Page 109 of Meant to Be

“I am not! I bought a few things back in February,” he said, being his cute literal self. Or maybe he was just being self-deprecating. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

“Joe, look. I know I’m good at my job. But the bottom line is, the fact that I’m dating you has moved more Wilbur product than my sales acumen. And I’m just not sure that’s tenable for much longer,” I said, choosing my words with care.

“What’s that mean?” he asked, looking worried.

I took a deep breath and said, “The core of my job is sales and catering to high-end clients, and it’s really tough to do that now that I’m in the press so much.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it’s a service-oriented business, and wealthy people expect—and want—to be the center of attention. The dynamic doesn’t work if I’m someone they see in the tabloids. They don’t like it…or, sometimes, they like it too much…. But no matter what, it almost always creates this weird dynamic. It just doesn’t work.”

“Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry—”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry. Otherwise, I’m not going to want to tell you stuff.”

“Okay…I’m sorry—I mean I won’t…I just hate this. And I feel guilty.”

“Please don’t. It’s not like that. I promise,” I said. “I think I just need a change. Change is good, right?”

Joe nodded, then asked if I wanted to stay in the fashion industry.

I said I didn’t know, thinking there wasn’t much else that I was qualified to do.

“Would you…I don’t know…maybe want to go back to school?” Joe asked, giving me a sideways glance. “There are so many options in the city. NYU. Fordham. Columbia. The New School or Parsons. With your work experience, you could get in anywhere.”

I smiled and tried to make a joke, asking if he’d be willing to write me a recommendation. “I bet a letter from Joe Kingsley would greatly improve my chances.”

“C’mon, Cate,” he said. “Be serious! Would you want to go back to school?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe at night.”

“Atnight? I’d never see you!”

“Well, I have to earn a living,” I said.

“True. But you could move in with me.”

“I’d still need a job.”

“No, you don’t. I could support you.”

“No, thank you,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t want to be supported by my boyfriend.”

“Okay. Well…you could work for my campaign? For a salary?”

“So, you’d be my boss?” I said, making a point.

“No. We’d be part of a team,” he said. “And I’d be running on a platform we both cared about.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just know that I’d want to help people. We can sort the rest of the details out later. Together.”

I looked at him, thinking that he sounded more than a little naïve. But it wasn’t a bad start for someone who’d felt so stuck. And I really liked the part about being together.

—

The weather forecastfor most of the weekend looked menacing, and the sky was already turning gray. As soon as we arrived at the house, Joe suggested we walk Thursday while we still could. I agreed that it was a good idea, so we took our suitcases upstairs and quickly changed into sweats and sneakers. On our way out the door, Joe made a stop in the mudroom, grabbing a tennis ball for Thursday, then riffling through a basket containing a motley mix of baseball caps and other hats. I spotted the rainbow-striped knit cap that he’d worn the day we met.

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