The Fiancée He Forgot Chapter 09
After the banquet, the Whitmores pushed through to talk to me.
Mrs. Whitmore was wearing a dark red Chanel jacket, her smile edged with a certain eager, testing quality.
“Grace, darling, it’s been so long. Look at you now. Please, whenever you’re free, do come by the house. We should keep in touch.”
I gave a polite smile and said nothing.
Ethan came over. He stood in front of me for a moment, silent, then asked, “What are your plans?”
I said, “The institute gave me my own lab and tenure. My parents are getting older. I’ll bring them out here to live with me.”
He nodded. His lips moved as if he wanted to say more, but in the end he only said, “That’s good.”
I turned and walked away.
In the hallway outside the ballroom, I ran into Claire.
She was leaning against the wall, as if she’d been waiting for me.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, her makeup slightly smudged, her whole figure disheveled and unsteady.
I didn’t look at her. I meant to walk right past. But she called out from behind me, her voice trembling.
“Grace… can I say a few words?”
I stopped and turned.
She lowered her head, her shoulders trembling. It was a long time before she spoke.
“Grace, I’m sorry.”
Her voice caught. She got the words out in fragments.
“Back then… I did have selfish feelings. I grew up with Ethan. I was so used to him being there that I thought I didn’t have feelings for him. But when he actually became your boyfriend, when he was suddenly no longer mine in that same way, I panicked. Jealousy and possessiveness took over. I did so many things to hurt you.”
She looked up, tears falling.
“But I meant it. At least before Ethan started pursuing you—I really did think of you as my best friend.”
I was quiet for a long time.
The hallway was still. Only the crystal chandelier overhead cast down its warm, amber light.
I looked at the woman who had once been closest to me, and who had later hurt me most. I felt no hatred. No forgiveness, either. Only a quiet stillness.
“Claire,” I said, “the reason I left wasn’t because of Ethan.”
She froze.
“It was because you dragged my parents into it.”
I said each word deliberately.
“As a friend, I could tolerate your selfishness. But I couldn’t accept you using my parents to feed your sense of superiority. That was my line.”
Her body jerked, as if she’d been struck.
She covered her mouth. The tears kept coming. She said I’m sorry over and over.
I pulled a tissue from my clutch and handed it to her. “Take care of yourself from now on.”
Then I turned and walked out of that hallway.
The lights outside were bright. From the ballroom I could hear the lively hum of conversation and the clink of glasses.
When people learned I’d won the award, plenty of them had rushed to send cars, bringing my parents from Kentucky to Washington, D.C. Even when my parents, who didn’t understand any of it, stood tense and awkward at the reception speaking their halting English, that whole crowd of gleaming, well-credentialed people had smiled and nodded and made small talk with them.
I stood alone and watched.
The upper world I had once tried so desperately to fit into was now inching carefully toward me.
They no longer minded my parents’ accent. No longer looked down on the mountain goods they’d brought. Some of them were even complimenting the “wonderful rustic flavors.”
And I remembered so many scenes from years ago.
That girl crouching at the curb at Disney, throwing up until she couldn’t breathe.
That girl in shoes that didn’t fit, forcing her way into a world that wasn’t hers.
She didn’t have to force herself anymore.
Even in a fifteen-dollar T-shirt and jeans, even out of step with everyone around her, the people who met her now would bow their heads respectfully and say, “Dr. Miller.”
This was my awards ceremony.
No performing changes for anyone. No bending to fit anyone. Just love myself, honestly, and be myself.
As for the past—it had long since receded like distant mountains, and it had nothing to do with me anymore.
She had once forced her feet into shoes that didn’t fit, hoping to walk into his world.
In the end she came to understand: she didn’t need to walk into anyone’s world.
She herself could be a world.