Page 68 of Meant to Be

CHAPTER 17

Joe

The minute thePeoplemagazine issue landed, and the world saw that dazzling photo of Cate walking into Aureole on my arm, she became a full-blown sensation—and not my latest fling. The paparazzi camped outside her apartment and the Wilbur Swift store, following her all over the city, while reporters and morning shows blew up her answering machine with requests for interviews.

I could tell Cate hated everything about the attention, but she handled it with grace, following my advice about not running or trying to hide and instead just going about her business. She attributed all the hoopla (as she called it) to the quote in thePeoplearticle from a “Kingsley insider” confirming a “committed relationship.” Obviously, that whipped some folks up, but I told her it was more than that. After all, the press and public had never been this frenzied over Margaret.

When I pointed that out to Cate one night, she looked surprised. “And why is that?”

“Because she’s not you,” I said, thinking that Margaret was the type of girl everyone expected me to be with—but Cate was the kind of girl everyone wished they could be. “And, I mean—have you seen yourself?” I smirked, putting one palm on her ass as we stood at my stove together, making pasta.

“C’mon. Be serious,” she said, brushing off my compliment along with my hand. “Do you think it’s because we’re such an unlikely match?”

“Unlikely? How so?”

“You know,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable. “We have pretty different backgrounds.”

“They’re notthatdifferent,” I said.

“Compared to you and Margaret, they’re pretty different,” she said.

I shrugged, wishing I hadn’t brought up Margaret in the first place and vowing not to do it again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! My mother saw thePeoplemagazine,” I said, changing the subject.

“She did?”

“Yeah. I guess her hairdresser showed her or something…. Anyway, she told me you appeared to have ‘understated elegance.’ ”

“That’s nice,” she said.

“Yeah. She really wants to meet you,” I said, testing a noodle and determining that it was ready. “And that’s far from a given. Believe me.”

Cate looked thoughtful, then asked if my mother had ever met Phoebe.

“Nah,” I said, as I turned off the burner and put on my oven mitt.

“Why not?” Cate asked, following me to the sink as I poured the pasta into a colander.

“Because I knew my mother wouldn’t like her.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Phoebe lacked substance,” I said.

“How so?” Cate pressed.

“I don’t know…. She was just a little shallow. She only really cared about fame and money and her designer goods,” I said, remembering how she was always shamelessly trying to get freebies.

“I like designer goods, too,” Cate said with a shrug. “I mean…I work for afashiondesigner.”

I shook my head and said, “It’s not the same thing.”

“If you say so…” she said, her voice trailing off.

“Yes. I say so. And my mother will agree,” I said. “She’s going to love you.”

Cate looked down, blushing. “Even though I didn’t go to college?”

I obviously knew she hadn’t gone, but it was the first time she’d ever said the words aloud, and I hated that she looked so embarrassed.

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