A/N: I had been toying with the idea of a "friendship" story for a few years, but just couldn't commit to the storyline. This is the result. #finishwhatyoustart
THREE OPTIONS
"You thought I didn't know," Miranda said coolly.
"What? I thought we established that long ago," she said. She couldn't deny the chill that those words caused within her.
"However did you manage to replace it so quickly?" Miranda asked, turning her head lazily towards the young woman.
"Wait—you don't mean—no," she said, sitting up and setting her bottle of beer on the coffee table. "The phone?"
Miranda's lips curled up in a smile. "Of course. How did you manage that?"
"Nuh-uh," Andrea said, grinning. "That's my secret."
Miranda rolled her eyes. "While you are figuring out how to keep that secret, another glass of wine," she said, extending her arm and the empty glass towards the young woman.
"You're lucky I like you," Andrea said as she took the glass and trodded to the kitchen. There was something uniquely comfortable about Miranda Priestly's home—something she guessed few others had ever experienced. There was a warmth that radiated from the walls, inviting her inside, urging her to relax. She handed the glass to Miranda before sinking back into the couch with a sigh. "Why did you wait until today to ask me about that?"
"Honestly? When I saw your phone next to your badge on your desk this afternoon. I walked out of my office looking for you—I was going to tell you about Prabal's seamstress's baby—and you weren't there. I just stared at your desk for a while," she said before taking a long sip of her Cabernet.
"I'm sorry, I should have waited until your meeting finished so I could come in and say goodbye."
"Nonsense. We talked about it. It's not goodbye. It's just—I don't think it had occurred to me that you would no longer be twenty feet from me at any given time."
Andrea reached down and squeezed Miranda's hand, sliding a little closer on the couch so she could lean her head on the woman's shoulder. "Since I've learned to not be scared of you, I'd say it's more like inches," she added, giving her hand another squeeze.
Miranda finished the wine and set the glass down, turning towards the young woman. "That is so very true, darling," she said. "Both of our lives will drastically change, you know. It will be difficult, at first, but then the familiarity should return. I imagine by the time the girls go back to school, or perhaps the holidays…it will be sooner than you think."
"Miranda, what are you talking about?"
"What? Oh, just…stuff," she said with a grin. "Life. Us. The girls." Her voice trailed off.
Andrea tried not to let herself look into it too deeply. Miranda had two bottles of wine this evening (yes, two full bottles), and Andrea knew that the editor could not be held accountable for anything she says after she begins calling her "darling" or "sweetheart" or even "Andy."
While she had known Miranda for exactly one year, they had only become friends over the past three months. And even at that, Andrea wasn't sure that "friends" was the right word. It started in Paris, and then immediately after, where she witnessed the editor at her weakest and most vulnerable. News of Miranda's divorce was tucked away in one tiny mention in a Saturday "Society" column. The tabloids stayed away completely, and Andrea wasn't sure which hurt Miranda the most: the potential media circus, or the lack of one.
But other than the divorce, there was the business with Irv and Jacqueline and James Holt. Though it worked out for her in the end, everyone had turned their backs on Miranda Priestly. Her husbands (both of them, within the same week), her friend (the one and only), her daughters, and her company, it as all the same. Miranda Priestly was thought to be unfit for whatever it was.
It was Andrea who saw the red-rimmed eyes that night in Paris, Andrea who scheduled Miranda in back-to-back meetings outside the office the week she returned to keep her away from the hushed voices in the hallway, and Andrea who thought up needless questions to ask Miranda in the middle of the night to make her feel needed. Under any other circumstances, none of them would have merited a phone call, but yet, Miranda always answered and never once question the young assistant's motives. Regardless, it was Andrea who got her through those months.
After a while, Miranda started playing along, too. Calling Andrea at all hours and forgetting what she wanted to ask (because it took her too long to answer the phone, of course). Summoning Andrea into her office with her computer so she could have an excuse to shut the door. Requesting Andrea's presence whenever she was on the phone with either of her ex-husbands, her daughters, or Leslee.
Over that time, the tone of their conversation changed, too. Andrea found ways to make Miranda laugh, and in return, Miranda let down her guard just a little bit around her. She began explaining herself, apologizing for things she would say to Andrea in front of Emily or other coworkers, and perhaps most surprisingly, whenever they were alone, she would allow Andrea to touch her, though at first, it appeared Miranda did not even realize it.
It started with the shoulders. Being winter in New York City, Andrea wasn't able to run around the town car to enter on the street-side, so by sheer necessity, she and Miranda sat closer in the backseat. Miranda would relax into the seat and lean her head back against the headrest, and Andrea would, too. The first time their shoulders bumped, Andrea jumped back and apologized over and over; Miranda rolled her eyes and shrugged. The next time, Miranda's shoulder bumped into hers and she didn't move.
Miranda's laugh—whenever she really, truly laughed—was a deep belly laugh that shook her entire frame. She would gently pat Andrea's arm or knee or shoulder, and once, she missed and her hand landed on Andrea's. After a brief awkward silence, Miranda squeezed her hand quickly before letting go.
The next time Stephen called Miranda at work, Andrea put him through to Miranda's desk phone and hurried into her office, shutting the door behind her as she took a seat on the sofa next to her. Andrea could hear Stephen's raised voice through the phone and she could feel Miranda tense up next to her. Without a second thought, Andrea reached down and squeezed the editor's hand. Miranda's breath hitched for a moment, and she looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Andrea before flipping her hand, interlocking fingers, and continuing her conversation.
One Friday night they both fell asleep at the office, each curled up in a corner of the small sofa in Miranda's office. That night, everything changed. Miranda needed to stay late working on some financial report. Andrea took her seat in the corner of the sofa, reading a book, keeping quiet company. The report was taking Miranda much longer than expected, and Andrea fell asleep. Miranda woke her and offered to have Roy take her home, but Andrea insisted on staying. It wasn't until 2am when Miranda finished, and Andrea was sleeping so soundly, she didn't have the heart to wake her. Instead, she set an alarm on her phone and took the decorative throw from the back of the sofa, draping it over the young woman. Right then, she made her decision to curl up on the opposite end of the couch, because she couldn't imagine any of the alternatives. Andrea woke to the brightest, most natural smile that morning as Miranda's wiggled her toes which were conveniently tucked under the young woman's legs.
"Miranda," Andrea said quietly, giving her hand a squeeze. It appeared that the editor had drifted to sleep after all that wine. "Miranda, come on, you'll be more comfortable in bed."
"Mhmm, no, too tired," she said.
Andrea sighed. She knew the woman's muscles would be sore in the morning if she stayed like that, so she carefully stood and arranged the pillows on the couch so she could stretch out and at least be comfortable. Before she left, she took the empty wine glass and beer bottle to the kitchen and placed them in the sink, returning with a glass of water and two Advil, which she left on the coffee table for Miranda when she woke. "Goodnight, Miranda," she whispered before gathering her things and leaving.
Andrea would be starting a new job on Monday. These two days would be her only truly free days—no job, no boyfriend, no other obligations. And more importantly, no Miranda.
She wasn't prepared to go hours, let alone days, without seeing or speaking to the editor. They had grown so close over the past weeks, she was incredibly anxious about the separation and how she would be able to handle it. When she tried bringing it up to Miranda, she told her that she would soon be so busy with her new job that she wouldn't miss her, and she'd soon forget all about her.
Of course, that was the last thing Andrea wanted—to forget about Miranda Priestly. But Miranda was an adult with a family, a home, an extremely busy career, and Andrea saw herself being replaced so easily. Once Miranda has a new assistant, or repairs her friendship with Nigel, she would be replaced. Miranda doesn't have time for things that are inconvenient, and a friendship with a budding 25-year-old journalist was certainly anything but convenient.
That night, Andrea cried herself to sleep. She cried for the lost friendship, for loneliness, and for the missed opportunity to have Miranda's arms around her. She wasn't sure why the woman never hugged her, but it was something she desperately wanted. There were at least two opportunities she saw where it was painfully obvious that Miranda did not want to hug her. The first was before the holiday break, when the offices were closed from Christmas Eve through New Year's Day. Andrea and Miranda were the last to leave the offices, and Andrea purposely hung around to wish her a nice vacation off with her daughters. The second was on Miranda's 50th birthday. She did not want a party or any sort of acknowledgement, but Andrea booked a meeting that afternoon at Ralph Lauren and instead of seeing his new skirt collection, they had an impromptu cocktail. Miranda hugged Ralph and David, his creative director, but when it came to Andrea, she stopped and turned the other way. It was too painful for Andrea to focus on for too long.
For the next few days, she resisted the urge to call or text Miranda. Even though she was kind of busy learning the ropes at her new job, she missed the editor. She missed their conversations, the witty remarks, the laughs, and her smile. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the truth: she was in love with Miranda Priestly. Maybe the saying is true: distance does make the heart grow fonder.
On Thursday of her first week, she finally received a text message from Miranda. It was 6pm, but Andrea was still at her desk, out of habit, not necessity.
Miranda (6:02 PM): How's everything? When you have a chance, can you resend me the link to that Huffpo column you like?
Andrea smiled and typed out her reply.
Andrea (6:04 PM): Hi. It's been a rough week already. How are you? Here's the link.
Miranda (6:11 PM): Thanks. Can you also send me your email address?
Andrea (6:12 PM): Did I really not give you my email? I guess I thought you had it.
Miranda (6:13 PM): No, you didn't. Thanks :)
That was the end of their conversation that night, but the next morning, Andrea woke to an email from Miranda in her inbox.
From: priestly.m
Subject: hello
Andrea—I have been thinking about you a lot this week. I don't know what's wrong with me. Not to be overly dramatic, but I miss you. I feel as though life is not the same without you in it. That's ridiculous, isn't it? I hope you are doing well and learning the ropes of your new job. I am sure you will be marvelous.
Andrea smiled and re-read the email several times. She tried not to get her hopes up. This meant nothing. It was just an email between two women, between a former employer and employee.
Andrea eventually replied, and over the next few days, they scheduled a mutually convenient time to meet. It just so happened that they were scheduled to meet at Miranda's place on a Saturday when the girls were at their father's. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Andrea imagined scenes of walking into the townhouse and being pinned to the wall. Of Miranda ravishing her there in the foyer, and on the couch, and in the kitchen, and on the way up the stairs. Of waking up next to the editor, limbs intertwined, hot and sweaty and blissfully content.
Strangely, she didn't image them having sex—just touching. It was as if Miranda's touch was satisfaction enough, enough to drive her to pure happiness. She shook her head at the thought, and as it turned out, Miranda's girls were still home when she arrived (James had to take a last-minute flight to Dallas), so the four of them enjoyed a casual dinner of pizza and homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Over the next few weeks, Andrea struggled internally. Everything that happened in her personal life, in her work life, she wanted to share with Miranda. Instead, she kept it in and waited for Miranda's email or text, constantly checking her email.
From: priestly.m
Subject: are you ok?
Andrea, is everything all right? I haven't heard from you in almost a week. I presume you are just busy with your new job and new friends, which is certainly to be expected. Just, please, respond and let me know you're okay.
M.
Andrea read the email over and over, tears streaming down her cheeks. Now, she was in the position where no matter what she did, she would drive Miranda away. Spilling her feelings into an email would certainly not work in her favor, and apparently keeping it inside incites worry. At times, she thought it would be much simpler if Miranda would just forget about her—forget she existed. At least then she wouldn't have to wonder what if. She decided to reply with a text message, then crawled into bed to cry herself to sleep.
Andrea (8:42PM): Sorry, I'm fine. Just busy. Don't need you to worry about me! :)
Miranda (8:46PM): Of course I worry about you, darling. Can you talk now?
Miranda (8:53PM): Please don't ignore me. I want to talk.
Miranda (9:37PM): I have been trying to call you and there was no answer. Please reply, or I'm sending the police.
Andrea woke to the sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand. "Hello?"
"Andrea! My god, where were you?"
"Sleeping. I was asleep. Why?"
"Well, sweetie," Miranda said, "you weren't responding. I was concerned about you."
"I'm fine, and you've had too much to drink. Please don't worry about me."
"Honestly, Andrea, I don't know what your problem is. I haven't had anything to drink—not that it should matter—but I am just trying to be a decent human being. Why are you picking a fight with me? You know, I don't have to do this…"
"Then don't!" Andrea shouted, perhaps a little too loudly. "Nobody is making you. Miranda, I'm no good for you. I'm clingy and needy and emotional. I have anxiety issues, and I will spend the rest of my life convincing myself that I am just a burden to you and everyone else. Just leave me alone."
"Andrea, listen to me, as I do not like to repeat myself. You are not a burden. You are a human being, and that is quite endearing. I am fully capable of deciding whom I choose to spend my time with, and I choose to spend time with you. I recognize your anxiety, and for what it's worth, I've known about it all along. Did you think I didn't notice while you worked for me?" Miranda said, rolling her eyes. She took a deep breath and softened her voice. "I'm not sure if you are seeing someone, or if you had in the past, and I don't necessarily feel it is my place to step in, but I care about you. Have you talked to someone about this?"
"Please stay out of this."
"Okay. The point is, I know you struggle with this at times, and I still choose to spend time with you. I like you, Andrea Sachs, and I want you in my life. Will you just remember that and stop feeling burdensome?"
The young woman didn't respond, but Miranda could hear her softly sniffling on the other end of the line.
"Andrea, darling, listen to me. Will you be okay tonight, or do you need me to come over?" Miranda asked.
"You—you'd do that?"
"Yes, if you need me to, I would," Miranda said, shivering at the thought of leaving the house again on such a cold night.
"Just knowing you would helps," Andrea said. "I'm sorry I'm su—"
"Stop right now. Do not apologize. Now, will you be okay?"
"Yes."
"Good," Miranda said, sighing in relief. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
After a few seconds of silence, Andrea spoke up, quietly. "Can I ask a question? Why won't you hug me?"
"What?"
"You've never hugged me. You've hugged others in front of me, but it's like you look at me and change your mind," Andrea said.
"Oh, darling, that is absolutely not true. Have I really never hugged you?"
"No."
"Well I promise you it was never intentional. Aside from my daughters, I really don't hug anyone, aside from the fake hugs at social events."
"So…next time I see you?" Andrea asked.
"Yes."
"Okay. I need to get back to sleep. Can we try for Saturday?"
Miranda paused for a moment before responding. "No. The girls have a soccer game and awards ceremony," she said. "Friday night? Will that work?"
"Um, sure," Andrea replied. "I am off work at 6pm on Friday. Want to meet somewhere in Manhattan?"
"Come to the townhouse when you're finished with work. We can spend the evening catching up," Miranda said.
Andrea smiled into the phone. "Okay, see you then."
"Goodnight, Andrea."
"Goodnight, and thank you."
Later that week, Andrea showed up at Miranda's house. She was exhausted after a long and trying day at work, but seeing Miranda was the light at the end of her metaphorical tunnel, even if she was showing up later than she had expected. She tried to put aside thoughts of touching and kissing the woman, instead aiming to build her friendship with the editor.
As she climbed the stairs, she was surprised to see the doors swing open and Stephen run out of the house, nearly trampling her on his way out. "Miranda?" she called, quietly walking through the open door. "Miranda?"
She searched the first floor, and not finding the editor, she headed up to the second floor, where she found Miranda pacing back and forth in her bedroom. "Hey," she said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
"Oh," she said, her eyes widening, "I almost forgot. I'm sorry. This isn't a good time, Andrea."
"Stephen almost ran me over on the steps out front. I can't imagine it is. Wanna talk about it?" Andrea suggested.
"No. No, I am blocking his visit from my mind," Miranda said, pressing her fingertips to the bridge of her nose.
Andrea was torn. Selfishly, she was hoping to spend time talking about her new job tonight, but she also really wanted to help Miranda get over whatever happened with Stephen. She paused to consider for a moment. Her heart was telling her to reach out and hug the woman who was clearly distraught, but her brain reminded her how much Miranda hated to be touched.
The young woman took a deep breath and walked closer, gently resting her hand on the editor's forearm. Miranda's eyes shot up.
"I come in peace," she said, smiling softly. When Miranda didn't respond, she pulled her hand away. "Call me if you change your mind," she said.
She specifically did not want to leave in the same way Stephen just had, so she made a point of pausing at the bedroom door and turning around. "I'll let myself out. Take care."
Miranda watched the young woman leave and suddenly wished she had stopped her. Stephen was and always would be an asshole, and she hated him for putting her in a distasteful mood. Tonight she had invited Andrea over to show that she wanted to spend some time with her, and of course, she had been completely selfish. She quickly texted the girls to make sure they were okay at their friend's house, and that they would remember to call in the morning to let her know their plans.
On the other side of town, Andrea stopped at cafe near her apartment and had a drink. She knew she was expecting too much from Miranda, and honestly the fact that she was beginning to feel more than just feelings of friendship towards the woman was not helping her situation.
She spent the next few hours reading a few chapters of a book over a few beers. By the time she headed home, it was midnight. She hadn't heard from Miranda, so she sent her a quick message.
Andrea (12:34AM): Hi - hope you're doing okay. stephen is an asshole. don't worry about tonight.
The editor responded immediately.
Miranda (12:36AM): You are correct about my ex-husband. He is a part of my life I wish I could erase permanently.
Miranda (12:37AM): And I apologize for needing to cancel our plans.
Andrea (12:37AM): No worries - I was finally able to catch up on some reading.
Miranda (12:45AM): Though it's hardly comparable, would you be interested in joining me at the girls' game?
Miranda (12:48AM): I go because I know it means a lot to them, but I find soccer a terribly boring as a spectator.
Miranda (12:49AM): There is an awards ceremony afterwards, and then James and I are going to take them to dinner.
Miranda (12:55AM): If you wanted, we could get a drink before the game.
Andrea (1:06AM): Sorry - I was in the shower. What time is the game?
Miranda (1:06AM): 6:10 at the Hunter Fieldhouse.
Andrea (1:07AM): Sure, i can meet you there. And i know you don't want to talk about it, but are you okay?
Miranda (1:08AM): Yes. See you tomorrow.
The next day, Andrea took care of her errands in the morning before dressing into a pair of jeans and boots and a casual sweater. She took a cab to the fieldhouse and instantly spotted Miranda standing off to the side in the lobby.
"You stick out like a sore thumb amongst soccer moms," she said.
Miranda looked up from her phone and smiled. "I suppose that is a compliment?"
"It is. You look great."
"Come on, let's find a seat."
Andrea followed her to the arena, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd sat on bleachers. Miranda, apparently, had been here before, she thought as she watched the woman pull a blanket from her bag and lay it on the metal bleachers.
"Their father is sitting over there," she said, "in the baseball cap. I presume you've spoken with him on the phone, but never seen him in person. Is this okay?" she asked. Andrea nodded and the editor took a seat. "I didn't think to bring a larger blanket. I'm usually here by myself."
Andrea smiled. "That just means we need to sit a little closer." When the woman didn't respond, Andrea decided to change the subject. "Which ones are the girls?" she asked, pointing towards the field.
"Their team is in that hideous lime green. Caroline is #22 and Cassidy is #9. I know nothing about what positions they place, except that Caroline sometimes scores and Cassidy occasionally is in the goal."
"That works," Andrea said. "How long have they played?"
"Four or five years. I don't think either of them are that committed to it, but a lot of their friends are on their team."
"Is this a traveling team? Or affiliated with Dalton?"
"Neither. It's through the New York Park District. Their coaches are just volunteers—mostly former college athletes and over-involved parents. There are children of all backgrounds and skill levels on the team, and I think it's good for the girls to have that exposure. They don't get much at Dalton," she said.
"I see. What's the award ceremony afterwards?"
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Everyone gets a trophy for showing up. It's utterly ridiculous. But they are currently tied with the opposing team for the most number of games won this season. I think they get a second trophy tonight, and based on the outcome of the game, it will be either for First or Second Place."
Andrea smiled. "That's awesome. I never played sports. I was always jealous of my friends who had trophies all over their room."
"Next time you're over, I'll have to show you the girls' game room," she added with a chuckle.
"Hey, Cass," she said. "Mom's here. And she's sitting with someone."
Cassidy quickly looked over into the stands. "Oh my god. Is that — is she sitting with Andy from Runway?"
"Looks like it. Hey, she sees us," Caroline said. They waved at their mom before turning back to the team huddle.
Miranda softly set her hand on Andrea's knee. "Andrea, about last night—"
"No, really, you don't have to explain," Andrea said.
"Except, I do. Hear me out," the editor said. "The other night, when you were upset on the phone, I wanted to show you that I was willing to make time for you in my life. Unfortunately, Stephen showed up at exactly the wrong time, and I thought only of myself in that moment."
"Miranda, you didn't—"
"I did. I realized after you left that I would have greatly appreciated your company. If anyone is burdensome, it is me. But I did notice something else, and I suppose this is as good a place as any to bring it up. Your other emotions always seem to compete with your compassion, as I've observed on several occasions, and compassion always emerges victorious."
Andrea was surprised—but not, really—that Miranda's assessment had been so accurate. "Well, now that you have me figured out, what else do you want to talk about?"
"Please don't take this the wrong way. I find that a particularly endearing quality about you," Miranda said.
Andrea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I am feeling really, really vulnerable right now," she said shakily.
"Okay," Miranda said, gently squeezing her knee and pulling her hand away. "I don't want to push you. I'm going to get a bottle of water, and I'll be back in a few minutes."
When she returned, she had two bottles of water and handed one to the young woman. "Are you okay?"
"Can I be perfectly honest?"
"I would be disappointed if you were not."
"I am afraid that you will use this against me, or to manipulate me. If I'm feeling needy or like I need a hug, all you have to do is turn the tables and then the focus is on your needs and not mine," she said.
"I would never use this information to manipulate you, Andrea. I am a little hurt that you think I would."
"No, not intentionally. But remember, I've seen you at your worst. You do what you need to survive, and you don't think twice about who may suffer the consequences," Andrea said.
"Okay. I want to finish this conversation, but I don't want to have it here. Is that fair?" Miranda asked.
Andrea nodded.
"After the awards, I have to go to dinner, but I can send them home with James and then you and I can talk more. Will that work?"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Let's say nine o'clock."
Andrea nodded. "I'll meet you at the townhouse."
"No, I will come to your place. If you don't mind."
Andrea shrugged and they continued watching the soccer game in relative silence. When it was finished, they quietly parted and agreed to see each other later that evening.
"Where's Andy?" Cassidy said after their ceremony, when she walked over to her mom and dad.
"Yeah? We saw her sitting with you the whole time!" Caroline added.
James turned and gave Miranda a look that only served to make her blush.
"Andrea had to go. Come on, we'll be late for dinner," Miranda said.
"Ahn-dre-ya is—was—Mom's assistant," Cassidy explained to James, handing him her second-place trophy. "She quit last month or something and now she's a reporter."
"Interesting," James said. "Does she come by the house a lot?"
"Nope. We haven't seen her for a long time," Cassidy said.
"But we liked her—like, a lot. She was nice to us and kind of silly and never said mean things about Mom," Caroline added. "I'm glad Mom still talks to her. Maybe she'll be at more games during summer league."
"Girls, run along and get in your father's car. We'll be there in a minute," Miranda said, softly grabbing James by the elbow.
"So, are you going to fill me in here?"
Miranda sighed. "Can the girls spend the night with you tonight?" She batted her eyes and did her best impression of a puppy.
James laughed and shook his head. "Of course. I just—I just hope you know what you're doing with that twenty-something, Miranda. Our daughters like her, and I would hate to see them hurt."
"And what exactly is that supposed to imply?"
"Be serious. When have you ever been seen with anyone who isn't related to or doesn't work for you? You were probably in school the last time that happened," he said. "Look, if she's your type and you're happy with her, you will have my full support. But please, be careful. If you get hurt, the girls will feel it."
She silently nodded her head. "I understand. But for what it's worth, Andrea and I are exploring a…friendship. Nothing more. This is new enough for me."
James nodded, then led her to the car. Miranda rode with them to the restaurant, where the girls' teammates and their families were all meeting for dinner.
Just before nine, Miranda said goodbye to the girls and took a taxi to Andrea's apartment.
"It's unlocked!" Andrea called from somewhere inside.
Miranda turned the knob and let herself in. "Hello?"
"Hey, sorry. Glass of wine?" the brunette asked. "I found a great Napa Cab-Syrah blend," she said, grabbing two glasses from her dish drying rack.
"Sounds perfect," Miranda said as she walked over to the sofa and took a seat. Andrea poured two generous glasses and handed one to the editor. "Mmh, this is excellent. Where did you find it?"
"Apple Market, that new organic style grocery store in Midtown. It's delicious and inexpensive, unlike most of their other food items," Andrea said, returning to the sofa with two glasses of water and setting the bottle on a coaster. "So how was the girls' game? Did they finish in first or second?"
"Unfortunately, second. The other team scored twice in the last few minutes. Then the whole team went out to dinner afterwards, and, well, dinner for fifty people on a Saturday night in the city is never a good idea." She twirled the stem of the wine glass between her fingers for a few minutes before finishing the rest of the glass.
Andrea looked over at her cautiously as she reached out to refill her guest's glass.
"Darling," she said.
Andrea thought to herself how Miranda only ever called her "darling" when she'd been drinking.
"I wanted to explain something. Last night I asked Stephen to return something I had given to him—the keys to my condo in Chicago. I knew he was cheating on me, and I asked him to not do it under my nose, where the paparazzi would eat it up. After a few photos of him checking into a hotel in Jersey surfaced, I gave him the keys to the condo, and he basically lived there with his mistress on Wednesday through Sunday. After the divorce settlement, he did not get the condo, and was slow to move his things out."
She reached for her wine glass again and took a healthy swig. "He threw the keys at me and proceeded to tell me how he—how he made use of every available space. This morning I called a service to repaint the walls, reupholster any fabric, and refinish all of the floors. I hate him for that."
"I'm sorry. Men are jerks."
"I'll drink to that," Miranda said. "Now, back to our earlier conversation. I realize I probably said too much. I shouldn't have brought all that up."
Andrea sighed. She'd rather have Miranda tell her what she was thinking than be stuck guessing the whole time. "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting it."
"You have to know I was sincere about feeling selfish for last night. I should have remembered you were coming and why," she said. She set her empty wine glass on the table and leaned back into the couch. "I am trying to learn how to be a friend, and all I know is how to be a mother and a boss."
"You were a wife, that counts for something," Andrea added.
"I was married, but I was no wife. I think had I known how to be a friend, James and I might have lasted."
They sat in silence for a while before Andrea spoke up. "I'm probably the worst person to learn to be a friend to. Most people are not as needy, emotionally all over the place, or introverted as I am."
Miranda sat up and turned towards the woman. "I hate when you do this—you make yourself sound like some horrid human being. You are a kind and generous person with countless talents and sound judgment. Stop making yourself sound like a lunatic."
"Mental health is important. Just because it's on the inside and no one can see it, doesn't mean it should be ignored, undiagnosed, or untreated," she said firmly.
"That's not what I meant," Miranda said.
"That sure as hell sounds like what you were saying."
"Please," Miranda said, reaching out for Andrea's hand. "I understand. You know I do. I just wish for you to be more self-confident. What can I do to help?"
"I don't know," Andrea said with a shrug.
Miranda reached for the young woman's wine glass and gently set it on the coffee table. "Come here," she said, scooting closer and wrapping her arm around Andrea's shoulders.
"You don't have to—"
"Nonsense. I seem to recall owing you a few hugs. May as well begin catching up," she added as the young woman curled up against her. She felt Andrea's arms wrap around her waist and her head was buried in her neck. "You will never be a burden to me, Andrea, never," she whispered.
Over the next few months, Miranda learned how to be a supportive friend, while Andrea learned to have more self-confidence, and more importantly, not to doubt Miranda. While they both made mistakes and said the wrong thing from time to time, neither could be accused of being insincere. And to top it off, Miranda started hugging Andrea hello and goodbye.
Miranda finally re-introduced the girls to Andrea, and she was thrilled that they all got along so well. Even Patricia seemed to approve.
When the girls were in North Carolina visiting their grandparents for a few weeks, Andrea spent more time at the townhouse—nearly every day after work she would swing by Miranda's house. They would have dinner and sometimes wine, and usually end up in the den or the study, Miranda reviewing the Book while Andrea researched an article.
During this time, Andrea's feelings for Miranda blossomed. She was truly and honestly in love with the woman, who happened to now be one of her best friends.
One night, they had been working well into the night and Miranda finally finished the last page. Closing the Book and standing from her desk, she walked over to the young woman who was typing away on her computer. "Almost finished?" she asked.
Andrea looked up at the sleepy editor and then at the clock. 12:41 AM. "Uh, sorry, I lost track of time. Give me a minute to finish this paragraph while it's in my mind," she said.
"Take your time. I'm going to go get ready for bed, though." Miranda went upstairs and took off her makeup, brushed her teeth, and changed into her black silk babydoll negligee and panties, and grabbed her sheer black peignoir before returning downstairs to turn off the lights and make sure the alarm was on.
Andrea was putting her laptop back into her bag when she looked up and saw Miranda descending the staircase. Actually, she was more like floating down on a cloud of silky softness. "Miranda," she gasped.
"Ah, I thought you had left," she said, pulling the sheer fabric across her chest in an attempt at modesty. Andrea also noticed that, although barefoot, she walked on her tiptoes, and it was incredibly endearing.
The young woman walked towards the door and could not tear her eyes from the exquisite woman. The paleness of her skin and hair and makeup-free face was such a stark contrast to the black silk and chiffon, she looked like she was plucked from a 1920s black-and-white film.
"Did you call a cab already?" she asked.
"Yeah, he should be pulling up soon," Andrea replied. "Sorry I was so caught up in work tonight. I didn't intend to keep you up so late."
"It's no bother," Miranda added as she walked her towards the front door. "I was able to finish my work, too. I won't see you tomorrow because I have that wedding in the Hamptons."
"Oh, that's right. Okay, well, goodnight," she said, reaching out and meeting the other woman for a hug.
Miranda kissed her on the cheek, as she always did, and Andrea couldn't help but let the embrace a little longer than usual tonight. Her face was buried in Miranda's neck and she inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the other woman's skin. Her fingertips danced across the chiffon spread across the other woman's back, and she felt her fingers playing gently in her long hair.
Without much thought, Andrea pressed a kiss to Miranda's neck, her jawline, and swiftly pushing her back up against the door, she leaned in and kissed her lips.
For a moment, Miranda was frozen. It had been so long since she felt like that, but this, from Andrea? She firmly cupped the young woman's cheek and pushed her away. "Darling," she whispered, gently brushing her thumb along her cheekbone. She could see the desire burning in her eyes, and was disappointed in herself that she hadn't noticed it sooner. "You're exhausted, overly tired. Will you be okay getting home, or would you like to stay in the guest room?" she asked.
Andrea closed her eyes. If she thought there was any chance of sharing Miranda's bed, she'd have surely stayed, but as it was, she reassured Miranda she would be fine getting home on her own. "I'll wait for the cab outside. I'm sorry," she said.
"Look at me, please," Miranda said, firmly holding the young woman's wrist. "I love you, darling, but not like that. I apologize if I have made that unclear."
"Yeah, don't wear that again," Andrea muttered under her breath.
Miranda immediately blushed and again reached to pull the sheer fabric closed in front of her body.
"Don't be ashamed," Andrea said. "You look really fucking hot, and I just overreacted."
Miranda nodded and let go of the woman's hand. "Text me—to let me know you got home safely?"
"I will. Goodnight," she said, heading out the door.
The older woman locked the door behind her and watched out the side window until Andrea safely got inside a cab. She leaned back against the door and pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was racing in reaction to the young woman's lips.
She turned down the lights and set the alarm before heading up to bed. As she passed by the mirror in the hallway, she paused at her reflection. Her skin was dewy, and she wasn't sure if it could entirely be attributed to the temperatures outdoors. She traced her hand over her toned stomach and softly followed it upwards, gasping as she brushed her overly-sensitive nipple.
Miranda shook her head and made her way into her bedroom, draping her sheer peignoir over the chair before she slipped in between the sheets. It had been so long since she felt desirable, and she couldn't shake the feeling of Andrea's soft lips from her memory—she wasn't sure she actually wanted to.
Without much thought, the editor slipped her hand down between her legs and scratched at her curls. She was soaking wet, and the sounds of her fingers tapping against the slickness only heightened her arousal. She tried to cast aside the images of the young woman as she thrust her fingers inside, but no matter how hard she tried replacing the image—underwear models, James, her vibrator—she imagined the brunette between her legs, licking, thrusting, sucking her dry.
Back in her apartment, Andrea sent the editor a quick text to let her know she'd arrived home. She took a seat at her desk chair and opened her computer, hoping to finish up her article. After a few minutes, though, she realized she had been staring at the screen. "Stupid!" she muttered, slowly banging her head on the table.
She had thought a lot about the older woman over the last year, and in the past six months she learned that Miranda was a true friend and that there would be nothing more. She couldn't believe she had just kissed the woman—surely, she thought, she would lose her friend over this.
A few days went by without contact, and while that wasn't necessarily unusual between the two women, Andrea couldn't help but feel that it was all her fault. She had crossed the line. She kissed Miranda. She knew that the ball was in her court and she needed to apologize again, but that tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her how good it felt—Miranda's skin beneath her lips, the sight of Miranda's dilated pupils, the sheen of sweat forming on her brow. Suppressed desire at its finest.
It didn't matter, she thought. Even if—and that was a huge "if"—she stopped herself. It wasn't worth going down that path. Now, she just needed to save her friendship. She quickly called up Miranda's florist and ordered a delivery of green fuji mums to her office. She didn't know what to put in the card, so she opted to send without one. Miranda would know they were from her, because the fuji mum, sometimes called a spider mum, was her favorite of all flowers. If nothing else, the flowers should prompt Miranda to send a thank you.
Sure enough, when Andrea was on her way home that evening, she received a text from the editor.
Miranda (8:49PM): Thank you for the flowers—I presume they were from you. They really are lovely. I should have to rethink my allegiance to the Calla Lily.
The young woman thought for a moment before responding. Since she didn't want to discuss why she had sent them, she followed the editor's lead.
Andrea (8:51PM): Obviously, my campaign is in full swing. :)
Andrea (8:53PM): How are things? I finished my article this morning—should be in print on Monday.
Miranda (9:07PM): I'll keep an eye out for it. Nothing much new here. We're finalizing September, though, so it's been slightly busier than usual.
Andrea (9:10PM): Ahh, hard to believe it's that time of year again. Take care of yourself—don't let Emily overwork you!
Miranda (11:49PM): I never realized what a blessing you were to us during our busy season. Emily prioritizes the magazine, but you prioritized me. I didn't see the girls at all this week—you would have never let that happen.
Andrea (11:52PM): No, never. both were equally important…em and i were a good team. are you home now?
Miranda (11:53PM): Yes. I have to go back in the morning, but at least the girls are with James for the weekend.
Andrea (11:54PM): Please have something to eat before you go to bed—even if it's just a banana or cereal.
Miranda (11:56PM): Will do. Goodnight. xo
Andrea took a deep breath. For the first time in a week, she was hopeful that things were back to normal. She would send Miranda a note on Sunday and make dinner plans for the following week, and aside from a potentially awkward hug, all would be right in her world.
Miranda, on the other hand, was feeling more out of sorts than ever. Was she really attracted to women? Or was it just Andrea? And knowing this, would she ever be able to look her in the face again? At least the editor was able to drown herself in her work. There was certainly enough of that to go around.
On Saturday, they didn't wrap up until nearly ten o'clock. Miranda sent the team home, then sat at her desk, debating whether to call Andrea. She poured herself a glass of scotch and sipped while she deliberated. Her mind made up, she grabbed a few items from the closet and changed into something more comfortable before heading downstairs and asking her driver to take her to Andrea's. There was a chill in the air, and she pulled her long wool coat tightly around her shoulders.
Miranda (10:04PM): Hi, how's your night?
Andrea (10:05PM): Almost over, i'm just finishing an episode of 30 Rock i dvr'd. How's the issue?
Miranda (10:06PM): It is what it is. I just left the office—we still have a few days before it goes to print.
Andrea (10:10PM): I see…what's the theme?
Andrea (10:14PM): Or is it so super secret you won't even tell your former right hand?
Miranda (10:17PM): Opulence. We're using a new metallic ink on the cover and a few of the spreads. Irv had a heart attack over the cost, but I expect single-copy sales to skyrocket. And we were able to include September in all of the various EC holiday bundles, so that offsets it a bit.
Andrea (10:19PM): Wow, can't wait to see it!
Andrea was typing out another text when there was a knock at her door. She jumped up and looked through the peephole, and seeing the editor, quickly opened the door.
"Miranda," she said. "I wasn—you didn't tell me you were coming over! I would have cleaned up a bit," she added, ushering the woman inside and shutting the door behind her. Something about Miranda's hair looked different today—perhaps it was more voluminous than she had seen it recently. She certainly did not have the look of a woman who had just put in an 80-hour week.
"Is everything okay?" Andrea asked, suddenly concerned.
"Yes, it's fine. I—"
"Can I take your coat?"
Miranda quickly untied the sash around the coat and pushed it off her shoulders and onto the floor.
Andrea moved to catch her coat, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what the woman was wearing beneath it. "I—I—" she stammered.
Seeing Andrea's speechlessness dispelled any fear the editor carried with her. She stepped out of her heels and approached the young woman who hadn't moved from her spot. She reached out and softly traced her perfectly manicured fingernail along Andrea's jawline.
"I hate to interrupt, but, you see," she said, her lips inches from the other woman's, "I have other plans for you tonight."
With that, she crushed her lips against the young woman's and pressed her back against the wall that joined her hallway and kitchen. She devoured the young woman—first, desperately, then, when she knew the young woman was not going to run away, she took her time, enjoying every bit of softness.
Andrea's hands were pressed flat against the wall, and the editor snaked her hand around the woman's wrist, placing it on her own thigh and the other on her waist. That was all the urging the young woman needed, and within minutes, Miranda was panting as she felt the woman's hands squeezing her ass.
"Your bedroom?" Miranda asked.
Andrea nodded and pushed away from the wall for just a moment, reaching down and lifting Miranda into her arms. The editor's arms and legs were wrapped around the young woman, her lips softly nuzzling her neck as she carried her into the bedroom.
She laid the woman down on the edge of her bed and quickly pulled off her tank top and pants, leaving her standing before the woman in nothing but a lacy hipster panty. Walking up to the bed, she leaned forward and kissed Miranda before sinking to her knees and softly caressing the woman's inner thighs.
"No, darling…" She reached down and took Andrea's hand, gently tugging her upwards and onto the bed with her. She turned to her side and softly traced the young woman's features, her fingertips dancing over her bare chest. Her hand hovered over the young woman's abdomen, and she looked up into her adoring eyes.
Andrea took Miranda's hand and guided it between her legs, holding it there and gently stroking with her thumb until the older woman relaxed. She snaked her other hand behind Miranda's neck and pulled her in for a kiss.
The older woman softened and collapsed against her. "Sorry," she said, breaking the kiss and pushing herself up.
"Oh, stop. You are light as a feather, and you feel amazing," she said as she wrapped her arm around the woman's waist and tugged her down. Miranda's hand was trapped between their bodies, and Andrea could feel the pressure on her mound.
Miranda shifted her weight, and Andrea's his bucked involuntarily. "Please," she gasped, "I'm so close."
Miranda looked down at her in wonder, wanting to both watch her and kiss her at the same time.
"Please, inside… just a little," Andrea moaned.
Miranda gently plunged two fingers into her slick heat, causing the young woman to arch upwards, writhing in arousal. She pumped her fingers in and out a few times, and the friction sent the young woman over the edge. Miranda felt the strong waves rippling through the body beneath her, and she gently pressed a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. "Oh darling," she whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of her lips.
The young woman's eyes fluttered and her hands reached around and settled on Miranda's lower back. "You are amazing," she whispered, kissing her as her fingers untied the laces on Miranda's corset. "Is this okay?" she asked, smoothing her hands over Miranda's hips and the swell of her ass.
Miranda nodded and turned to her side, "Here," she said, showing Andrea the hook-and-eye clasps in the front of the corset. Andrea straddled the woman and slowly hooked the garment, pausing often to kiss the newly exposed skin. Miranda's left leg began twitching, and the young woman slid downward and focused her attention on her lower half.
Andrea pressed a kiss to her inner thigh and unclasped the garter belt, gently rolling down her stocking, first the right, then the left. She slipped her garter belt and panties down, and tossed them off to the side.
"Andrea," she gasped, "what are you doing to me?"
"Loving you," the young woman whispered before dipping lower to press a kiss to the woman's dripping folds.
Miranda moaned as Andrea's tongue lapped at her juices. She felt her arousal building deep within, as her hand sought residence in the young woman's tresses. "Oh god. Oh. Ohh," she moaned. "Ohhh… Ohhhh… OHhh," she cried.
Andrea smiled at the thought of her neighbors hearing the woman's screams, knowing she alone was the cause of such ecstasy. She softly thrust her fingers inside as her tongue stilled against her clitoris, and she felt the woman's muscles tighten and release in rapid succession. With her free hand, she reached up and grasped Miranda's hand, gripping her tightly as she lapped at the woman's juices.
When the final tremors had passed, Andrea crawled up the woman's body and draped her arm around the woman's waist. "You," she said, kissing her neck. "Are," she pressed another kiss to her jaw. "Incroyable," she said, pressing a kiss to her lips.
"Non, vous ȇtes," she purred.
"Can I take this off?" the young woman asked, gently tugging at the woman's corset.
"Mm-hmm, I believe you got distracted earlier," Miranda said.
Andrea smiled and finished unfastening the garment, tugging it off and tossing it aside. She pulled the corner of the comforter up and over the two of them. "Miranda, I can never say this enough. You are absolutely stunning—stunningly beautiful and just such an amazing woman. I will remind you every single day for the rest of your life."
"Darling, you are the amazing one. Let's get some rest."
The next morning, Miranda woke with Andrea's arms wrapped around her. She blinked her eyes open several times, hoping that she had just had a particularly vivid dream. Alas, she hadn't. "Andrea?" she whispered.
The young woman was sound asleep, so Miranda carefully extricated herself from her grasp and crawled out of bed. She looked around for her clothes, and seeing the corset, she remembered that she hadn't worn any. She found a robe in the bathroom and after cleaning herself up and brushing her teeth, she went to the kitchen in search of coffee.
While she waited for the coffee to brew, she collected and washed their wine glasses from last night. She felt a unique soreness between her legs, and she couldn't hide the grin on her face. Last night had been incredible, but this morning, she feared that one night of pleasure had forever ruined the one friendship that meant anything to her.
She had finished three cups of coffee by the time the young woman came out of the bedroom. "Hi," she said, leaning against the doorframe. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, and her hair was tied up in a top knot. "I was afraid you left."
Miranda smiled and shook her head. "I did have to borrow your robe—sorry about that. There's fresh coffee," she said.
"Thanks," she said. She poured herself a cup and joined Miranda on the couch. After taking a sip she exhaled and leaned over to kiss the older woman.
Miranda flinched, and ended up with a kiss to her chin. "Sorry," she said, finding her coffee mug extraordinarily interesting.
"Are you okay?" Andrea asked.
"Yes. I mean, it's peculiar," she said.
"I do believe this is what's known as 'the morning after,'" Andrea said. "Do you regret—"
"What?" Miranda interrupted. "No. No, absolutely not. It was…wonderful. But now—"
"So, I think we have three options," Andrea said. She could sense that the editor's mind was reeling, and she knew that some semblance of logic would make her more comfortable. "One, we could pretend this never happened and go on with our lives. Two, we could become the sexiest lesbian couple in New York City and have an over the top wedding. Three, we could decide that it's too disgusting to look at each other and never talk again."
Miranda looked up and smiled as she rolled her eyes. "Well obviously, I can't speak with someone who considers that shirt appropriate to wear in my presence."
"So, we're getting married?" Andrea quipped.
Miranda shook her head and took a sip of coffee. "What on earth were we thinking? What was I thinking?"
"I don't know. But once you took off your coat, not one coherent thought passed through my mind," Andrea admitted.
The older woman finished her cup of coffee. "I'm flattered, but, look. I need to get home. The girls will be home this afternoon, and I just… Do you think I can borrow something to wear?"
Andrea laughed and leaned over, resting her head on the woman's shoulder. "I'm debating whether to give you one of my t-shirts from college, or if perhaps an off-the-rack Cynthia Rowley blouse," she said.
"Oh you are ridiculous," Miranda said, getting up. "I'll find something myself."
Minutes later, she emerged in a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, and she looked like a million dollars.
"You really do make anything look good, don't you?" the young woman asked.
"I suppose I do." She pulled on her wool coat and stepped into her heels. "Come here, darling," she said, opening her arms. When the young woman stood, Miranda hugged her tightly and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I love you, you know that. You're my best friend and losing you would be unbearable to me."
"I know," she said, softly returning the kiss to Miranda's cheek. "I love you, too, just not like that," she added with a smirk.
"You never will let me forget this, will you?" Miranda said with a smile.
"Probably not," she said. "But seriously, call me tonight. I want to make sure we are okay and that you didn't decide to write me off."
"Oh! And tell the girls I said hello."
Miranda nodded. "Yes, I will. And Andrea, thank you. It was quite an unforgettable night."
Andrea smiled and shut the door behind her. An unforgettable night for sure.
.
.
The End.