Page 59 of Meant to Be

“I don’t know,” he said, looking intrigued. “Have you?”

I nodded and said yes, of course I had.

“Wait. Is that what we’ve been doing?” he said with a look on his face that I couldn’t read. “Are you using me for sex?”

“Yes,” I said, raising my glass. “Sex and margaritas.”

Joe smiled and said, “C’mon. Be serious. Are we…a couple?”

My heart was now racing, and all I wanted to do was say yes. Instead, I said, “I thought we weren’t doing labels.”

“It’s time for labels, Cate,” he said, giving me one of his smoldering stares, which further undid me. “Are you my girlfriend?”

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that there was no way this was going to end well. But I still nodded, feeling my first wave of hopefulness that maybe we could be somewhat of a normal couple, at least for a little while.

—

Early the followingmorning, after rolling out of Joe’s bed to head home and shower for work, I was ambushed right outside his building by a beefy man in a black leather jacket. For one disorienting second, I actually thought I was being mugged. Then I saw that his weapon was a camera and realized, too late, that I was under a different kind of assault. Blinded by a flash, I raised my purse to my face and bolted down the block, debating between the subway—which had been my original plan—and a taxi, which would make a cleaner getaway but was more uncertain at this hour. I opted for the latter, praying that I’d get lucky and find one.

As I swiftly walked to the corner, the guy kept perfect pace, at one point even circling in front of me, shooting me straight on as he ranbackward,taunting me.

Hey, honey, what’s your name?Click, click.Can you give me a sexy smile?Click, click.How long have you been fucking Joe?Click, click.Are you a whore?Click, click, click.

It was ironic—since I had used the wordfuckinglast night—and I suddenly realized that on some level I’d been trying to preempt what others might say about it. If I said it first, it would hurt less. But hearing him say it still felt degrading, and it didn’t help that people were staring at me as the cameraman and I bobbed and weaved all over the sidewalk. At one point, I tripped and almost fell, stumbling into a gray-haired man in a suit—who had the nerve to shoot me a look of disgust—mumbling that I needed to watch where I was going. As if he couldn’t plainly see that I was being pursued.

When I got to the intersection, I stepped out into the street, frantically searching for a taxi as the guy kept taking pictures and firing off rude questions. It was unbelievable how relentless he was, but what shocked me more was that not a single person stepped in to help. Instead, they just kept coming and going in the crosswalks around me.

Finally, a lone Good Samaritan who was out for a morning jog intervened. She was young and petite but had a fierce expression, and I watched with awe and gratitude as she stepped between me and the cameraman, yelling at him to leave me alone. It was just enough interference to allow me to flag down a taxi.

Sliding into the backseat, I gave the driver my address, realizing I was in a full sweat and on the verge of tears.

“Are you okay, miss?” he asked as we made eye contact in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine,” I said, wiping my eyes and catching my breath, all the while thinking,Holy shit.

As we made our way uptown, I told myself that I had probably overreacted—that nothing truly terrible had happened. Yes, a sleazy photographer seemed to know what was going on between Joe and me—and was now in possession of what were certainly hideous photos. But what could he really do with them? Who would want to publish those without more concrete proof that I was tied toJoe? And even if they did make their way into a tabloid, so what? I hadn’t committed a crime. Joe and I were both single adults, and we’d only done what a million other single adults in the city had done the night before. What was the worst that could happen?

By the time I got back to my apartment, I’d talked myself off the ledge enough to call Joe and fill him in. But I left out some of the details, including the wordwhore.

“Oh, Cate. I’m sorry, baby,” he said.

He had never called mebabybefore, and I was surprised by how much it comforted me.

“It’s not your fault,” I said.

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “I should have gone to get a cab with you.”

“You offered,” I said—because he always did. “Anyway, that would have made it worse.”

“Maybe,” Joe said. “But I still wish I had been there for you. I’ve been dealing with these assholes my whole life. At the very least, I should have prepped you better.”

“How would you have done that?” I asked.

“I don’t know—there are just some tips….”

“Such as?”

“Such as…never run.”

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