them to sail and ski, to play tennis and dance, go to private school and have perfect outfits—” He waved a hand through the air. “What about then?”

  Joey restarted the car, and they headed for the tunnel.

  “Never doubt my love, dolcezza.”

  The planner in her had already envisioned life with Joey down the r
oad, married life with babies, toddlers, and kids with backpacks and crayons, but in that moment, sitting in the Eldorado on Eleventh Avenue, she knew that she had pictured her childhood, with her privileges, with her plenty. Even adding in her salary, they wouldn’t get close.

  THE DOOR AT THE end of the hall was wide open, voices spilling into the corridor, and as Veronica and Joey entered, the volume crescendoed to greet them.

  “Ai, they’re here.” Mario slapped Joey on the back, knocking his cousin forward.

  “Wat? D’you have traffic? We been waiting for you,” Uncle Cosmo said, shoving a forkful of slippery red peppers and a slice of fresh mozzarella into his mouth.

  “Let me through! Let me hug my son and his girl!” Filomena strong-armed her way to the door. Her sweater, veined with golden threads, sparkled out behind her bibbed apron patterned with kitchen utensils. Veronica chuckled every time she saw the forks, knives, spoons, ladles, whisks, and spatulas scattered on the apricot-colored apron. Joey’s mother carried a wooden spoon in her hand, which pressed into Veronica’s back. The apron’s edge tickled her nose as Filomena squeezed both of them into her short torso, one with each arm.

  “Ah, my boy is home! I’m a lucky mama with all three of her boys here. Thank you for bringing him home,” she said to Veronica, clasping Joey’s face between her palms, the spoon stuck out to the side of his head. “Come, eat! You need some meat on those bones.” Filomena took Veronica’s full body and pointed it toward the coffee table, where the standard spread filled the broad surface. Plastic cups filled the spaces between the food platters.

  A band of men lounged on the U-shaped sectional sofa that took up most of the apartment, their attention divided between the television and the antipasti before them. When Veronica spilled into their domain, they shuffled and lifted themselves from their spots to say hello.

  “There she is. Come here.” Uncle Sal smooshed her into his scruffy face.

  “Where’s my brother been hiding you? We don’t see youse two so much no more,” Dominic said, giving Veronica a hug and looking around for Joey.

  Nicky, Joey’s oldest brother, embraced Veronica and yelled in her ear for his wife: “Yo, Tina! Bring da baby.”

  Veronica had been included in the baby shower for Tina, which was held at the local Knights of Columbus hall with more than seventy-five girls from toddlers to ninety-something-year-olds. Joey drove her out, then spent the afternoon with his brothers, cousins, and uncles drinking beer and watching football with no female interference or service.

  Tina approached with baby Francesca cradled in her arms. Tiny earrings glinted below a lacy pink headband with straight black hair sticking out.

  Veronica peered at Francesca. “She’s beautiful, congratulations.”

  “Wanna hold her?” Tina asked, snapping her pink bubble gum. She handed Francesca to Veronica, who was still wearing her coat, and slipped through the men into the kitchen.

  “Here, let me help you.” Cousin Ottavia swooped to her side and took the baby. “Give me your coat, you’ll die of the heat in here.” She juggled Francesca in one elbow and Veronica’s coat in the other and easily passed the baby back to Veronica’s uncertain arms. “Here, sit,” she commanded, then swatted her brothers, Orazio and Pasquale, on the knees, creating a spot for her on the couch.

  At first Veronica just gazed at the slumbering child, amazed that she could sleep amid the shouting and hollering, but soon she, too, was deaf to the noise and was alone with Francesca. Something fluttered in her heart as she envisioned being a mother, holding her baby with Joey beside her. Tears bubbled picturing Joey as a father, swinging their daughter, reading to their son, running beside them holding on to bicycle seats. When she looked up, the voices drummed around her again at full volume. She scanned the room and saw the parade of familiar commotion. Uncle Nunzio was snoring, his feet propped up on the coffee table beside the tray of prosciutto; Orazio reached behind him and pinched his wife Angela’s full rear; Angela lurched and slapped his hand, grinning. Veronica looked away as Uncle Cosmo scratched at his crotch.

  Over the back of the couch she could see into the kitchen, set apart by a half-wall, where Filomena, Aunt Erma, Cousin Alessandra, Cousin Ottavia, and Aunt Tessie stirred, chopped, floured, scooped, sautéed, and basted. The women laughed while they worked, shouted while they garnished, and flailed their arms while they arranged. In the corner on the far side of the apartment, Joey’s grandmother Concetta and great-aunt Marie sat in peach upholstered armchairs pulled side by side.

  “That young fella at the bakery, the one with the big nose,” Marie yelled to her sister, “I’m telling you, Connie, he shorted us two rolls.”

  “Count them again, Marie, that boy did no such thing. Maybe you ate them on your way home.”

  Veronica smiled at the muddle surrounding her and then at Francesca as she stirred in her sleep. Veronica saw the love that her babies would grow up with, within the family where she felt belonging.

  “I’m gonna feed her now before we eat, then Nonna wants her,” Tina said, scooping up her baby and nodding toward Concetta. “Thanks for holding Frannie.”

  “Here, take my seat.” Veronica stood and let Tina sit between the two old men.

  “Good sitting with you, dear,” Pasquale said to Veronica as she tried not to block the view of the TV.

  “Did you miss me?” Joey asked, reentering the apartment with his brothers and cousins, bringing in crisp air and their empty beer bottles. “Do they have you helping yet?”

  Veronica leaned up and kissed him. His cheeks were pink and cold, and his lips tasted of Budweiser. “I’m on my way to the kitchen now. I’ve been holding Francesca.” Veronica winked and walked by him.

  Aunt Tessie marched past her collecting dirty paper plates and plastic forks. “Come on, give me the forks,” she said to the slouch of men. “I’m gonna wash them up to use again.”

  No fewer than fifteen tinfoil pans rested in stands above Sterno flames. The lineup reminded Veronica of sleepaway summer camp meals. The buffet was set with towers of Styrofoam dinner plates and a basketful of plastic utensils rolled in paper napkins and tied with curly ribbon.

  “Pretty earrings,” Angela said.

  Veronica touched the pearls reflexively. “They were a birthday gift from Joey.”

  “What’d Joey give you?” Nicky asked. Veronica couldn’t understand how he’d heard the comment through the noise.

  “Ai, Joe! Nice earrings! They pearls? Look at Mr. Big Bucks buying his lady pearls!” Nicky bellowed across the room.

  “Lemme see.” Marie waddled toward her with Concetta at her side.

  Aunt Tessie grabbed Veronica’s earlobe. “Woo-ee! Real pearls, how’d you like that?”

  “He never bought his mama pearls!” Filomena joined them, leaning over the ladies to see. The scent of L’Air du Temps and Jean Naté that had been saved for too many years wafted around them.

  “How glamorous!” Ottavia said, her deep-set eyes growing wider.

  Veronica caught Joey’s eye. He leaned against the wall, gave her a half-smile, and shrugged as his family’s pride honored and embarrassed him.

  Filomena’s call boomed, ricocheting to another subject: “Dinner!”

  Dominic stood beside Veronica. “You’re really part of the family now. No more fancy plates and forks for you,” he yelled, then threw his head back in heaves of laughter.

  “Pipe down over there,” Filomena shouted. “There are too many of us for real dishes, Donny, now go fill your plate.”

  “You’re always causing a ruckus in this calm family.” Joey smiled and looped his arm around her waist. She caught her breath with his touch.

  “Joey, I love your family and I love you. I want to be a part of your life in every way, to raise a family with you. We’ll be happy with these wonderful people around to love our kids along with us.”

  His face brightened and his lips tentatively turned up at the corners. “But what about—”

  “So wh
at if our families are as different as, as, I don’t know—salami grinders and canapés. And who cares that our backgrounds are totally mismatched? Aren’t all the great romances about love across barriers?”

  At the buffet table, Veronica handed him a dinner plate and a napkin roll, then took them for herself. “And ours isn’t even a real problem, we just have different families. You’re my best friend, nothing else matters,” Veronica effused, resolved.

  THE SMILE WAS AUTOMATIC when Amy saw the postcard in the mailbox.

  Amy—

  See you in the city for Christmas—how’s Thursday the 23rd? I’ll leave my car in Tuckahoe, take the train in to see you, then head back home for Christmas Eve, good? Hope you had a great Thanksgiving, sorry we didn’t swing getting together. Love hearing about your boss—she sounds very supportive. Can’t wait to see you—less than a month.

  Love, Matt

  Perfect, Amy thought. She was going home for Christmas Eve on Friday, and she would get to see Matt first. She pushed open the apartment door with her foot. “Hello?” she called out as she did every time she entered. No answer. She flipped the light switch and the buzzer rang. “Ahh!” Amy yelled, and pulled her hand back as if she’d touched flames. The buzzer zinged again, impatiently calling her, and Amy flinched. Every time, she thought, pressing the button to respond. “Yes?”

  “Your pal Veronica is here. I’m sending her up,” Sam announced as he had dozens of times since spring.

  Amy stuck a shoe in the door and went to change out of her work clothes. In her underwear, she let the hot water run over her hands and wrists, chilled from the bite of December, and splashed hot water onto her face and neck. She heard the door clunk closed. That was quick, she thought.

  “I’ll be right there.”