Another Proposal

To surprise Mary Lincoln with a proposal, I returned three days early from out of town. I chose the restaurant we often frequented, a place that held so many of our memories. The restaurant walls were adorned with photos of Mary Lincoln and me. From the candid photos of our university days to the sweet moments during our graduation trip, each one captures a fragment of our story. In the center of the photo, I carefully arranged red roses to spell out "Marry Me," the vivid blooms strikingly vibrant under the warm yellow light. At the corner of the table stood Mary Lincoln's favorite white bellflowers, their pure white petals radiating a kind of innocence, just like she did when I first met her. My hand kept caressing the ring box in my pocket; the cool metal pressing through the fabric couldn't still the trembling at my fingertips. The appointed time was drawing near. I stood before the mirror on the restaurant wall, carefully adjusted the collar of my suit, and took a deep breath, trying to steady my nervous heart. The glass door of the restaurant was pushed open, and the clear chime of the wind chimes rang out. Instinctively, I straightened my back, my heart pounding wildly in anticipation of seeing Mary Lincoln's surprised face. But the moment I clearly saw who had arrived, all the strength in my body seemed to drain away instantly. Mary Lincoln walked in arm-in-arm with a young man; both of them wore perfectly tailored gowns. The man wore a delicate watch on his wrist, a style I knew all too well—when Mary Lincoln last saw it, she remarked, 'It's suitable as a gift for a friend.' At the time, I thought she was picking out a present for me. That man was Yale Clark, a junior schoolmate Mary Lincoln had mentioned several times before. She said he had just returned to the country, didn't know many people in this city, and needed some looking after. "Mary, the atmosphere in this restaurant is even better than I imagined." Yale's voice was tinged with a smile. As he spoke, his hand lightly rested on Mary's waist, his fingertips unconsciously brushing the hem of her gown—a touch far too intimate. Mary Lincoln lowered her head and smiled, the curve at the corner of her eyes revealing a clear shyness: "It's my first time here too. A friend recommended it, and it truly didn't disappoint." They didn't glance toward the corner where I was sitting at all, walking straight to the window seats. As Mary prepared to sit down, Yale Clark reached out to pull out her chair, his gesture so natural it was as if they had been a couple for years, completely free of awkwardness. I watched them sitting there, their heads close together as they shared a tiramisu. Yale carefully scooped a spoonful and gently fed it to Mary. When she opened her mouth, the smile in her eyes was tender and sweet — a look I had never seen in the three years we had been together. The ring box in my pocket pressed painfully into my palm, my throat felt blocked by something, and even my breathing carried a faint bitterness. Just then, my cell phone vibrated. It was a message from Joy Jones: "Has the proposal been sorted? Do you need me to come over and help set the scene? I'm ready to make Mary Lincoln so moved she'll cry." I stared at the screen for a few seconds, my fingers trembling uncontrollably as I slowly replied, "Come to the restaurant. I need to talk to you." No further explanation—I just didn't have the strength to say more right now. Joy Jones arrived quickly. As soon as she stepped into the restaurant, she first noticed my pale face, then followed my gaze to Mary Lincoln and Yale Clark; her brow immediately furrowed. She hurried over, gently tugged at my arm, and lowered her voice: "Don't be impulsive. Maybe it's all a misunderstanding. Perhaps they just happened to run into each other." I pulled away from her hand and trudged toward the table by the window. With every step, my disappointment grew heavier. When Mary looked up and saw me, her smile froze instantly; a flash of panic crossed her eyes, and she instinctively shrank behind Yale, as if trying to hide from something. Yale Clark also stood up, his gaze on me tinged with caution. In a stiff tone, he asked, "Who are you? Are you here to see Mary?" Before I could speak, Mary Lincoln quickly interrupted, "He is... my friend. Yale Carter, what are you doing here?" She deliberately emphasized the word "friend," her voice sounding somewhat unnatural. "Friend?" I repeated the word, my gaze fixed on the hands she held with Yale Clark; their fingers were still intertwined. "It's your birthday today. I came to bring you a gift." Saying this, I pulled out the carefully prepared ring box from my pocket and slowly opened it. The diamond's brilliance flickered under the light, dazzling my eyes until they ached, yet Mary's face held not the slightest trace of surprise. Mary's complexion turned even paler; her lips quivered, but no words came out, and her gaze darted away, avoiding mine. Yale Clark pulled Mary closer, locking his gaze on me with clear provocation: "Mary is with me today. Your gift? Keep it to yourself—she doesn't need it." It felt as if a heavy hammer had slammed into my chest, the pain so sharp that my vision blurred. I suddenly turned around, walked up to Joy Jones, and held out the ring box before her. Joy Jones froze, her pupils widening as she looked at me in disbelief: "Are you crazy? This was meant for Mary Lincoln! What on earth are you thinking?" "She doesn't want it." My voice was hoarse as I locked eyes with Joy Jones, asking slowly and clearly, "Joy Jones, will you marry me?" The guests nearby heard the commotion and all turned to look, whispers breaking out one after another. Mary Lincoln's scream suddenly tore through the air: "Yale Carter! What are you doing? Are you insane!"