perfectly average morning. Just with better silver (or gold) ware.
“Oh. Right. Sorry. You know, I think I left an iron on upstairs, and I —”
“Grace, if you have used an iron within the last six months, I will eat that fork,” Ms. Chancellor says.
“Which one?” I try to tease. “You’ve got a lot of forks to choose from.”
“ From which to choose , Grace. Do not end your sentences in prepositions, dear.”
“Of course. I totally see what you’re getting at. I mean, at what you’re getting.”
I force a smile and move to the head of the table, take hold of the chair, but before I can pull it back, Ms. Chancellor singsongs, “Not that chair.”
“Okay,” I say, moving to the chair beside it.
“And not yet,” Ms. Chancellor says, moving to the head of the table. “You may sit after the head of the table sits, Grace. Never before.”
“Okay,” I say as she sits down regally. When she nods, I take the chair beside her.
“Have you ever studied etiquette, dear?”
“Yeah. My dad and brother were super big on that. Right after they covered the proper cleaning and storage of military-grade side arms, of course.”
“Grace.” The word is a warning.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m serious.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” And the bizarre part is that I really am. I want to be good, to use the right fork and wear a pretty linen dress to breakfast. I want to be the girl in the pictures upstairs. But I can’t be. That girl is dead.
“Your arrival here is quite good timing. Did you know that?” Ms. Chancellor takes the napkin and places it gently in her lap.
I mimic the gesture as I tell her, “Uh … no. I didn’t know.”
It hadn’t seemed like good timing to me.
I don’t pick up my gold fork until Ms. Chancellor picks up hers. I mimic everything, right down to the small sliver of ham she slices and puts in her mouth.
“Oh, well, Adria is a place that takes its traditions very seriously. History matters here, in the best possible sense. And one of the traditions that matters most is about to be upon us.”
“Oh.” I prepare to take another bite. “What would that be?”
“Every year, the ambassadors who are stationed here must visit the palace and present their credentials to the king. It’s a very old, very important tradition.”
“Okay,” I say, then risk a sip of water.
“Always wipe your mouth before you take a drink, Grace.”
“Okay,” I say one more time, not fighting it. I’m just happy to, at last, be eating.
“As it happens, the presentation-of-the-credentials ceremony is tomorrow night at the palace.”
“That’s nice,” I say, still unclear what any of this could possibly have to do with me.
“Oh, it is very nice.” Ms. Chancellor chuckles a little. “In fact, technically, it’s a ball .” I wipe my mouth and reach for my juice as Ms. Chancellor finishes, “And you are going to be your grandfather’s date.”
That is when I spit juice all over Ms. Chancellor and her pretty purple suit.
“N o.”
I don’t wait for Ms. Chancellor to stand before I bolt to my feet. It’s all the proof they should need that they are after the wrong girl. I drop my linen napkin on the floor for good measure.
“No. Just no,” I say.
“Grace.” Ms. Chancellor is trying to come after me, but I’m moving too fast. I have always been fast. “Grace, hear me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning briefly to glance at the woman behind me. “I mean no, thank you .”
When I reach the doors, I try to throw them open — but there must be some kind of trick to the latch, because they don’t budge.
“The tradition is three hundred years old.”
“Then they know how to do it without me!”
“It is an essential part of maintaining our place in diplomatic society! Without it, the United States would no longer have diplomatic status here.”
“All the more reason to leave it to the professionals,” I tell her.
Ms. Chancellor takes my shaking hands, pulls
“Oh. Right. Sorry. You know, I think I left an iron on upstairs, and I —”
“Grace, if you have used an iron within the last six months, I will eat that fork,” Ms. Chancellor says.
“Which one?” I try to tease. “You’ve got a lot of forks to choose from.”
“ From which to choose , Grace. Do not end your sentences in prepositions, dear.”
“Of course. I totally see what you’re getting at. I mean, at what you’re getting.”
I force a smile and move to the head of the table, take hold of the chair, but before I can pull it back, Ms. Chancellor singsongs, “Not that chair.”
“Okay,” I say, moving to the chair beside it.
“And not yet,” Ms. Chancellor says, moving to the head of the table. “You may sit after the head of the table sits, Grace. Never before.”
“Okay,” I say as she sits down regally. When she nods, I take the chair beside her.
“Have you ever studied etiquette, dear?”
“Yeah. My dad and brother were super big on that. Right after they covered the proper cleaning and storage of military-grade side arms, of course.”
“Grace.” The word is a warning.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m serious.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” And the bizarre part is that I really am. I want to be good, to use the right fork and wear a pretty linen dress to breakfast. I want to be the girl in the pictures upstairs. But I can’t be. That girl is dead.
“Your arrival here is quite good timing. Did you know that?” Ms. Chancellor takes the napkin and places it gently in her lap.
I mimic the gesture as I tell her, “Uh … no. I didn’t know.”
It hadn’t seemed like good timing to me.
I don’t pick up my gold fork until Ms. Chancellor picks up hers. I mimic everything, right down to the small sliver of ham she slices and puts in her mouth.
“Oh, well, Adria is a place that takes its traditions very seriously. History matters here, in the best possible sense. And one of the traditions that matters most is about to be upon us.”
“Oh.” I prepare to take another bite. “What would that be?”
“Every year, the ambassadors who are stationed here must visit the palace and present their credentials to the king. It’s a very old, very important tradition.”
“Okay,” I say, then risk a sip of water.
“Always wipe your mouth before you take a drink, Grace.”
“Okay,” I say one more time, not fighting it. I’m just happy to, at last, be eating.
“As it happens, the presentation-of-the-credentials ceremony is tomorrow night at the palace.”
“That’s nice,” I say, still unclear what any of this could possibly have to do with me.
“Oh, it is very nice.” Ms. Chancellor chuckles a little. “In fact, technically, it’s a ball .” I wipe my mouth and reach for my juice as Ms. Chancellor finishes, “And you are going to be your grandfather’s date.”
That is when I spit juice all over Ms. Chancellor and her pretty purple suit.
“N o.”
I don’t wait for Ms. Chancellor to stand before I bolt to my feet. It’s all the proof they should need that they are after the wrong girl. I drop my linen napkin on the floor for good measure.
“No. Just no,” I say.
“Grace.” Ms. Chancellor is trying to come after me, but I’m moving too fast. I have always been fast. “Grace, hear me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning briefly to glance at the woman behind me. “I mean no, thank you .”
When I reach the doors, I try to throw them open — but there must be some kind of trick to the latch, because they don’t budge.
“The tradition is three hundred years old.”
“Then they know how to do it without me!”
“It is an essential part of maintaining our place in diplomatic society! Without it, the United States would no longer have diplomatic status here.”
“All the more reason to leave it to the professionals,” I tell her.
Ms. Chancellor takes my shaking hands, pulls
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