Page 107 of Meant to Be

CHAPTER 24

Cate

Taking Joe home to meet my mom and Chip had been painful for a lot of reasons. I was obviously mortified and ashamed by the contrast between his family and mine. I was also filled with guilt and resentment toward my mom. And then there was pure, burning hatred for Chip that I hadn’t allowed myself to unearth for some time.

But over the next few days and weeks, the whole ordeal became strangely cathartic, too. I was relieved that Joe knew the truth about Chip, as it felt like the last bit of me that I hadn’t shared. In some ways, it wasn’t unlike my memory of confiding in Elna, although the risk felt a bit greater with Joe—or at least more embarrassing. After all, friends don’t generally leave you when they discover the skeletons in your closet, but high-profile boyfriends from socially elite families very well might.

But Joe didn’t leave—and he wasn’t at all paternalistic, either. He understood the nuances at play, and I discovered that the reward in telling him was as great as the risk I’d felt. Whether he knew it or not, his reaction to my confession felt like a huge breakthrough, both for us as a couple and for me personally. In aweird way, I felt truly understood—and safe—for the first time in my life.

Meanwhile, as my confidence in our relationship grew, so did the spotlight on us. It was as if the world could sense that we were more in love than ever, though more likely it was just that we were stepping out together with greater frequency, the paparazzi be damned. I did my best to ignore the circus. And when I did somehow catch wind of a negative headline, I took it with a grain of salt.

Harder to ignore, though, were the increased demands on my time. My client list exploded, everyone wanting to wear Wilbur and work with me. Invites for luncheons and parties and galas poured in. Fashion magazines asked me to pose on their covers. Other designers sent me endless freebies, begging me to wear their clothes and shoes and jewelry and handbags. I mostly turned them down, as it felt wrong—and like a conflict of interest, given Wilbur. But when I did accept them, the items immediately sold out. According to Curtis, who was positively giddy about my rising fame, the tabloids had dubbed the phenomenon the “Cate effect.” He also claimed that women were starting to emulate my minimalistic style, forgoing tanning beds in favor of pale skin and ditching their layered “Rachel ’dos” for long, straight hair. My longtime colorist, Miguel, informed me that he now was booked months in advance, as people had figured out who was responsible for my pale blond highlights.

One night as Curtis was doing my makeup for an event that Joe and I were attending, he told me his clients all wanted to know what color lipstick I wore.

I smiled and said, “Do you tell them it’s called ‘red’?”

“They knowthat,” Curtis said with a laugh. “They want to know the exact brand and shade. They want to know what lipliner you use. They want to know what moisturizer you use. They want to knoweverythingabout you. You’re becoming a fashionicon,” he said, applying blush to the apples of my cheeks. “And once I do your wedding makeup, you’re going to makemea star, too.”

I laughed his comment off, but Curtis doggedly remained on the topic. “When do you think he’ll pop the question?” he asked.

“Calm down,” I said. “We’ve only been together seven months.”

“And? You never talk about it?”

“No,” I said.

It was the truth, though we did reference thedistantfuture, even discussing baby names at one point. Not surprisingly, Joe said he didn’t want to have a “Joseph the Fourth”—that he’d want our son to have his own identity—but that he liked the name Sylvia for a girl, after his grandmother.

“What about you?” Joe had asked, looking a little shy. “What names do you like?”

I shrugged, then told him that I’d never given the subject much thought, but I did like offbeat, one-syllable boy names like Finn and Tate and Quill.

“Oh, IloveFinn,” he said.

Of course, I didn’t tell Curtis aboutthatconversation. There was no point in feeding the monster.

—

That Columbus Dayweekend, Joe and I were set to go to the Hamptons with Peter and Genevieve. The four of us had gotten together for dinner or drinks several times, and I really enjoyed their company. Peter reminded me a lot of Joe, although more serious, and Genevieve was very fun to talk to. She showed genuine interest in my world of fashion, and we’d discovered that Genevieve’s stylist, Amy Silver, was one of my favorite clients.

At the last minute, though, Peter, a banker at Goldman Sachs, got called in to work. I was a little disappointed, as I’d been looking forward to bonding with Genevieve, but I was also happy for the downtime with Joe. It had been a particularly frenetic week for both of us, and the idea of taking long walks on the beach with Thursday, curling up by the fire, and sleeping in sounded so appealing. I could tell Joe felt the same and worried that he was a little out of sorts about something. I didn’t press, though, figuring he’d bring it up when he was ready.

Sure enough, about thirty minutes into our drive out east, he cleared his throat and said, “So, I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Okay?” I said, feeling a little nervous, hoping it wasn’t anything bad.

“I know I talk about quitting my job all the time,” he said, shooting me a pensive look before returning his eyes to the road. “But I think I’m ready to give my notice.”

“That’s great, honey!” I said. “Do you have ideas about what’s next?”

He took a deep breath, then said, “Well…how would you feel if I actually did run for office?”

“Are you serious?” I said, staring at him.

Joe nodded.

“Wow,” I said. “Which office?”

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