Page 102 of Meant to Be

“You just said yourself it’s not that easy—”

“I know, but I still feel like I failed her,” she said. “Elna disagrees—she blames my mom so much.”

“For not leaving on her own?”

“Exactly. On some level, I think she’s right. I believe all that stuff about how we are each the captain of our own ship or whatever. That you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. But she’s my mother, you know?”

“I know,” I said, kissing her forehead. “I feel like we should try to dosomething.We could report him…. It would be his word againstours—he’d lose that battle.”

“Yes. But at what cost? What would he do to my mom?”

“We could get a restraining order—”

“Likethosework.”

“We could get her full-time security—”

“Believe me, I’ve thought about all of that. Every few months, I hatch a new plan. But the other night?…Something snapped inside me, and I started to think that Elna really is right. How could my mom do this to herself? How could she have let me live that way? I mean, God…I think about having children…I just can’t imagine allowing someone to treat my child that way.”

“I know, baby…I think a lot about that stuff, too, lately. Having kids,” I said, stroking her hair. “And how I want to do things differently than my mother.”

“Yeah. But I feel like she’s done a pretty good job. You’ve turned out really well. And it doesn’t seem like you should have,” she said. I could tell she was smiling, but also serious.

“I know. She’s a good mother. She really is. But sometimes I resent all the Kingsley pressure and hype. I’m not going to do that to my kid—” I thought for a second, then added, “Of course, with my mediocre accomplishments, some of that pressure will be diluted.”

I laughed, but Cate didn’t. “Don’t, Joe,” she said. “Don’t put yourself down. I don’t know a better man.”

“Wow,” I said. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

She tilted her head up and gave me a soft, soulful kiss that made my heart explode.

—

The rest ofthe summer passed both blissfully and uneventfully. There was no further drama with our families, in part because we limited contact with both. Cate called to check on her mother now and then but didn’t make any attempts to see her and I didn’tpressure her. In the back of my mind, I fantasized about a rescue or revenge mission, but for now I safeguarded Cate’s mental health and prioritized our relationship.

Meanwhile, Cate acclimated to her growing fame. She still despised and feared the paparazzi, and we erred on the side of keeping a low profile, but we weren’t in hiding, either. We freely went to restaurants and bars, Broadway shows and baseball games. We even attended the occasional benefit or gala or fundraiser together, the sort of boring events I’d been saying no to for months. For a shy person, Cate was a natural at working a room and could turn on her charisma like a light switch. One moment, she’d be sitting anxiously in the back of a town car, dreading the function to come, and in the next, she was dazzling celebrities and politicians.

The key to her charm, I think, was that she was always so authentically herself. Despite her insecurities, she never overcompensated by trying to impress anyone, nor did she try to hide behind me. Instead, she mingled on her own, deflecting the fawning that came with being my girlfriend while showing genuine interest in others. Nobody could accuse her of being my arm candy. If anything, I could feel myself becoming dependent onher. I couldn’t stand to be away from her, and even accompanied her on a few of her business trips to London.

Yet as intense and all-consuming as our relationship was, it never felt unhealthy or obsessive. Before her, I had believed that passion came with a price. That you had to choose between being madly in love and being at peace. With Cate, I had both, and it was magic.

—

As summer fadedinto fall and Cate and I entered our third season together, I decided it was time to get a ring—that I couldn’twait any longer to officially begin our life together. I wasn’t sure what our future would look like, but I knew we would define it together—ourway.

I didn’t think it was a good idea to ask her mother for her hand in marriage, but an old-fashioned part of me wanted to asksomeone. So I invited Elna to lunch, the two of us meeting at Rao’s in East Harlem, one of my favorite spots.

Just to be on the safe side, I brought a stack of file folders with me, spreading them out on the table between us so it would look like a working lunch. The last thing I needed was for the tabloids to accuse me of cheating on Cate with a model.

Elna laughed, clearly aware of what I was doing, then said, “Nice props.”

“One can never be too careful.”

“No,” Elna said. “One cannot.”

“So,” I said, smiling. “I think you might know why we’re here.”

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