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So Cory’s taking the news with his usual poise and restraint.
"But what about our sacred best friend bond? Our carefree man-to-man hangout rituals? Our bro time, Shawnie?"
"Your perfect bro time hangout ritual is splitting a milkshake and talking about our feelings."
"That’s what I’m saying! That is what's on the line here!"
Cory takes an aggressively large bite of his dry aged burger, immediately regrets not being able to talk, and he glares down at the food. There’s a smudge of mayo by his mouth. Veronica probably should have pointed that out before she started her speech. She just didn’t want to put it off any more? It felt like a now-or-never kind of moment, right there in the middle of Cory complaining about the sorry state of Central Park ducks these days.
"Okay. Here's what we're gonna do," Cory says, mouth full of bread and beef, "I'll need some time to get my affairs in order. But I will cast my wife aside for you."
"You’re going to what?"
"Topanga understands. You understand, don’t you, honey?"
Topanga's sipping her slim latte with perfect serenity.
"My beautiful, reasonable first wife understands that she and I will get a divorce, and then you and I can get hitched."
"Why would I want to marry you, you maniac?"
"To affirm our sacred best friend bond!"
Veronica glances at Topanga, uncertain all of a sudden. She'd taken her support as a given, but with Cory entering his absurdity vortex and yammering on --
Topanga smiles, one of her ruefully fond ones, and her eyes sparkle. Veronica reaches out - it's this new thing she's trying out - and Topanga squeezes her hand.
"But mostly," Cory muses through a new mouthful, "life's tough for a single gal in the big city. Especially one who's, you know," he gestures at Veronica, "probably going to be a total fox."
Topanga squeezes her hand again. Confirmation?
"We're in New York City," Cory says. He's been pointing that out daily ever since they moved here three years ago, always with the same grudging admiration. "Everyone's got an open marriage here. Even the pigeons. So Topanga and I will carry out our affaire de coeur," he mechanically adds a dorky French laugh, like it’s just a part of the phrase, "and when you’re ready to date - and do not rush this, okay, you’re still in the prime of your womanhood - then I guess we’ll set up a rigorous vetting process and find you the guy of your dreams."
"Cory," Veronica rests her forehead on the table in front of her. Cool, sweet table, how quiet you are. "For one thing, I’m still interested in girls, okay?"
"You are?" Cory sounds delighted. "Well whaddayaknow! My glamorous big-city second wife: Shawnie the lesbian."
"Ronnie," Veronica offers, still talking to the table. She never got around to introducing herself before Cory started squawking. "I picked a nickname that’s just one letter from Shawnie. I know you hate change."
"I do hate change," Cory says, pleased. "That was very thoughtful of you, Ronnie."
"You’re sticking with Veronica, then?" Topanga asks. "It still suits you."
"Yeah. It’s been my main choice for a while. Since, uh, since we were ten. I guess."
That’s when Cory starts crying.