But the fourth blew the others away, and Mr. Coote and Ms. Skiffer were soon a couple. Early on, he believed that she was the one for him, but it would be nearly 20 years, and a few breakups, before they met at the altar.
Ms. Skiffer, now 39, was known for her independence: At age 8, she took the first of three trips with a children’s peace organization and met Pope John Paul II and the Israeli leader Menachem Begin. She had grown up in San Francisco, where she attended a Baptist church and, though she had a gregarious personality, had been schooled by her family to avoid the attention of boys.
Her father, Joseph Skiffer Jr., a real estate developer who had been raised in a Chicago housing project and worked his way through Harvard Business School, had warned her: career first, family second. And her mother, Glenda M. Skiffer, an urban planner for the City and County of San Francisco, had told her not to marry her first boyfriend or to rely on a man for anything.
Before Ms. Skiffer started Harvard, her parents had a messy separation. Then, in her sophomore year, her mother died after what was expected to be a routine surgical procedure.
So when she met Mr. Coote, she was grieving and on guard, and her experience with romance was scant: she had been on just one date and had just those three kisses.
Born in Jamaica, Mr. Coote, now 40, was raised in a poor household in Ridgefield, N.J., and was one of just a few black students in his suburban high school. His father was very strict: Academic perfection was expected, and even an A-minus was cause for concern. He was told to “lose the accent” and “be better than everyone else.”
Because of such a challenging childhood, he vowed to never grow hardened or to worry too much about the small stuff. He seems to have succeeded; Tori Jueds, a friend at Harvard, describes him as “a ray of pure sunshine.”
Ms. Skiffer was drawn to Mr. Coote’s relaxed manner and wit, and to his 6-foot-4 height (she stands about a foot shorter). For two years, they reveled in each other’s company, eventually moving in together. In her senior year, Mr. Coote, who had graduated, offered a ruby “promise” ring, and Ms. Skiffer accepted. The future seemed clear.
Yet, despite the ring and all it symbolized, Ms. Skiffer recalled her mother’s warning not to marry her first boyfriend. And she worried that she had become too reliant on Mr. Coote.
“Marvin took care of me, and I equated that with being vulnerable,” she said.
So after graduating in 1996 with a degree in women’s studies, and before starting Harvard Law School, Ms. Skiffer broke up with him, saying she was not ready to settle down.
“You’re afraid,” a stunned Mr. Coote countered.
After graduating from law school in 2000, she worked at firms in Chicago and San Francisco, jobs she found financially rewarding but otherwise unfulfilling. She joked that her goal of making partner would be like “winning a pie-eating contest but the prize was more pie.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Coote worked to help low-income children switch into high-performing high schools, a job that was personally fulfilling but not very lucrative. That suited him fine.
“I grew up with nothing,” he said. “As long as I wasn’t on food stamps, it’s all good.”
But the bond they forged in college drew them back together. In 2001, the first time they reconnected, they tried to go on a vacation to Montreal just as friends, but their strong chemistry thwarted that plan. Ms. Skiffer, still not ready, backed off.
In 2006, they connected yet again and saw each other for about year. But Mr. Coote lived in Washington and Ms. Skiffer was in San Francisco. He offered to move, but she balked, remembering her father’s advice: Moving, she said, would interrupt their careers.
This time, the breakup was so painful that they made an agreement: They would not communicate with each other unless one of them was marrying or had fallen seriously ill. This silence lasted nearly six years. He went out on a lot of dates and had a few girlfriends, but his best friend, Johanna Aeschliman, said: “Rachel was always the gold standard. There really were no others.”
Meanwhile, Ms. Skiffer became involved with another man, but that did not work out. In 2011, alone again and packing to move into a condo she had bought, she came upon a letter Mr. Coote had written to her after their last breakup: “We must stop thinking we can answer all of the unknown; my fear is that we are missing the obvious.”
“It was like rereading a book you’d read as a child then again as an adult,” she said.
Following the advice she had received growing up, she had not been sidetracked by a man. But neither had she found joy.
“I didn’t feel as complete as I had been told I would,” she said. “My approach to love had been stupid and selfish.”
Months later, she wrote Mr. Coote a letter of apology. He had been right about her, she admitted: she had been scared. The letter closed with an invitation that surprised her even as she wrote it: “If you’ll have me, I’m ready.” She had a little trouble finding the right address but eventually her letter reached Mr. Coote in Hartford at his workplace.
Soon her phone rang and they talked through the night; weeks later, they approached each other nervously at the San Francisco airport. Mr. Coote was understandably cautious.
“Immediately I saw something different; Rachel looked at me adoringly,” he said.
So much time had passed that his beard was flecked with gray — sort of distinguished looking, she thought.
For Ms. Skiffer, all the unknowing melted away: “Marvin felt like home.”
From then on, the couple racked up frequent-flier miles with coast-to-coast visits. Her father died in 2012, but not before he had given Mr. Coote his blessing. By then, she was finally ready to fully commit.
In June of this year, she quit her job and moved to Andover, Mass., where she is now, happily, the dean of policy and strategic planning at Phillips Academy and where Mr. Coote is the college counselor for mathematics and science for the minority students program.
On Dec. 14, they were married in front of 100 guests by the Rev. Rachel Rivers, a pastor at the Swedenborgian Church of San Francisco. The winter sun streamed through stained-glass windows into a rustic candlelit interior draped with white poinsettias and holiday greens.
Ms. Skiffer, in a satin champagne-colored duchess dress, held a bouquet of burnt-orange calla lilies — and a tissue, borrowed from a guest, to wipe her tears.
The crowd included Patricia Montandon, an author and former San Francisco socialite who had led the peace crusades Ms. Skiffer had experienced as a child and had remained a close friend.
“Rachel always does things when Rachel is ready,” said Ms. Montandon, 85, who wrote of her own messy relationships, including one with Frank Sinatra, in a 2007 memoir.
“We should all be more scared about such an important matter as love,” she said. “That it comes easy is a myth.”
Sabrina Feve, a longtime friend of Ms. Skiffer, looked on approvingly as the couple huddled in the chilly air posing for photos under towering redwoods.
“Anyone can see that’s where Rachel is supposed to be,” she said.
ON THIS DAY
When Dec. 14, 2013
Where Swedenborgian Church of San Francisco
Details As they said their vows, the bride teared up many times, which caused the groom to do the same. When the couple promised to “seek each other’s forgiveness,” Ms. Skiffer, feigning sheepishness, shrugged and flashed a “mea culpa” with her eyes. The congregation laughed knowingly: There was clearly sympathy for all Mr. Coote had been through.
The reception was at Spruce, a restaurant in San Francisco.
The bride mingled with some of her 100 guests.
Source: NYtimes
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