Forks, Knives, and Spoons

  “One night, about a year ago, this guy was eating alone at one of my tables. He was probably in his forties, and he was coming on strong all night. He was gorgeous and I was flirting back. When he finished eating, he waited for me, drinking at the bar until my shift ended. I left with him and he took me to the bar in his hotel, down the street from where I worked, which was real fancy. He bought me drinks, said the nicest things to me. He was so grown up and incredibly good-looking, and he clearly had money—he kept taking out this Motorola DynaTAC cell phone. Have you seen one of those?

  “Anyway, I had a lot to drink, but I remember the night clearly. His name was Vince and it all hit me that night. We were at the bar and he answers his phone, and clearly he’s talking to his wife, telling her he loves her, to have a good night and to kiss the kids for him, that he’d see them the next day. It was disgusting, and in my head I was shouting, Fork! Fork! I thought of how many guys I’d been with who were jerks and how I never felt happy with any of them. I thought about how none of them ever really cared about me. I felt sick. I walked out and away from Vince and, for once, I felt like I was doing something for myself.”

  “Good for you, Jen—uh—Dora,” Veronica said.

  “I heard what your dad told me all those years ago on Thanksgiving, Amy.”

  “My dad? What did he tell you?”

  “You don’t remember? Thanksgiving night when we went for the drive?”

  “I remember the drive, but I’m not sure I remember exactly what he said.” Amy could recall only her shock as Jenny revealed that her father had left.

  “I always remembered it, but I hadn’t really gotten it until that night with Vince and his fancy phone. It was like I saw myself helping this guy cheat on his wife, I saw myself being used and taken advantage of, not being loved. I hated it. Something clicked and I understood what your dad told me. He said, ‘Believe you are worth being loved and don’t ever settle.’”

  Hearing her dad’s advice loop back to her years later, Amy thought about Andrew and how she’d tried to fit him into her picture of perfect. She realized how she had justified away her gut feelings and suspicions. My God, it dawned on Amy, I would have been settling for so much less if I’d stayed with Andrew. Somehow, like Jenny, she had also missed the real meaning of the lessons she’d heard from her dad.

  Dora set her glass down, the clink startling Amy back to the table as she continued. “All through college and after even, I was confusing attention with love. I was selling myself short over and over and over again. I was searching for something that I could never find, never catch hold of . . .” Her voice drifted off and her face looked pained. “That night it was like a secret unlocked in my head and I realized that I didn’t feel that I was worth loving. I would never have consciously admitted that before. I didn’t know it, but it suddenly struck me that I had always assumed men would leave me, that no one would bother to stick around. But now I work every day on feeling that I’m worth being loved.”

  She smiled at Amy and Veronica, who stared at her, attentive and impressed. “I’m not willing to settle anymore. I haven’t been with anyone in a year. I’m single. Totally single and happy about it, for now. I even started painting again; I’m taking a watercolor class at NYU.” She lifted her glass, toasting herself. Amy and Veronica joined her, genuinely glad for her.

  “I owe you an apology,” Dora said abruptly to Veronica, who managed to swallow her wine before she coughed. “I’m sorry about everything. It took me a while, but now I know that sex never made any guy love me. I had it all wrong and I hurt a lot of people, including you.” She spoke calmly, with peace in her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that I’m sorry for a while.”

  They could feel her sincerity, and without a word, Veronica leaned to embrace Dora, whose shoulders eased beneath the hug.

  “I’m learning to wait for the real thing. You’ve found that with Joey, I can see it.”

  “I have. He’s the real thing for sure. It took me too long to realize it, but thank God, he was still there when I figured it out. I found true love in an unexpected place.”

  “Clearly, he completely adores you, Veronica. That’s what I’m looking for, someone who is crazy about me—”

  “Hi, I’m Todd.”

  Veronica, Amy, and Dora turned toward the low voice. Todd was gawking at Dora as he tilted his back toward the other girls. He was athletic, his shoulders tugging at his shirt seams, and he was handsome despite his nose, which was angled as if it had been broken and never set straight. The crookedness somehow added to his physical appeal.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Veronica and Amy exchanged a look. Here’s where Jenny flips her hair and heads off with the cute fork.

  “Todd, is it? Thanks for the generous offer, with the open bar and all, but my friends and I were just catching up.” Dora delivered the line with finesse and a new assuredness with men that Amy and Veronica had never seen in her before.

  Veronica held her glass to her lips to hide the smirk. Todd clapped his hand over his heart, feigning a wound as he retreated to his pack of cackling buddies.

  Dora winked at Veronica. “Now I can spot a fork a mile away and steer clear. I’ve finally gotten it down after being a fork magnet for years. I definitely dated a whole drawerful of every kind you can imagine. I’ll have to show you the fork earrings I made in a jewelry workshop. I wear them to remind me what to avoid.”

  “Remember?” Amy interjected. “Veronica doesn’t believe in the UCS and I’m starting to think she’s right.”

  “Actually, it makes a lot of sense,” Veronica announced after Dora excused herself to go to the restroom. “See how well that just worked to screen out forky Todd? You were right, I’ve found the elusive steak knife and I can see that it totally works.”

  “V, it’s just something my dad made up. I took it too far.”

  “But think about all those forks you pegged and—”

  “I missed the fork in my own bed. How effective was that?”

  “Maybe he was good at hiding it, maybe you were too intent on him being your steak knife and missed it. Maybe there are some labeling mistakes, but the structure is solid.”

  “How is it that you’re trying to convince me that the UCS works?”

  They were laughing when Dora returned, and the three filled in the years, talking as they hadn’t in school, the distance of time and maturity allowing a new friendship.

  “I still think of my dad and wonder,” Dora said. “It always comes to wondering why he left. But for all of my searching, I see that going out with everyone who flirted with me, and seeking validation through guys’ attention, was all about me needing to figure out that I deserve love. My dad left me behind with doubts, without any experience of how boys think or act. I didn’t know I was on a self-discovery mission all that time. I made tons of dumb choices.” Dora shook her head to herself. “Growing up, I didn’t have my dad to guide me, and as unsatisfying as it felt, I thought I was doing it the right way, whatever that means. I thought going out with lots of different guys was how you found someone to love you. But I was looking outside all those years instead of looking inside myself. I know it sounds all therapy-shrinky, but I’ve finally realized that his leaving was about him, maybe even about my mom, too, but it wasn’t about me. I’ve also been able to see my mom in a new way. She really had it hard and did a lot to make the two of us a family.”

  Veronica stared at her, smiling, and she touched her fingers to Dora’s. “I don’t know what to say. You’re amazing. I never thought about my dad’s presence as helping to define me and my interactions with men, but I guess there’s truth to that.”

  “Sorry to be so serious. Thanks for listening. I don’t have many girlfriends.” Dora paused, exhaled. “And thanks for forgiving me.”

  Veronica answered with a clink of her glass to Dora’s.

  “Amy, I also wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I hit on Andrew. It was a shitty
thing to do, especially since you were always so good to me. I felt jealous. You had everything I wanted: a great dad and a hot boyfriend.”

  They looked at one another, seeing more, feeling deeper.

  “Speaking of Andrew, how’s he doing?”

  Amy chuckled. “My turn to catch you up on things.”

  Veronica chimed in: “Andrew turned out to be a fork in knife’s clothing.”

  ON A LATE JANUARY weekend visit home, Amy woke up in her childhood bedroom. The smell of coffee drifted up to her as she lay in bed, peaceful and content. Boxes and crates from her move out of Andrew’s apartment were still stacked in the corner of her room. Most of them were unmarked, filled hastily with her belongings in no order, but one box, under two others, was tilted, and she could see the stars she’d scrawled on the side with a fat black marker.

  She slid out of the sheets and her bare legs goose-pimpled at the touch of the the cool winter air. Wrapping herself in a throw blanket, she shifted the cartons, sat beside the starred box, and released the crisscrossed flaps. She lifted out her Treasure Box and rested it in her lap, unclasping the lid. The hospital bracelet from her homecoming accident rested on top of the blurry graduation picture of her and Andrew taken with his disposable camera before the ceremony. She moved aside the fire-alarm tally sheet and the letters from Zach Bennett. She carefully picked up sections of papers and memories and laid them out beside her until she found what she was looking for.

  Her list was handwritten, originally in black ink, but additions and edits were visible in different shades of blue, in varying widths of black. The pale green copy paper was folded into eighths. The edges of the folds were worn and softened, and the creases were so embedded that the sheet tried to fold on its own as she held it. The title of the chart was neatly printed: Traits of My Perfect Husband. Amy chuckled at herself. On her girlhood list, she’d set out to define her ideal man, believing she could script him, or perhaps conjure him. She put everything she thought she wanted on the list, every characteristic that had mattered most to her. There were three columns across the top labeled Extremely Important—Nonnegotiable, Moderately Important—Willing to Compromise, and Unimportant—But Nice. Trust was at the top of her list, and she realized how often she had doubted Andrew. There were so many little lies and the taunting lie of “someday.” She thought she knew the list by heart, but as she read, her smile melted into a dropped jaw, her mouth fell agape.

  How had she not seen it? In all these years, how could she have missed it? Her list described Matt. Not just the top priorities, but he fit the trivial wishes, too. Amy looked at her list thinking that for all of her idealism, she’d set the bar too low. Matt gave her things that she hadn’t even dreamed of adding to her list. He was so much more than she could have imagined. Pulsing with emotions, she let the paper fold upon itself and tucked it back into the box. There was no perfect guy, she knew in her maturity, just a perfect fit.

  She worked backward, replacing the piles she’d removed, thumbing through them as she went. There were squares of wrapping paper from gifts she’d received, tickets to a play Matt had taken her to, the first Valentine’s Day card he’d given her and others for each year since. Professional, labeled party pictures from formals, semiformals, rush parties, and pledge nights documented her college years.

  A mix tape, a gift from Matt, was under a pizza receipt with a dots game on the back, a game she’d saved because she’d finally crushed Matt. She glanced at her freshman-year transcript with A’s lining the columns, even in computer programming thanks to her personal tutor. A dried-up, deep red rose petal fell out from between the notes, and there was the golf tournament scorecard and years of postcards from Syracuse. She rubbed the petal between her fingertips. Matt had been there all along.

  There was a tap on her door, then it slowly cracked open and her father’s head peered into the room.

  “Over here, Dad,” Amy said, leaning forward to be visible among the boxes. Tom York, in his moccasins and flannel bathrobe, wove his way to his daughter and sat beside her on the floor.

  “You’re happy,” he said, smiling broadly, and Amy reflected it back with a definitive nod. “Matt’s a good person. I’m happy that you finally noticed him,” he teased with a wink.

  “You really knew?”

  “Honey, it was clear he’s loved you for years. All those summer and vacation visits, his notes and calls to you. You honestly didn’t see it?”

  Amy slumped back against a pile of boxes, looking down at the memories encircling her. “I was so sure it was Andrew I was supposed to be with. Marriage was supposed to be our next step. I guess I never saw beyond that.”

  “It worried me, seeing you giving up little bits of yourself for Andrew.”

  Amy nodded and handed her dad a picture: it was Amy dressed up for Halloween with Matt beside her holding a guitar. She was the tooth fairy, dressed in a twinkly, sequined ice-blue dress, with wings, a tooth-shaped wand, and a pouch around her neck filled with quarters.

  “What is Matt dressed up as?” her dad asked.

  “Some rock star I can’t remember. That was sophomore year. Andrew decided to stay out after the Halloween party fizzled. Matt walked me to my dorm, then hiked across campus back to his.”

  Tom York listened, then handed the photo back to Amy and took the new one she was giving him.

  “That’s us at the James Taylor concert. Andrew wasn’t into him but I really wanted to go, so Matt took me. And this one is Matt and me volunteering with my Kappa sisters, senior year. We donated books and read to kids at the city library. Matt borrowed a friend’s car, drove a group of us downtown, and stayed to read to the kids.” Amy looked at her father. “He’s always been there for me.”

  EARLY ON FEBRUARY 14, 1994, Amy caught a cab to the Empire State Building to do a story on the first year that Valentine’s Day weddings were being allowed at the midtown landmark. She had a contact who got her in early and she felt triumphant interviewing some of the winning couples before their staggered ceremonies on the eighty-sixth-floor observation deck. Her photographer got crisp shots and, after witnessing most of the historic weddings, she was eager to write the piece formulating in her mind. As she descended the elevator, she smiled, envisioning romantic movie scenes and happy couples.

  “Amy!” Jarred from her reverie, she scanned the busy lobby. Businessmen and -women in dark suits ebbed and flowed through the marble space. “Amy!” She heard it again but could still see no one she knew.

  A touch on her back made her turn, and she was face-to-face with Andrew. She startled at seeing him, his face as handsome as when she first fell in love with him and his eyes greener than she remembered, but his hairline seemed higher and his sandy hair thinner. Someone bustled by, knocking her closer to him.

  “How have you been? What are you doing here? Can you grab a bite?” He threw the questions out, not giving her time to answer, and guided her out of the traffic flow.

  She looked down at the pattern in the marble floor, gathering herself. Matt had consumed her thoughts and heart for the nearly two months since the last time she’d seen Andrew. An unsettled feeling clenched her chest, and nostalgia mixed with her new truths. Her mind drifted back to freshman year and meeting Andrew, to how things had once been. The memory of those early days with Andrew and all the years since spiraled around in her mind.

  “Let’s get something to eat. Come on, there’s a café right here. Please.” His voice was light and friendly, his eyes sparkled at her, and his smile lassoed her into the nearby restaurant. She still hadn’t spoken a word as they sat at a small table in the bustling café. Her mind whirled, trying to peg down why and how he’d become a fork. It wasn’t just the cheating, it wasn’t the Donnas and Dawns and Brees alone that defined him as a fork. It was the accumulation of falsehoods, the way he yo-yoed with her feelings, the detachment and dismissiveness. How had she been so wrong?

  “I—I can’t stay,” Amy began.

  “A quick snack. O
r just a cup of coffee? Decaf? Please, Aim.”

  “Don’t call me that. What do you want? Why are we here?”

  “I want to talk with you, just sit for a minute. I’m so sorry. I can’t stand the thought of you not loving me anymore. It’s over with Bree. Done. She felt terrible about things and dumped me, and then she met some guy. She moved to Pennsylvania with him.”

  “I’m not upset about her anymore. She wasn’t our problem. Your cheating just helped me see that. You were right when you said I was always waiting for you. I sold myself short and stuck around when I shouldn’t have. I didn’t believe in myself enough to leave you, and I wasted a lot of time trying to make something work that wasn’t going to.”

  “No, you’re wrong. What about that silly stone you always played with? It said to believe in us.”

  “No, it meant—”

  “We were good together. I know I took you for granted sometimes, but we worked together.”

  “Maybe for a little while at school, but we hung on too long.”

  “It kills me to think of you being mad at me. Are you saying I’ve really lost you?”

  “I’m not mad at you.” Amy stood. “I hope you find a way to be happy without having to be perfect.”

  As she crossed Thirty-Fourth Street, she looked up at the building towering above. She thought about all it represented to the city, to America, as the tallest building for more than four decades. She thought of what it meant to those who had built it, like Joey’s grandfather, and to those who had gotten married there that very day, and she thought about what it meant to her. It was so much grander from its base than from her living room window, but it was a constant in her grown-up New York City life. Its language in lights, its confident spire, its historical pride. The only time she couldn’t look upon it from her home in the city was when she lived with Andrew.

  THE MAY WEDDING DATE created a cascade of activity and a flurry of preparation all spring. A cancellation opened the weekend, and when Dora called, Joey and Veronica scooped up the date. They agreed that a shorter planning time worked in their favor since both mothers had too many ideas to offer in the arrangements. The date was settled, the guest list was growing, and it was past time for the parents to meet.