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 a weird 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 know that,” Curtis said with a laugh. “They want to know the exact brand and shade. They want to know what lip liner you use. They want to know what moisturizer you use. They want to know everything about you. You’re becoming a fashion icon,” he said, applying blush to the apples of my cheeks. “And once I do your wedding makeup, you’re going to make me a 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 the distant future, 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, I love Finn,” he said.
Of course, I didn’t tell Curtis about that conversation. There was no point in feeding the monster.
—
That Columbus Day weekend, 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?”
“Congress,” he said. “The House of Representatives.”
“Wow,” I said again, getting chills at the thought. “Tell me more.”
“Well…you know that big meeting I had the other day? The one I was nervous about?”
“Yes?”
“Well, it was with Judith Hope,” he said.
“Should I know that name?”
“She’s the chairperson of the New York State Democratic Committee. And she’s trying to convince me to run for Congress…. What do you think?”
“Well, what do you think? I thought you didn’t want this?”
“I didn’t…but I don’t know. Maybe I could do some good. More good than I’m doing now…”
“What does your mother say?” I asked.
“I haven’t talked to her about it.”
“Have you talked to your grandmother?”
He shook his head and said, “No, honey. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Oh, wow,” I said, feeling honored—and also overwhelmed by the responsibility.
“Do you think I’d be any good at it?” he said.
“I think you’d be awesome,” I said. “But I want you to be happy.”
“You make me happy.”
“You make me happy, too…but I’m talking about your job.”
“You’re more important to me than my job—”
“Joe!” I said with a laugh. “Focus!”
“Okay. Sorry,” he said, smiling. “I’m trying.”
“Do you think this might be something you really want? Or would you be doing it because you’re Joe Kingsley and people expect it of you?” I asked.
“I don’t know…. I’d say neither. I think if I did it—I’d be doing it because I think I have an obligation to help as many people as I can.”
“That’s a great answer,” I said.
“And so long as you’re by my side, I think we can accomplish some big things…not that I would expect you to give up your career to be some congressman’s wife or anything like that.”
“Actually, I think it might be time for me to make a change, too,” I said. Some of my recent thoughts about work were suddenly crystallizing in my head.
“Why do you say that?” he asked. “I thought you loved your job?”
“I do. In some ways. I mean…I love some of my clients. But for the most part, it’s not all that fulfilling. At the end of the day, I sell clothes to rich people.”
“It’s way more than that—and you know it. Wilbur depends on you. You’re doing so much for his brand. From a business perspective. From a sales perspective. From a creative perspective.”
“Thank you, Joe,” I said. “But you’re actually doing more for his brand than I am.”
“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.”
“At night? 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 forecast for 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.
“I remember this one,” I said, plucking it from the pile, wondering if he knew its significance.
He gave me a cute little grin, confirming that he did. “I’m gonna wear it again….”
I laughed and called it absurd.
“Do you want a hat? It’s getting cold out there….”
“Okay,” I said, taking the elastic band from my ponytail and shaking my hair loose before choosing a white, ribbed wool hat. I put it on and, channeling my modeling days, gave Joe a faux pouty look.
He smiled and pulled me into a hug, whispering that he loved me. He didn’t say those words a lot, so it meant something every time. I told him that I loved him, too, feeling so happy.
We left the house via the back porch, following Thursday, who raced to the fence at the edge of the property, wagging his tail, waiting for us to catch up. A moment later, Joe was unlatching the gate, the three of us making our way down the wooden walkway, past the dunes covered with sea grass. Where the boards met the sand, Joe and I paused, taking in the view. That first glimpse of the ocean got me every time. There was nothing like it, no matter the weather. In some ways, I liked it even better on days like this one.
“Which way?” Joe said.
I glanced in one direction, then the other, pointing toward the northeast, where the sky looked slightly less ominous. Joe nodded in agreement as Thursday ran to the water’s edge, barking and chasing a seagull.
We began to stroll, finding that sweet spot of wet packed sand that was hard enough to walk on but not in range of waves. We laughed at Thursday’s antics but didn’t talk much, falling into a contented zone of quiet togetherness. A good bit of time and distance passed, though it was hard to measure either on the beach, before Joe asked what I was thinking.
I’d just been replaying our conversation about his potential congressional run, and I answered him honestly.
“Does that stress you out?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“Nothing stresses me out right now,” I said. “Except the sky,” I added, looking up just as thunder rumbled in the distance. It was getting darker and windier, too.
“Should we head back?”
“Maybe,” I said. I remembered hearing once that you were more likely to get struck by lightning on the beach. I asked Joe if this was true, and he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not because of the water—just because you’re the shortest path from the sky to the ground.”
“Yikes,” I said, stopping in my tracks.
“But I’m taller, so you’re still safe,” Joe said, pulling me into his arms.
“Not if you’re hugging me,” I said, playfully pushing him away.
Joe assured me that nobody was going to get struck by lightning, hugging me again. I nestled against him, thinking there was nowhere in the world I’d rather be.
After a few seconds, he released me and said, “You know where we are right now?”
“No. Where?” I said, looking around.
“We’re about fifty yards from where we met,” he said, pointing up the shoreline.
“Oh, my goodness,” I said with a sigh, remembering. I smiled and said, “You were shameless that day.”
“I was?” Joe said, laughing. Clearly, he knew exactly what I meant.
“Using your poor dog to meet some random girl on the beach,” I said.
Joe grinned back at me. “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”
“And look at you now,” I said. “Still wearing the same ridiculous hat.”
“Hey!” Joe said, pretending to be offended. “What’s so ridiculous about it?”
“Everything,” I said, smiling. “You look like a court jester.”
He laughed and said, “No, I don’t! Jester hats have three points. And jingle bells.”
“Fine,” I said. “But it’s still ridiculous.”
He reached up, grabbed the cherry red pom-pom on top, and pulled the hat off, depositing it on the beach. “Is that better?”
“Much,” I said, as Thursday plucked the hat from the sand and made off with it.
“Good dog,” I yelled after him. “Get rid of that thing.”
When I turned back to Joe, he was looking at me with the oddest expression.
“Are you okay?” I said.
He nodded, but I could tell he was breathing funny, like he might cry.
“Joe. What’s wrong?” I asked.
He bit his lip, then ran his hand through his longer than usual hair. “Nothing,” he said. “Everything is perfect.”
Then, suddenly, he dropped to one knee, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a ring. Though it was perfectly obvious what was happening, I was still in a state of disbelief. He looked up at me and said my name in a whispered question. Cate?
“Yes?” I said, my heart pounding in my chest, tears filling my eyes.
He began to talk. His voice was low and his speech rapid as he told me how much he loved me and that he’d never met anyone like me and that he wanted to spend his life with me. He said some other things, too, but I couldn’t focus on his words. It was as if my tear-blurred vision also affected my ability to hear. Or maybe my heart was just beating too loudly.
“Catherine Cooper,” I heard him say at the end of his speech. “Will you marry me?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but my yes caught in my throat, and I could only nod. He reached for my left hand and slipped a delicate band onto my finger. Sparkling with sapphires and diamonds, it fit me perfectly.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed, fighting back more tears and then deciding that I didn’t have to.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said, beaming up at me, just as the skies opened.
“Come here,” I said, and pulled him up to hug him.
“I love you, Cate,” he whispered in my ear, the words sounding better than they ever had.
“I love you, too, Joe,” I whispered back.
“Forever?” he asked.
“Forever and ever,” I said. Just then, Thursday returned with Joe’s hat, clearly wanting in on the action.
“Hey there, good boy!” Joe said. “She said yes! She’s stuck with us now.”
He stooped down, pried Thursday’s mouth open, and removed the slobbery, sandy hat, promptly putting it back on his head.
“I guess I’m stuck with that hat, too, huh?” I said, smiling up at him.
He nodded, holding my gaze for the longest time before kissing me softly in the falling rain.