Forks, Knives, and Spoons

by Leah DeCesare

  Her memory triggered, she continued: “I promise to grow alongside you, to encourage and support you as we both change, and to bring creativity and an open mind to our relationship. I promise to keep you my priority and to treat you with the respect and consideration of a lifetime friend. I promise to value and to love you in all ways.”

  Joey slid the ring on her finger and felt a wave of security as she placed the wedding band over his knuckle. The sensation of it lightly holding his fingers apart, the newness of the gold untarnished on his hand, the significance of its outward display of his connection to Veronica, all made his breath catch. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

  “Now that Veronica and Joseph have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands, and with the giving and receiving of rings, I announce to you that they are husband and wife.”

  They were invited to share their first married kiss and, after a blessing of the marriage, were presented to the exuberant audience. Joey and Veronica walked up the aisle to the back of the church encircled in cheers and whistles. They slipped up the stairs to an empty alcove, allowing their guests to filter outside. Sitting side by side on a wooden bench, Joey reached into his breast pocket and handed Veronica an envelope.

  “For you, Mrs. DiNatali.”

  Her face spread into a smile as she slid her finger under the flap and gingerly released the letter. The paper trembled in her hands as she read the beautiful words with a new understanding of Amy’s romanticism. The love letter was the stuff of movies, of romance novels, of fairy tales; it moved her to tears that these words were for her.

  “I love you so much, Joey, I am so lucky to have you as my husband.” She tried the word on, enjoying the sound of it.

  AFTER A NEWPORT/NEW JERSEY segregated cocktail hour overlooking the East River and a lot of wine with dinner, the party loosened up. “I know we told the band not to play this song,” Veronica shouted into Joey’s ear, laughing. The dance floor bounced with the force of hundreds of feet stomping to Celebrate good times, come on!

  “Guess they know better than us—it’s clearly a crowd-pleaser.”

  Amy joined Joey’s cousins and tugged anyone on the sidelines into the fray of dancing. Society women dressed in pale-colored St. John suits and strings of pearls swayed beside their custom-suited husbands, while Joey’s cousins and friends twirled young ladies and Italian wives. A conga line bounded through the crowd. Orazio’s belly hung over his black dress pants as he grasped the shoulders of a young colleague of Veronica’s, who linked in turn to Aunt Erma, Cousin Alessandra, and Cousin Ottavia, all in ensembles of glittery golds and sparkling silvers.

  Towers of cellophane-covered cookie trays filled a table against the far wall, and pouches of Jordan almonds in tulle bags sat at each place setting in elegant, handblown Simon Pearce glass dishes. The candy-coated nuts were an Italian tradition, five almonds signifying five wishes for the bride and groom: health, wealth, happiness, fertility, and longevity. How could Veronica veto that? They’d compromised and each family gave the favors they wanted, but the bold, energetic Italian traditions and personalities dominated the Manhattan ballroom.

  The tarantella invited everyone to their feet. Joey’s aunts danced with one another as the men sipped their sambuca in a circle around the dance floor. The old women sang and shook tambourines against their buxom hips. Susan Warren clapped her hands, trying to keep up as Filomena DiNatali pivoted her around, vigorously demonstrating the steps.

  Ian grabbed Veronica and kicked his heels with her to the Italian folk music, making up moves as he went. They laughed together, and he spoke into her ear: “So you married your electrician after all.”

  “Yes, I got wise advice from a good friend,” she replied with a wink. “And I’m glad you brought Robert.”

  With hands in the air, the crowd lurched from the tarantella to “Living on a Prayer.”

  “I’m getting a lot of stares, this is our first big outing together. Get it, outing?”

  “Hilarious, Ian. Your parents seem good with it.”

  “They’re coming around. It’s been a bit of an adjustment for them, but I’m lucky, actually. They’ve been much better than lots of stories I’ve heard.”

  Joey took her hand from Ian as the band slowed it down with Journey. The crowd sorted into couples, faithfully. Veronica breathed in Joey’s clean scent and squeezed herself deeper into his arms. Over his shoulder she watched couples dancing—Matt and Amy, her smiling parents, Joey’s uncle Cosmo with her aunt Barbara—and she saw Dora holding her clipboard, talking with Zach Bennett. He would finally be a steak knife for Dora, Veronica thought, knowing that Amy had liked him more than she let on all those years ago.

  She slowed the time in her mind. Consciously living in the moment, she told herself, I am at my wedding. I’m here in the exact moments we’ve been planning for months.

  Joey swirled her around and her dress spun like an umbrella. Their friends whooped and cheered and circled around them, clapping to the beat of the next song. From the center, Veronica saw the melding of cultures. She saw her new sister-in-law, Tina, in a skimpy red sequined dress that barely contained her new-baby breasts dancing next to Mrs. Curtis in her camel Chanel shift. Angela, done up in more lace than an Italian bride, flounced beside Mr. Bennett, and Ian, dapper in his seersucker, dipped Aunt Tessie, who was laughing like a schoolgirl. Looking at the people around them, it was an odd but jubilant scene of merged mismatches. She and Joey had made this happen, this was their new life. It made Veronica burst.

  As she gazed at the crowd from Joey’s arms, her mother approached, motioning them to the edge of the dance floor. Susan Warren started to speak, then paused and began again: “Joey, it’s not easy to have another boy call me ‘Mom,’ but I can’t think of a better man to have as a son. We would be honored for you to call us ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad.’” She touched her palm to his cheek for a moment, and Veronica cried through a beaming smile.

  “Sweetie”—she turned toward her daughter—“we’re thrilled for you. Henry would be, too. I know he’s with us and would’ve loved to have Joey for a brother.”

  Her brother would be happy, and she was grateful they could talk about him again.

  DORA SAW TO IT that the reception was going smoothly; they’d done the first dances, dinner, and the cake ceremony, all without a glitch. A friend of Veronica’s family, Zach Bennett, kept finding her and flirting in the nicest possible way. Dora’s heart fluttered, and finally, she trusted herself to recognize that he wasn’t a fork. She wasn’t sure what he was exactly, yet, but she placed him hopefully into the knives. Across the room, she saw him, his shirtsleeves rolled at the wrists, talking with a plump old lady in a loose floral print dress—Joey’s grandma, she thought, even more interested. Lost in her daydream, she hadn’t noticed the band gather the single ladies, she didn’t hear the telltale chords and taunts. She didn’t know they were throwing the bouquet until it hit her in the face. Instinctively, she put out her arms, catching the stunning flowers between her chest and her clipboard. The room roared and cheered, and Dora blushed, grateful when the band started up again.

  As the guests danced heartily, she knew she had something to do. She placed the bouquet in a vase of water and found the man she sought.

  “Mr. York, I don’t know if you remember me. I came home with Amy freshman year for Thanksgiving?”

  He smiled in recognition. “Of course. Jenny, right?”

  Dora didn’t correct him. “I want to thank you for your advice to me. It took a while, but I can finally say that I believe I’m worth being loved.”

  He nodded and, like he would with his own daughter, he wrapped his arms around her. Dora held still, wishing his hug would last and last. She waited until he released her with a final pat and a kind smile.

  “Thank you,” she whispered before retreating to her office for a moment alone.

  MATT HANDED AMY A glass of water with lemon the way she liked it and tugged her
to the side of the room. She gulped it, breathless from dancing. She was giddy with the romance of the day and the break from dwelling on London. Her separation from Matt was never far from her thoughts, but she had confidently called Carolyn that morning to accept the dream assignment. It was done.

  “Come sit with me.” Matt pulled out a banquet chair in a corner behind a table of women with thinning hair sprayed high. She sat on his lap, wishing she could be even closer. Switching from admiring the new twinkle on her finger to examining and the charms that were always around her wrist, she came to the newest, Big Ben. Matt had given it to her before the ceremony. Fingering each charm overwhelmed her and she started to cry. Her tears wouldn’t stop. They spilled happy and sad, excited and frightened, confident and nervous, all at once.

  “I’m going to miss you, Amy. I love you.”

  “I love you so much.” Catching her breath, she tried to stop crying. Matt held her as she heaved in sobs. Suddenly, she was laughing. Her body shook and her smile was covered in tears as competing thoughts and emotions collided. Matt handed her a cocktail napkin and she dabbed her eyes and blew her nose, gathering herself.

  “I know you’ve been doubting the utensil system lately,” Matt said, hugging her to him, “but maybe this will help you decide. Yesterday, a pregnant coworker was flipping through a baby name book and she looked up the name ‘Saxon’ for kicks. You’ll never guess what it means.”

  Amy studied his face, hiccuping as she listened.

  “It means sword or knife. Apparently, I’ve been your steak knife all along.”

  WHEN VERONICA’S FANCY WHITE shoes paused for a moment, Amy led her away. They left the reception room for the lobby outside the ballroom. The contrasting silence vibrated in their ears; they were alone except for a few balding men talking in a corner around a towering plate of cannoli. Veronica fanned her forehead, her face flushed pink and her curls unraveled down her neck. She flapped the skirt of her dress to get a breeze on her legs. Amy pointed to the couches.

  “I can’t believe I won’t get to see you all the time,” Veronica said, repeating a phrase she had spoken countless times since the prior evening when Amy shared the news. All of the news.

  As soon as the bustle of the rehearsal dinner evening receded, and the girls were back in the apartment, Veronica noticed the glint on Amy’s finger. Now that she had her own proposal story, Amy recounted it with infinite detail while Veronica held Amy’s hand in one of hers, and a tissue in the other. The proposal intertwined with her move to England, and the two wove a blanket of surprise for Veronica. Together, they had cried and laughed, looked back and planned ahead.

  Now, sitting outside the ballroom, Amy fished in her tiny purse and pulled out a skinny package.

  “Since you’ve converted to a believer, it’s for your first Christmas tree.”

  Veronica laughed, unwrapping the decorative silver handle then the edge of the knife.

  “Oh, Amy, I love it!” Veronica held the knife up by the red velvet ribbon looped through the hole the jeweler made in the handle. It spun gently, finding its balance.

  “Look, I had the guy at the store engrave it.”

  Veronica flipped it over and saw 1994—First Christmas etched onto the blade.

  The door swung into the sitting area, letting a burst of noise and drums escape.

  “There you are,” Amy’s father said, sitting beside his daughter. “What’s that?”

  Veronica laid the knife in his hand. “Joey’s my perfect steak knife.”

  Laughter chorused from the three of them.

  “The knives were the nicest category of guys, weren’t they? It’s hard to believe you girls still use that fool thing. I’m afraid Amy took it too seriously.” He squeezed his daughter’s hand.

  Amy shrugged. “Maybe, but I think I just made some labeling mistakes.”

  Veronica said, “To tell you the truth, Mr. York, I never bought into the whole Utensil Classification System. But I was wrong. That fool thing honestly works.”

  1. What traits do you see in Amy that represent young women today? What about Veronica? Jenny? Can you see yourself in any of the characters, either now or when you were their age?

  2. What do you see as the main message of Forks, Knives, and Spoons?

  3. Do you think men and women can be “just friends”? Why or why not? There are several instances in the book in which that line is crossed. Is there always an attraction on one end or the other? Name times in the story when Amy had a chance to see or notice Matt but she didn’t. Why does it take Amy so long to recognize Matt as more than a friend when others around her see it?

  4. What does Santa Claus symbolize throughout the story? Why is his message important?

  5. People often say that college and grad school are the times to meet your future spouse and that later, as time goes on, it gets harder. Do you agree?

  6. In the 1980s there were no cell phones, Internet, or even personal computers. Texting didn’t exist, and meeting up face-to-face, talking on the phone, or sending snail mail letters were the ways to socialize and stay connected. How do these differences affect college social life in this digital age as compared to in Forks, Knives, and Spoons?

  7. Why do you think the author chose to set the story in the late 1980s? Does it impact the characters’ choices and actions? If so, in what ways would the outcomes and characters’ actions be different if it was set in modern day?

  8. If trust was important enough to Amy to be on her “Ideal Traits of a Husband” list, why do you think she ignored or justified the many little fibs and lies Andrew told her? Does Andrew trust Amy? Should he?

  9. What is the significance of Jenny changing her name? How does she change and grow through the story? Do you know someone like her?

  10.How does the loss of Veronica’s brother impact her relationship with Joey and the relationship with her parents?

  11. Does Veronica’s relationship to Amy influence her relationship with Joey? Do you think Amy acts as a stepping-stone to Joey? If so, in what ways?

  12. Why do you think Joey was able to forgive Veronica? What allows Veronica and Joey to overcome the differences in their backgrounds and family cultures?

  13. Why do you think Veronica’s parents were able to come around rather quickly and be genuinely accepting of Joey? How do her parents, particularly Susan Warren, change through the book?

  14. What do the fire alarms signify? In what ways did the pastor’s sermon relate to the revelations during the alarms in their college years?

  15. What kind of utensil would you label Andrew? Matt? Joey? Do you think Amy was on target with her labels? Can you fit people in your own life into the different Utensil Classifications? Amy believed in the UCS and Veronica didn’t—where do you fall? Later, their belief in the system shifted. Did yours change at all?

  16. Discuss the meaning of the Empire State Building throughout the story.

  17. Amy finally got everything she wanted. Why do you think she made the decision she does at the end? Are you happy with her choices?

  SINCE I WAS FIVE, I’ve wanted to be an author. I have many to thank for helping me realize this dream.

  My early readers took the task seriously and provided thoughtful feedback. Thank you to Beth Bogdan, Dana Marnane, Stefanie Abate, Cindy Antonelli, Kelly Fichter, Jen Gaffney, Erinn Pisano, Amanda Mathieu and Amanda Hillegas. I’m grateful for Angela Lauria and Jeanette Perez who worked with me at the start of this journey with invaluable encouragement and big picture guidance.

  Thank you to Brooke Warner, Crystal Patriarche, Lauren Wise, and the amazing team at SparkPress. Thank you to my fabulous, eagle-eyed copy editor, Nancy Tan, to Kas DeCarvalho for dotting, crossing, and redlining, and to my publicist, Sharon Bially and her team at BookSavvy Public Relations.

  I’m grateful for all of my friends who have heard about the “fork book” for years and at least pretended to stay interested, and to everyone who has been inspired to add utensils to the UCS (many
of which made it into the book).

  A big shout out to Robin Kall, my constant cheerleader, brainstorming buddy, and connector extraordinaire. Thank you to the long list of authors who have generously shared their encouragement and wisdom with this new author, including Ann Hood, Camille Pagan, Dawn Tripp, Allison Winn Scotch, Nicola Kraus, Jenna Blum, and Sarah McCoy. And a big high-five to all of the ’17 Scribes authors. In memory of my friend Erica Shea, the kindest soul, who took my author headshot.

  Many thanks to the DeCesare and Mezzina families for lending me some names and for the bountiful and boisterous celebrations together. And thank you to the Bogdans: Beth, Michael and Molly. Maybe my brother will finally read a novel in his adult life. I love you all.

  To my mom, who made our home a story tale place to grow up, and to my dad, whose real life going-away-to-college talk inspired this book. I am beyond blessed to have you for parents.

  Endless kisses to my three treasures who I hope I have taught to believe in themselves: Ali, Michael, and Anna. To Nick, my perfect steak knife, your limitless love and support are the best of all gifts.

  Leah DeCesare is the author of the nonfiction parenting series Naked Parenting, based on her work as a doula, early parenting educator, and mom of three. Her articles on parenting have been featured in The Huffington Post, International Doula and The Key. She writes, teaches and volunteers in Rhode Island where she lives with her family and their talking cockatiel.

  Dear Reader:

  Thank you for being a part of my lifelong dream. Since I was a little girl, I have wanted to write books and you have just read my dream-come-true.

  You may not be aware that reviews truly make a difference to authors. I would be so grateful if you could please take a moment to post a short review of Forks, Knives, and Spoons on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Those little stars matter.

  THANK YOU!

  Reach out to me at leah@leahdecesare.com; I love to hear from readers and book clubs.