Miranda had to be dreaming. She searched the upstairs den for anything to confirm her suspicions, anything other than the obvious. It did not feel like a dream; the colors, textures, and smells were correct. The thick carpet between her bare toes, the casting of afternoon light, even her mother's muted perfume was exactly as Miranda remembered. Her mother could have been standing in her den.

Except, Miranda's mother was dead. She died in a car crash when Miranda was twelve. There was no way she could be standing perfectly still, looking out the picture window.

"Hello, Miriam. How have you been?"

The voice caused Miranda's lip to curl. She could hear the smile in her mother's voice and longed for her to turn around.

"Mother," Miranda's voice wavered, "what are you doing here? I am dreaming, aren't I?"

Her mother turned, a smile spread across the features Miranda encountered every day in her own mirror. "Yes, you are dreaming. I'm here because we need to talk. Let's sit." She gestured to the couch closest to her before making her way to it.

Miranda watched, motionless, from the doorway as her mother sat down, then she moved. She settled in beside her mother and wondered if she should be perturbed by this dream, by it's realness. But when she turned to fully face the strawberry blonde and looked into the bright green eyes smiling at her, Miranda no longer cared. She swallowed the tears she felt coming. Taking one of her mother's hands in both of her's, she said as if it were a benediction, "Mom."

Her mother's smile released a small giggle, followed by, "Yes, Miriam. I thought we had already established that." The mocking nature of the comment snapped Miranda out of her stupor and she hugged her mother, for the first time over three decades. There was lifting of her heart at the feel, giving it a farther fall when she realized it'd be the last.

As they parted, Miranda again took her mother's hand into her own. "I've missed you."

"And I you." The fingers around Miranda's tightened briefly before returning to their original hold. "But that is not why I am here."

Miranda's eyebrow rose slightly.

"You know, you were such a shy girl growing up. Never one to admit or share your feelings." She patted her daughter's cheek as she spoke the next sentence. "Even I had to fight to get you to tell me what was going on in that head of yours. But you always knew yourself and what you wanted. Granted, though you were much more logical than emotional most of the time, you never hid from your emotions."

Miranda felt her eyebrows raise higher and opened her mouth to ask her mother why she was sharing this information, but her mother shook her head.

"You never used to run from your feeling or the people who evoked them. But you have been running from Andréa Sachs for the last six months."

Miranda ignored the fact that her mother spoke the brunette's name as she did and that she found it unacceptable. "Why would I be running away from that ungrateful, irresponsible, impudent girl?"

"Because you are in love with a woman who is twenty-five years younger than you?"

Miranda couldn't help it. She rolled her eyes. "Please, not you too." Then she did the math. She hadn't realized Andréa was only twenty-three years old.

"Well, you would do well to listen to Nigel. Not that you allow him enough words to explain himself. But surely you will let me speak my piece?"

If Miranda gave Nigel enough words, he would tell her that she was brooding and in need of a wife. A role that would be filled perfectly by Andréa. He tried to explain this, once. Miranda refused to allow him to finish his thought. He understood not to bring it up again. She did not want to hear it. She did not want to hear it now either, but really what choice did she have?

She sighed and waved her free hand in a vague gesture. She had grown fond of the girl, but love? This was ridiculous. Miranda may have spent more than enough time wondering if she had ever honestly been in love before, but she was sure she'd recognize it when it happened. Grief, confusion, anger, disappointment, and disbelief; those were the feelings Andréa Sachs invoked in Miranda. None of which come anything close to love. She would be able to explain this to her mother.

"Remember the day you hired her?"

Of course she did, but she only nodded, one of her muted nods she learned from the woman sitting next to her.

"Nigel had all reason to suggest the before-and-after piece, yet you did not have her removed from your office."

"That means nothing, I assure you. I was intrigued by her speech on work ethic, which I'm sure you know, turned out to be a lie."

Her mother's head minutely titled to the side, "Intrigued?" She hummed and Miranda knew her mother didn't believe it. However, she left it at that. "You always did have a thing for people who didn't fold under your presence." Then there was a hint of sadness in her eyes, "Stephen never could find the difference between conviction and sniveling."

"Fast forward to cerulean blue. The girl has guts. That's for sure. Correcting you in a room full of subordinates. Her comment showed blatant disregard, no, disrespect of everything you stand for."

Miranda opened her mouth but her mother raised her free hand in a gesture Miranda knew all too well, so she remained silent.

"Instead of firing her, and you have fired many for less, you gave her a lecture. You verbally smacked the girl, teaching her to hold her tongue, but it didn't get the fear you were going for. She feared the consequence of losing a job more than she feared you." She smiled, "I know. You were still intrigued. You had to be, because there were hundreds of other things you would have fired anyone else for. Even after the Miami incident she still had a job."

"Well, there was a hurricane." Miranda internally winced.

The smile that appeared under green eyes was decidedly wicked. "Did you just make an excuse for someone? Since when do you care about the hows and whys?"

"I -"

"No, don't answer that. Just think about it for a bit. Anyone else, Miriam, and you would have fired them. Why was it so important to break the smart, fat girl?" She waited for an answer.

Miranda took a moment to gather her words. "I could see her potential," She kept her voice flat and her face blank, knowing her mother would potentially see her defensiveness regardless, "and I could see her hiding from it. She was being a coward and a hypocrite and I hated it."

"Ahh, now we have some truth. The rest will set you free."

Miranda just rolled her eyes. "I do not see what this has to do with anything. I only wanted to see her reach her potential."

"You wanted to help her, guide her to that potential. And you did something right because after that little speech she decided to stop disappointing you. The smart, fat girl came back a young woman, dressed for the part."

Miranda remembered that day like it was yesterday – having an excellent memory helped with such things. The caterpillar finally shed its repugnant cocoon and the most magnificent creature flew into the office on Chanel wings. And for the first time out loud, Miranda begrudgingly admitted, "Okay, she is beautiful."

Her mother looked slightly surprised by the statement. "Yes, she is. However, you were not in love with her at that point. You were just beginning to see her. Did you notice that the more you saw of her, the better she got at her job."

The smallest of nods was followed by, "She earned her name."

"She did. Is that why you gave her the responsibility of the Book faster than any assistant you've had?"

"I allowed her to deliver the Book because I -," Miranda's voice trailed off. She didn't want to finish the sentence. Her mother was beginning to make sense and Miranda didn't need this right now. She just wanted to spend time with the woman, not talk about the only assistant she ever honestly trusted.

"Because you trusted her." Her mother finished the sentence. "She had proven, while her understanding of fashion was still lacking, that she understood you. Emily didn't stand a chance once this young lady got going."

Miranda knew Emily's loyalty to her was default, a product of her commitment to Runway; while Andréa had yet to appreciate the magazine on that level. Her actions were about Miranda and a commitment to her. This sank in while her mother continued.

"If you thought about it long enough, which I'm sure you haven't," she winked, "you'd know she understands you better than you understand yourself. How else could she anticipate your every move, your every need? For heaven's sake, Miriam, she trumped all of your husbands."

Miranda spent so much time focusing on the negative feelings and reactions Andréa caused that she had almost missed the positive ones. Almost, because she had noticed the calmness, the approval, the desire to smile and these drove her crazy with confusion. Somehow, Miranda, with her ability to read people, situations and, of course, clothes better than anyone else, had missed something very important. If she were to believe her mother she had misunderstood what was driving Andréa. She still hadn't figured out why Andréa's departure (or the mentioning of her in conversation) had hurt more than Stephen's ever could. So, she had just stopped thinking about it; there were always more important things to focus on.

"Part of you knew." Her mother's gentle voice pulled her from her thoughts. "You may not have understood her motivations, but you were witnessing the result. She would have given you anything you asked and at that moment on the stairs, you were tempted to ask. That's why you demanded the final Harry Potter manuscript. You wanted to end it before it needed to be acknowledged."

"I have never dealt with confusion or uncertainty well. She was all of that and more wrapped in a neat little package that I had to look at day in and day out. I couldn't simply fire her. I needed a reason and I had so many already. I thought..." Miranda shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. "She was utterly dejected and I had to actively ignore it. She would fail and I would never have to deal with her again. Instead, the universe laughed in my face and she won over my girls."

"Maybe the universe wasn't laughing, Miriam, it was trying to tell you something. Something you continue to refuse to listen to, but that's why I'm here." She reached over, brushing a white lock back behind Miranda's ear. "But, now that you have brought up Caroline and Cassidy, I have some more questions."

Miranda was pretty sure she did not want to hear anything her mother was about to say.

"How many other assistants did their homework? How many others had access to them? Would you allow Emily to chat with them when she dropped off the Book?" The smile that graced her mother's lips told Miranda that she understood and was not holding anything against her. There was no judgment, just the gentle pushes that only her mother could give.

"None."

"She was the only one you ever let in. She fell completely in love with you that night in Paris."

Miranda huffed. "I assure you, my frumpy and wretched state could have caused no such thing."

"No, but your complete honesty and trust did."

Miranda was now looking at her mother as if she had grown a second head. Her mother waited for the two heads to merge into one; she waited for her only daughter to understand. And she knew the moment Miranda caught up because her breath hitched and her eyes widened. She let go of her daughter's hand and draped her arm around her, pulling her close into a seated half hug.

"Care to share?"

Miranda's voice was almost nonexistent, as if speaking it held more power than she could handle, "If it were anyone else - Emily or Nigel would have been immediately dismissed." She scoffed, looking across the room. "If it were Caroline, Cassidy, or Stephen I would have distracted them until they left." Miranda's head was moving side to side, in tandem with the circles her mother drew on her back. "But no, those huge browns eyes walked in asking all sorts of quiet questions, but were still willing to allow me to pretend nothing was wrong." Miranda sat up, "That was it, wasn't it? She wasn't going to push. She saw and respected what I wanted while offering to help and that made me want to tell her all the more. Not to mention I knew it'd never leave that room."

Somehow, everything Miranda had been missing came together, the last pieces were placed in the puzzle and the image was clear and complete. She was in love with the smart, fat girl. And when she looked to her mother she was greeted to a tender loving smile. She shook her head, feeling as if she didn't deserve it, any of it. "I couldn't see what it meant, couldn't handle what it might have been and I drove her away."

"And now that you understand, I'm sure you'll think of a way to bring her back." She kissed her daughter's forehead, "But right now, you have to wake up. Your alarm clock seems quite insistent."

"But -"

"No buts. Time to start the day."

Miranda closed her eyes and tried to hold on to the feeling of the hug, but as her mother had pointed out her alarm clock was quite insistent. Using as little movement as she could, Miranda smacked the machine, stopping the noise. She knew she had to get up, but instead she lay in bed, still able to feel her mother's kiss upon her forehead and warmth from the hug. She wanted to stay in the moment for as long as she could.