Forks, Knives, and Spoons

  Nerves jangled in Veronica as she reined in her hair for the meeting in the city. Joey’s calm centered her; his touch soothed her. She needed his composure on the cab ride and at the restaurant as her foot bobbed rhythmically. His parents were already seated when they arrived.

  “Joey! Veronica!” they shouted through the room. “Over here!” Filomena waved to them in case they hadn’t heard her.

  When her parents arrived, Susan Warren delicately reached out her hand to greet Joey’s mom, who flew past her outstretched hand and pulled Susan into her bosom in an energetic hug. Veronica’s mother was slender and appeared to be swallowed in the shorter, pudgy woman’s embrace.

  Throughout dinner, Veronica worried as Gerald Warren asked Nick DiNatali to repeat himself every time he said “earl” for “oil” or “yuge” for “huge.” Nick’s hearty laugh and boisterous storytelling resounded, and her mother seemed to be whispering to balance the volume.

  “Joe, did you tell your dad about my old Eldorado?” The men chattered about cars and “earl.”

  Susan’s eye widened only enough for Veronica to notice as Filomena shouted to Nick seated beside her, “Nick, pass me the bread, would you?” She served her husband generous pieces of bread and oil, though both sat in front of him, before taking a small heel for herself.

  The mothers bonded over a shared love of dirty martinis and stuffed mushrooms. Veronica was grateful for the common threads, however small. They shared stories about their children sitting with them and avoided any controversial topics like politics, religion, or the wedding. Filomena wanted “yuge” Italian cookie platters for favors, and Susan wanted to give Simon Pearce handblown glass. Filomena favored a DJ who was the godson of a family friend, and Susan wanted a well-known sixteen-piece band. Joey and Veronica danced between their parents’ visions and their own wishes for their nuptials. The Warrens insisted on paying for their daughter’s wedding but worked to respect the couple’s choices and tried not to intervene. Not too much. They were all finding their way in their new roles.

  Filomena launched into another story. “When Joey was a little one—”

  “Ma, please.”

  Ignoring him, she bragged on: “From the time he was small, he was always the smartest boy in his class, smartest kid in the whole school! He helped all the other kids, always had the A’s. Everybody loved him! And he always does good at everything: he can fix a drain with his uncle and cook with his mama. Did you know he can draw, too? And he can solve any crossword puzzle in no time!”

  Politely, Susan latched on to that tidbit. “Oh yes, he’s wonderful at crosswords. It’s something Joey and I have enjoyed doing together on his visits to Newport.”

  As the evening wore on and the cocktails emptied, the couples laughed together and forged a connection, one that might never extend beyond the realm of their offspring, but one that was amicable and respectful nonetheless. When desserts and espressos were served, Filomena slapped the table, jostling it and sloshing her own coffee.

  “Veronica, you call us ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ now! No more of this Mr. and Mrs. nonsense,” her future mother-in-law announced, loud enough for every restaurant guest to hear. Susan glanced around self-consciously as other diners gawked their way.

  “Thank you, Mrs.—um, Mom,” Veronica ventured. She waited, but her parents didn’t make the same offer to Joey.

  THE SPRING WAS FILLED WITH dress fittings, flower choices, and music selections. They traipsed around the city reviewing bands, tasting cakes, and selecting wedding rings. There were bridal showers and thank-you notes. Veronica received expensive vases and platters and china and silver place settings in Newport. In Hoboken, she got a chevron-patterned, hand-crocheted afghan from Aunt Tessie, satiny lingerie from Joey’s grandma, and a fifteen-piece cookware set from Mom DiNatali.

  They wrote their vows and met with the pastor, and Joey helped his parents make rehearsal dinner plans and come to terms with him getting married outside of their Catholic faith. Veronica overheard him talking with them on different occasions: “No, Ma, there’s no priest, he’s a pastor,” “We’re not having a Mass, there’s no Mass in the Methodist church, Mom,” “Yes, they still believe in God and Jesus,” “It’s a real church.” When they were together, Filomena would cross herself and shake her head as she protested.

  Veronica counted down the days, checking them off on the wall calendar tacked up in her office, twelve months of New York City firefighters, a Christmas gift from Amy. Even the hot men holding hoses couldn’t distract her from her long to-do list. Every night, Veronica went home to her maid of honor, and they laughed and planned and reminisced before Veronica headed down the hall to Joey’s and Amy got on the phone to Syracuse.

  As a bare-chested Mr. May looked down from a ladder, wearing only a smudge of soot and his turnout gear, Veronica crossed off the second-to-last workday before her wedding.

  “Tomorrow night Chelsea’s away on a business trip. I’ll stay here and we can have a movie night in pj’s like old times,” Veronica suggested to Amy that evening, holding up her next day’s work outfit by the hangers. “I’ll go to the video store on the way home—I’ll get Footloose—and we can order in and spend both the second-to-last and last night here before I become Mrs. DiNatali.”

  Amy agreed, and Veronica padded in her slippers to apartment 202, dangling her suit high above the floor.

  AS AMY HELPED VERONICA plan her wedding, Matt transferred his credits to NYU to complete his degree and accepted a job at a start-up, WP Studio. He would be working in a new technology area, building a city guide called Total New York on the growing Internet. Before relocating, he remained in Syracuse to finish a class and a project for Lockheed. He and Amy called and wrote letters, not letting a detail pass unshared. While juggling work and wedding planning, Amy helped him move into his temporary downtown apartment. Once settled into the city, they would take time to plan their next steps.

  On the Thursday before the wedding, Amy was called into her editor’s office. Her boss, Carolyn James, was a role model to her, someone who had become a mentor and friend. She helped guide Amy’s writing and encouraged her career development. She challenged Amy to raise her hand for tough stories and pitch ideas that were bold and brave.

  As Carolyn shared the reason for summoning her, Amy leaned forward in her chair, her heart beating rapidly and her breathing shallow.

  “Think about it, Amy, this is a spectacular opportunity. I believe in your talent and know this would be an excellent assignment for you. I know it doesn’t give you much time. The life of a journalist, right?”

  Stunned, Amy thanked Carolyn and went back to her desk to call Matt; he was the first person she wanted to talk to. She was told he was out of the office and left a message. Amy wanted to talk with him in person right away, but their schedules were plotted. She had movie plans that night with Veronica, and he had a welcome dinner with his new team and the owner of WP Studio. It was important, she knew, but frustration mounted. He was so close, but she couldn’t get to him. They wouldn’t be able to see each other until the next evening, Friday, for the wedding rehearsal.

  Amy walked the seven long blocks from her office on West Forty-Fourth Street to Third Avenue and arrived sweaty at the apartment that had been her first New York City home. The walk gave her time to think, and she wondered if maybe this was the big decision Train Santa had predicted, there had been several in a short time. Veronica wasn’t home yet, so she showered and thought. Waited and thought. Stared out at the Empire State Building and thought. When Veronica finally rushed in with an armful of Blockbuster tapes, she was bursting to reminisce with Amy. They ordered food and pulled out old photo albums and laughed through the years and hairstyles, all while Carolyn’s offer lingered in Amy’s thoughts and heart. The night ticked on in rolls of giggles and remember-whens. It was a time of looking back before Veronica’s new chapter. It was her friend’s time and, not only did she need to talk to Matt, but Amy simply couldn’t bring herself
to tell Veronica the news.

  MATT MET AMY LATE in the afternoon before the rehearsal dinner. She hadn’t slept much overnight. They sat on a bench in Bryant Park and Amy stroked a swatch of her stick-straight hair.

  “I’m glad you could meet me before the rehearsal tonight, Amy.”

  “Me, too, I really needed to see you.”

  He leaned forward. His shirtsleeves were rolled, exposing his forearms. She stared at his masculine hands, his sturdy wrists, the knobby bone that pressed out at the sides, the strips of tendons. She had watched those hands for years, confidently making keystrokes, writing in her notebooks, rubbing his jaw.

  “I’ve missed you with us being two hundred fifty miles apart, and now that we’re finally in the same place, I have to ask you something,” Matt began. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and yesterday I went out to see your dad.” He kept talking to her puzzled brow. “I don’t want to overshadow Veronica, but”—he took her hands in his—“‘when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’”

  Amy instantly recognized her favorite When Harry Met Sally . . . movie quote. She widened her tired eyes as he slid from the bench and kneeled before her. “Amy Melissa York, I have always loved you and will love you forever. I want to be your steak knife. Will you marry me?” He beamed up at her and held out the platinum setting with a round cut diamond and two baguettes. It was her dream ring, the one in the picture in her jewelry box. A few tentative claps turned into a chorus of applause around them before the busy New Yorkers were off again.

  She held the ring between her fingers, and tears welled and her face crumpled.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t even know how to tell you this. I couldn’t sleep thinking about it last night.”

  “What? What is it?” He sat beside her again, worry in his eyes.

  Amy looked into his face, taking in his deep brown eyes and the dimple through the scruff. Matt urged her with his gaze.

  “I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but there’s something I have to do.” She filled her lungs, then she let the words pour without stopping. “I’ve wanted to talk to you since I found out yesterday … Carolyn offered me a yearlong assignment in London. I can’t turn it down; I have to do this. I know you just moved here and that you’ve waited a long time while I figured things out. I want to be together, more than I can say, and I understand if you can’t wait for me again. But, Matt, I have to do it. I haven’t told Carolyn yet, but I’ve decided to take the job. I leave in a week.”

  A nearby young mother and her child threw pieces of New York City pretzel, and a mess of pigeons swooped around for the scraps. Their scurries mimicked Amy’s heart. She fingered the ring, holding what she’d always wanted, the symbol of a love so deep.

  He pressed his eyes closed and pulled her into his arms.

  “Okay,” he whispered, after a long moment.

  They were wrapped in each other, clutched together, as the sounds of the city park circled them. All around the bench, it was an ordinary day: dogs being walked, men in suits rushing by, old ladies strolling with market bags. On the bench, two lives took a new direction, finally together but branching apart again.

  “I’ve thought about us for years, you’ve only had a few months. I’m proud of you. This is important for you. I’m going to miss you incredibly, but it’s good you decided to go.”

  “I love you, Matt. I love you so much. You’ll come to visit, won’t you?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’ll be accumulating some serious airline miles.” He kissed her. “What about your dad and Veronica? How did they react?”

  “My dad was like you, supportive beyond reason. I have to call him; he must be going crazy knowing both of our secrets. I haven’t been able to tell V yet. We’re spending tonight together after the dinner, I’m going to tell her then. I can’t believe I’ll be gone when they get back.”

  Matt exhaled, “A lot of changes for all of us. Come on, let’s get ready for the rehearsal. I’m spending every possible minute with you before you leave.”

  She held out the ring. “It’s perfect. What should we do about this?”

  “Please wear it. We can figure out the details for when you get back, but I want you to be my wife, Amy, no matter where in the world you are.”

  THE GROOMSMEN WERE LINED up beside Joey, looking sharp in their tuxedos. He beamed at them and out at the crowd filling the church. When the music began, he could not look away from the door at the rear of the sanctuary. He watched as the bridesmaids took deliberate steps. Amy grinned at him as she approached. She was the last to file down between the pews and the double doors swept closed behind her, but not before Joey glimpsed a wisp of white. He waited, holding his breath, his smile immovable, staring at the heavy, paneled doors. Anticipation shone from him like a prism in sunlight.

  Without turning his head from the back of the church, he heard his brother Nicky, his best man, give a low whistle of air through parted lips, and his brother Dominic whispered from two people away: “Here she comes, man.”

  Both doors opened at once, revealing Veronica and her father framed, magically, in the entry. Daylight lit them from behind, but instead of silhouetting them, it created an aura, a golden glow around them. Joey inhaled and he felt a friendly pat on his shoulder. His gaze was fixed on Veronica slowly drawing nearer to him. Her smile was for him alone, her eyes locked on to his. He wiped his palms discreetly against his thighs then pressed a hand to his heart, feeling the paper in his breast pocket.

  They stopped at the pew where her mother waited. Veronica’s father lifted her veil and whispered in her ear, and she clasped him in a hug. Her mother rose and cradled Veronica’s face in her hands, joy and love spilling through them. She kissed her daughter, and the trio turned to Joey as he stepped closer to receive his bride. With wetness in their eyes and hands joined, Gerald and Susan settled themselves in the front row together.

  Across the aisle, behind his parents, Joey heard Aunt Tessie, who thought she was whispering: “Would you look at the lace on that dress, Marie? It must’ve cost a fortune.”

  Marie loud-whispered back, “All that red hair. How’d they make it stay up like that?”

  “Where’s the priest? Why isn’t that fella wearing a collar?”

  “You two keep it down,” Concetta scolded.

  “But no priest, Connie, and they’re not crossing themselves,” Tessie tutted.

  A shaft of sunshine spotlighted Veronica as she stood facing Joey. It was only the two of them among two hundred well-wishers. Hand in hand, they climbed the three steps and joined their wedding party. The pastor greeted the gatherers and led the bride and groom in a declaration of marriage. The couple lit the unity candle, and then he invited the wedding party to sit for his sermon.

  “Joseph, Veronica, throughout your life, you will be faced with fire alarms,” the pastor began.

  A hum of gasps and whispers vibrated from the Syracuse guests in the pews. Veronica turned to Amy; they gaped at each other with wide mouths hinting at puzzled smiles.

  “What?” Joey mouthed to Veronica, who whispered, “I’ll tell you later.”

  The pastor continued: “Life will have surprises, good and bad. It will have fires that are real and false alarms, but each will give you something to learn about yourself and about each other. Each of these alarms will reveal a truth to you. How will you respond and react? Will you put others before yourself? What sacrifices, what choices, will you make in the face of a fire alarm?

  “Notice and appreciate when life seems calm and content. Be grateful for the lack of alarms in those times of tranquility and build your reserves of patience and love. Use the fire drills of life to practice kindness and respect for each other, as opportunities for self-improvement and growth as a couple. Joseph and Veronica, you are surrounded today by those who care for you. Learn to seek out extra suppor
t and turn to family and friends when a fire gets too hot. Your true friends will be there when the alarms are not false.

  “Bolster and shield each other during the fires, big and small, in your marriage, be each other’s safety net. Take time to explore what those fire-alarm moments mean. Work to prevent fires. Communicate truthfully to extinguish sparks of despair or frustration early, before they ignite. Use compassion and empathy, discussion and touch.

  “While you put out the fires of loneliness and fear, continue to fan the flames of your love, and when that love changes from impassioned to contented, from new love to mature love, always nurture the embers in your hearts to keep your marriage strong and vibrant. Joseph, Veronica, we ask God’s blessing upon you, today and forever. Amen.”

  Silence hovered as the pastor prayed and then directed the wedding party to stand. He blessed the rings and Joey pulled a note card from his pocket. Printed in his youthful scribble were the traditional vows they’d combined with those they’d written. Smiling, Joey focused on Veronica and spoke their vows straight from his heart, holding the card as insurance but not needing to refer to his notes. Then Veronica faced him, reciting the vows from memory.

  “I, Veronica, take you, Joey, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. I promise to give you the best of myself and to accept you the way you are. I promise to share my time, my feelings, and my dreams. I promise . . .” She paused, searching the ceiling for the next words. Joey offered his card to her, the congregation chuckled, and Veronica tilted her head with a smirk.