Forks, Knives, and Spoons Page 7

  “She just dumped everything.” Jenny’s voice faded: “It’s really gone. I’ll never find it.”

  THE GOLF TOURNAMENT WAS Veronica’s first date with someone other than Eric in years, and she woke easily with anxious excitement, dozing in bed and daydreaming long before she had to be up. She’d met Scott Mason when he and Matt sat with them for lunch one day. They quickly discovered that Scott was the Phi Psi who rowed crew for Syracuse, the great guy that Eric had mentioned meeting at Brown. “Sorry he turned out to be a jackass,” Scott said, and the coincidental connection prompted him, in that moment, to ask Veronica to be his golf tournament date and she accepted, feeling a rare impulsiveness.

  Veronica’s dad was a Phi Psi and would approve of her going to the fraternity’s philanthropic event, she told herself, even if her parents remained dubious of her breakup with Eric. When she told them the news, she’d intended to withhold the fact that he had cheated on her to protect him from the Newport chattering, but when she was met with their disbelief and hints of fault, the truth burst from her. It wasn’t that her parents blamed her, really, but she felt their disappointment seep into their attempt at support.

  As Amy’s alarm clock radio went off in the middle of Joan Jett singing, I hate myself for loving you, Veronica thought of Eric and shook her head, trying to dislodge him. She got up and draped a towel over her shoulder, then laughed, seeing Amy’s toothbrush hanging by its neck, spinning above her desk despite the chocolate ransom. She flip-flopped to the bathroom, still rubbing sleep from her head. She claimed the middle shower with her towel then waited for a toilet stall to open. She shifted from foot to foot and stood on tiptoes. Finally, Kate emerged from a stall in her high-necked, lace-edged Laura Ashley nightgown, her bangs still neat across her forehead defying a night’s sleep.

  “Morning, Veronica,” Kate said, her genuine smile softening Veronica to the day.

  Veronica rushed past her. “Morning. Sorry, I’m dying, I’ve got to go so badly.”

  She squatted over the toilet and peed grandly. Even though this was her home now, it was still a public toilet and she could never sit on the seat.

  “FLUSHING!” Veronica hollered before stepping on the handle and sending scalding water to her showering friends.

  “WHO’S YOUR DATE, JENNY?” Sarah asked as a group from their dorm walked to the quad together. Veronica hung back, still keeping her distance from Jenny since that fateful fire alarm.

  Owen Chen, whose papers Amy had been typing, responded: “Biggest douche bag in the house! And he’s been talking about the hot girl he’s bringing nonstop.”

  Jenny turned toward Owen with her hands on her hips, appearing angry at his assessment of her date and flattered by the compliment.

  He cautioned, “Watch yourself, Jenny, I’m telling you, Greg’s a dick.”

  Jenny instantly started to defend him. “Seriously, Owen, how could you say that about him? He’s been through so much. You don’t even know,” she argued, as if she knew Greg intimately. “He’s survived hypothermia from hiking one of the biggest mountains, his dad died three years ago, and he had to work through high school to help support his family. Isn’t that so sweet? He didn’t even get to do anything for himself in high school because he was so busy working since his mom couldn’t because she was so depressed from his dad dying. He couldn’t even go to his own prom.” Jenny said this last part like that was the worst part of the whole list. She continued spilling the secrets he’d offered her, sounding more fantastical as she went. Owen let a disbelieving puff of air rush through his lips and quickened his pace.

  “Really,” Jenny insisted, falling back a step to walk with the girls, “he’s a knife, he’s a really nice guy. I met him at 44’s and we talked and talked. He walked me home and we just held hands, the ones that weren’t attached to our mugs, and we talked the whole way. We didn’t even, like, really hook up that night, we just made out. Isn’t that, like, so adorable?”

  “44’s? You only met him on Tuesday?” Sarah blurted out. They knew what night 44’s doled out cups that became affixed to their owners.

  “No, it was last Tuesday,” she retorted, the extra week an important detail. “We didn’t stay long, but we talked a lot, and then he asked me out for this golfy thingy.”

  The girls exchanged a collective eye roll and continued without further commentary; what they said wouldn’t matter. As Jenny rejoined the boys ahead, Sarah said to Veronica and Amy, “Let’s try to keep watch on her, just in case.” Wordlessly, Veronica looked at Amy, who nodded at Sarah in agreement.

  “Seriously, Amy, I’m not sure how you can still be nice to her,” Veronica said, not maliciously but matter-of-factly.

  “She’s got something going on. I don’t know what it is but there’s something up,” Amy explained quietly. “I’m not excusing her actions, but I think she needs some empathy. I’m starting to think that maybe she doesn’t even get how awful she’s been.”

  “You are a hopeless optimist.” Veronica shook her head at her friend, but she said it with a smile. She appreciated Amy’s kind heart and idealistic nature even if she didn’t feel the same way about Jenny. “For the record,” Veronica added, “she’s probably going to get wasted and make a spectacle on the quad, and one of us will have to pick up her pieces.”

  “You’re a hopeless realist,” Amy retorted, leaving them both laughing as they arrived at the temporary country-club setup.

  Matt spotted them and half jogged over. He timidly kissed Amy’s cheek, and his shaggy hair tickled her nose. His torn jeans and endless concert T-shirts were replaced by crumpled khakis and a navy polo shirt.

  “You look good, Matt,” Amy said as he handed her a golf club and tucked their scorecard into his pocket.

  THE QUAD LOOKED LIKE minigolf minus the ramps and windmills; Matt gently put his hand between Amy’s shoulder blades and guided her to the first stop: beer. Though never one to skip a meal, Amy had only had time for a granola bar for breakfast and she was already hungry. Somewhere inside her, beer for breakfast seemed like a bad idea, but her hand grasped the royal-blue plastic cup and she took her first gulp.

  The morning air felt soft around her, a plushness that eased away as the crowd of golfers aggregated. Teams of four gathered by the leaderboard to find their starting holes. Veronica tapped Amy’s shoulder and waved a scorecard.

  “We’re together.”

  “We who? You and Scott?” Either the early hour or the first sips of beer made her thoughts slow.

  As if answering, Scott appeared and kissed Veronica’s temple. That’s sweet, Amy thought, feeling that kissing sensation flutter through her.

  As the sun grew higher, Amy stripped off her cardigan and tied it around her waist. She felt a subtle floating in her head as the last gulp of that first beer hit her empty stomach. It was that dangerous, playful feeling—the kind that seems as though it will last in that exact, breezy, contented state forever. In a nonthinking thought process, it was clear to Amy that just another sip would make the happy feeling last longer, and she tipped the empty cup again, letting the last drip trickle into her mouth.

  “Not so fast, Amy, we have a long day ahead,” Matt cautioned.

  She looked at his hand touching her forearm and noted, not for the first time, how masculine it was with faint veins pushing through the skin. She took his hand in hers and smiled up at him. He returned her smile but reclaimed his hand, finding a stubby pencil in his pocket and scribbling something on their scorecard.

  Hole by hole, sip by sip, they golfed and laughed their way through the course. Matt could always make Amy chuckle with his witty comments and his well-timed one-liners. The damp morning warmed to a rare sunny Syracuse day. The campus yawned into wakefulness and groups of students passed, their necks craned at the golf course that had sprung up on the quad overnight. Shouts of celebration wove between mournful “awws” and occasional curses. Teams meandered, drank, stroked, scored, and jotted down numbers.

  As they loo
ped the holes, Scott brought another round of beer-filled cups. The delayed realization that the previous cups had worked their way into her head didn’t stop Amy from accepting one. It was her turn to putt again. She balanced her beer on a nearby bench and took her stance at the tee. She wasn’t doing badly and was actually having fun pushing that little ball around.

  Amy lined herself up and took aim. She swung and hit the dimpled ball, sending it sailing past the hole, past the bench, past the next hole and straight into the hole beyond. Hole in one! She swung her club in victory out to her side, nearly smacking Matt in the head, and the whole foursome cheered wildly. The stunned group, whose hole Amy had used, turned toward the celebration and joined in as understanding dawned. Amy skipped over to the hole to retrieve her ball and discovered it was Jenny’s team.

  “Way ta go, Amy, you got it in the hole,” Jenny slurred. She looked like she was about to reach out to hug Amy, but instead she abruptly changed direction and wrapped her arm around a nearby tree. She leaned forward and Amy saw her shoulders heave in even bursts, as used beer splattered along the trunk. She handed her club to Matt and went to Jenny, pulling her hair up and rubbing her back. Veronica was right. The reflex of Jenny’s heaving back beneath her hand transferred a feeling of nausea to Amy. Her stomach lurched and churned. She turned her head away from the vomit smell and claimed a few deep breaths of air.

  She wondered which guy was Jenny’s date. No one on her team seemed to be concerned or to even notice that Jenny was getting sick. As Amy glanced around, Jenny pulled herself to standing and meandered away. Amy followed and clutched her shoulder.

  “Where are you going, Jenny?”

  “I’ve got her, don’t worry,” answered a brusque voice. Greg, Amy presumed. He put his body in Jenny’s path and wrapped his free arm around her possessively.

  Jenny gazed up and smiled. “See, don’t worry, all set, I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine, s’okay, Amy, s’all okay.”

  Matt was beside them. “We should take her home,” he said to Amy, then turned to his fraternity brother. “Greg, we’ll take her home, you can stay.”

  “Butt out, Saxon.”

  Undeterred, yet without aggression, Matt reached out to Greg, who pitched forward unsteadily. “We’ve got her, Greg,” Matt said firmly.

  Veronica and Scott approached, and, with Jenny’s other teammates, gathered into a messy half-circle. Greg postured and drew his fists to his chest as he swayed to the side. Losing interest, he turned away from Matt, dropping his arms limply. He staggered to Jenny and pulled her to him.

  For a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Amy glanced around the circle; she knew that Veronica was savoring her time with Scott and the earnest attention he was giving her. The day passed speckled with small kisses that got longer and handholding that crept into waist-holding. Of all the golfing couples, only Matt and Amy seemed to still have a cushion of space between their bodies. Amy watched as Veronica’s deep sense of right emerged. Despite wanting to stay, despite her acrimony toward Jenny, she took a turn at trying to take Jenny home.

  “Come on, Jenny, let’s go,” she said, and tried to pry her away from Greg. “Time to go.”

  Jenny pulled away, showing a forcefulness they’d never witnessed. “I dote wanna go, I’m staying.”

  A golf cart hummed up the hill toward the growing crowd and stopped at the edge of the crescent of people. The men who got out were muscled and clearly in-charge kind of guys. Matt whispered to Amy that they were alumni there for the tournament. They converged on the group, and Greg took several stumbling steps back. He threw his golf club on the ground and stormed away, forgetting Jenny and retreating even before either alum could speak.

  Veronica joined Amy. “We’ll see you later.”

  “What do you mean? You don’t have to go.” Amy insisted that she go back with Jenny instead, but Veronica dismissed her with a wink.

  “We’ll get Jenny into her bed all safe, then Scott and I will get some time alone,” Veronica explained. “Don’t worry, she’s not ruining anything for me.”

  The alums guided Jenny to the golf cart, Veronica and Scott hopped on back, and they rode off. As people dispersed and the sound of tapping golf balls resumed, Amy and Matt heard, “Well, since we’ve both lost our teammates, let’s play together!”

  Amy didn’t feel like playing anymore. The beer was sitting in her uncomfortably, but she looked at Matt, who still seemed fresh and eager to continue.

  Matt read her mood. “Are you okay? We don’t have to play anymore.”

  How does he do that?

  “No, it’s okay. We can keep going,” Amy reassured him, not wanting to disappoint. “Besides, I just got a hole in one, that’s got to count for something.” Amy rallied with a smile as the new teammates teed up.

  All around, cheers, voices, moans, and screeches mixed to create a solid drone. Blue cups were strewn everywhere and another was placed into Amy’s palm. Just having it there made it go into her body. Mindlessly, she putted, sipped, talked, and moved to the next hole. Putted. Sipped. Talked. Moved. A fogginess was replacing her earlier lightness.

  Matt handed Amy a hot dog with a neat yellow ribbon of mustard across it. That yellow line was vivid to her even as the edges of her consciousness blurred. She gratefully finished the hot dog and cleared her mouth with a swish of beer. With each gulp, the beer tasted worse and became harder to swallow. That just-right, not-drunk space declined into a dizzy-drunken feeling. Amy clung closer to Matt and tried to appear steady. She worked to enunciate her words, hearing herself from outside herself. Her tongue was sticking and couldn’t catch up to her thoughts. She felt the assurance of Matt’s hand loosely at her back.

  Then she was home. Dim light peeked into the room from the parted curtains. From her bed, moving only her eyes, she observed her shoes, usually kicked off in a corner, lined up by the door and her clothes folded by her bed. Folded? She was wearing her favorite light blue boxy Kappa T-shirt, wide at the neck exposing her collarbones. Disoriented, she squeezed her eyes together and ran her tongue over her filmy teeth; when she brushed the hair out of her eyes, her forehead drummed from the faint touch. Focusing, she threw back the covers and hopped out of bed, only to lose her balance and sit back down.

  “Take it slowly,” came a soothing voice. She hadn’t noticed Matt sitting in her desk chair, her favorite photo of her dad on the shelf behind him. Matt had her anthropology text opened on his crossed knee in the dusky light, and he was still in his polo shirt and khakis from yesterday. Was it yesterday?

  “Matt, what happened?”

  He closed the book, exposing the crooked yellow USED sticker along its binding, and returned it to her shelf, then he sat beside Amy on her bed.

  “Don’t worry. You had a little too much to drink, but I brought you back here and helped you get ready.”

  Her mind retrieved the golfing, Veronica and Scott slipping away in the golf cart, Matt offering her a hot dog. And the blue cups. Yellow mustard and blue cups. White golf balls and blue cups. Green grass and blue cups.

  Matt saw the confusion in her eyes as she puzzled over the missing hours. His hand rested gently on her shoulder. It calmed her and she gingerly turned her body to face his. She folded her leg beneath her, yanked the edge of her T-shirt over her thighs, and hugged a pillow modestly onto her lap.

  “But how . . .” she began, “how did I . . . ?”

  “I helped you get ready, but don’t worry, you got dressed by yourself. I went in the hallway.” He knew her unspoken questions and her tension softened with his answers. “I stayed to be sure you were okay and didn’t need anything. You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours. How do you feel?” He removed his hand from her shoulder and ran his thumb along his jaw.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling tears rise. “I’m so sorry I messed up your day!”

  Matt smiled. “Amy, you could never . . .” he started, the smile melting into something else. “I had fun with you, Amy. I always
do.”

  Before she could respond, he said, “I left you a cup of water on the windowsill.”

  She gagged when she saw the blue cup by the window, and a pain shot through her skull as a knock fired and her door pushed open.

  “Hey, Aim. Oh, hi, Matt, didn’t know you’d be here.” Matt stood and Andrew reached his hand out for a firm shake. “Thanks for taking care of her, man.” His tone was even and it was hard to tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.

  Turning to Amy, Andrew leaned down and kissed her. “I just saw Owen, he said you didn’t look so hot at the end of the day, so I came right over.”

  His smell, the smell she loved, caused a moment of nausea. She gulped for a breath. When she looked over Andrew’s shoulder to thank Matt, he was gone.

  AMY HAD BLURTED THE INVITATION without thought and so she found herself with Jenny on the bus bound for Connecticut. She had noticed Jenny lingering in the lobby as the floor emptied for Thanksgiving break, busying herself painting her toenails and worrying an issue of Cosmopolitan as she waved good-bye to everyone.

  “You’re bringing her home?” Veronica was incredulous when Amy confessed her impulsive act. “Don’t let her take advantage of you, Amy.”

  “I won’t, but I felt bad. She had nowhere to go and she would’ve been the only one left here. Plus, it’s only four days,” Amy said, defending her decision to herself as much as to Veronica.

  The Thanksgiving travelers were piled with luggage, bumping bags against armrests and into heads as they filed on board, searching for vacant seats.

  “Thanks for inviting me to come home with you,” Jenny said for the fifth time since they sat. “Sometimes it’s hard to be far from home. This will be the first Thanksgiving I haven’t spent with my mom.”

  “You can call her when you get to my house and tomorrow, too, to wish her a happy Thanksgiving,” Amy suggested and tucked the snack bag on the seat between them. As the bus lumbered along, the two chattered, dozed, munched, and gazed at the other passengers.