The Fiancée He Forgot Chapter 03
Originally, because I was from a modest background, the Whitmores hadn’t approved of our relationship.
It wasn’t until I got a position at the Broad Institute in Boston with top marks that they relented.
Later, Mrs. Whitmore even brought out a sapphire ring that had belonged to her grandmother to give to me.
Just as it was about to slip onto my finger, Claire had darted in cheerfully. “Oh, Mrs. Whitmore! You’re so thoughtful, but Grace would never wear something so old-fashioned. Trust me, I know her too well.”
She, too, spoke in the language of for your own good. The ring was put away. In its place, I received a set of skincare products Claire had picked out.
The same kind of thing had happened so many times, I no longer had the energy to argue.
I just gave a wry twist of the lips. “…Just tired, I guess.”
Seeing me look composed, they took it at face value and relaxed.
“Then get some rest.”
Before Ethan left with Claire, he turned back to hug me and murmured near my ear:
“Grace, I know I neglected you at Disney today. Next time, I’ll take you again…”
A bitter, sardonic smile curved my lips. I didn’t reply.
After they left, I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
My phone buzzed. A message from Dr. Harrison, director of the institute:
Grace, how are you thinking about the researcher position in Seattle?
This one could keep you away for three to five years. Have you thought it through?
I stared at those lines for a long time.
Outside the window, the Charles River flowed past silently, like a soundless stream of time.
I drew a deep breath and typed two words: I’m certain.
The visa and job transfer went through quickly.
The afternoon I picked up my new Washington State driver’s license, Claire called.
“Grace! Where are you? Come now! I have a huge surprise for you!”
The address she sent was a three-Michelin-star restaurant near Boston Harbor.
I took a cab over. The moment I pushed open the door of the private room, a party popper exploded next to my ear.
“Surprise!”
Around the table sat several people: Ethan, Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore, and—my parents.
My father was wearing the faded old plaid shirt he always wore, his face lined with the weathering of decades in the mines.
My mother sat awkwardly at a table covered with pristine white linen, not knowing what to do with her hands.
Our hometown is a coal-mining town deep in Kentucky. There isn’t even a proper airport nearby.
I’d walked the road from there to Boston more times than I could count.
I could picture it: my parents getting the call, packing in the middle of the night, catching a ride to town in a neighbor’s truck, transferring to a long-distance bus, jolting along for over a dozen hours.
Claire came up all smiles and hooked her arm through mine. “Grace, isn’t this a surprise?”
I tugged the corners of my mouth. I could barely muster a smile.
Once everyone was seated, my parents stared helplessly at the three forks, two knives, and two spoons in front of them.
Claire, sweet-voiced and self-assured, guided them through using the utensils from the outside in.
Beside my parents sat an old canvas bag, packed full:
pickled cucumbers from home, freshly picked wild mushrooms, a few fish they’d smoked themselves.
Claire glanced at the bag and said, smiling, “Mr. and Mrs. Miller, how thoughtful of you. Though, well—we usually eat truffles and caviar flown in from Europe. These local specialties… I’m afraid we’re not really used to them.”
Something amusing seemed to occur to her, and she launched into a smooth mix of French and German, sharing with the Whitmores and Ethan her recent trips to Paris and Berlin.
The new menu at Pierre Gagnaire. A performance at the Berliner Philharmonie.
The four of them fell into easy laughter. The entire room revolved around her.
It wasn’t until the meal was ending that Ethan noticed my parents and I hadn’t gotten a single word in.
He looked slightly embarrassed but still offered me a reminder: “Grace, your parents’ accent is really thick. My parents have a hard time following. Since we’ll be family soon, help them practice a little… you know—smooth it out?”