Simple Creatures of Habit

Humans are creatures of habit. For many years Miranda's habits were regimented and unchanging. She woke up early, made herself a cup of coffee and sat in her office curled up in the comfortable chair by the window to read or watch the sun come up, and that was only the first part of her day. For well over twenty years nothing and no one apart from the birth of her dear Bobbseys had been able to change that routine. Not Stephen (neither his entrance, nor his exit no matter how loud and obnoxious that had been), not her divorces, not any number of things that could reasonably be expected to disrupt the rhythm of someone's life.

Though she valued innovation in fashion, in her personal life change was something abhorrent that should be avoided at almost all costs. Change was disruptive and messy and got in the way of her genius and necessary work.

Change however, despite her best intentions, occurred anyway, and she didn't even realize it.

It wasn't until one morning Miranda made two cups of coffee out of habit and only then realized Andréa wasn't there to drink her's that she even realized her routine had changed. Andréa wasn't there at the town house where she usually was because she was on a business trip as Miranda's eyes and ears for a shoot so Miranda could stay with the girls. With their girls.

Miranda blinked and got an unexpectedly warm feeling in her chest when she remembered that Andréa would be home that day. The girls were very excited. They couldn't wait to have her back. Miranda was just happy that they'd be happy. It wasn't Miranda herself who couldn't wait to have her Andréa back.

She didn't miss the tingley feeling she got whenever Andréa brushed up against her, or the comfort she found just by seeing Andréa's book on the counter or her shoes in the closet, just by knowing she was there. Over the past three days that Andréa had been gone, Miranda hadn't missed the sound of her laughter that rang through the house in a way that should have been disruptive but instead inexplicably brought a smile to Miranda's face. She hadn't missed the looks they shared over the tops of their girls' heads at the dinner table, or the simple companionship she felt as she and Andréa slashed through the book each night.

Except she desperately and terribly had.

In the early dawn hours, before the rest of the world even knew such life altering things could be happening, Miranda sat at her kitchen island, two steadily cooling cups of coffee before her, realizing that somehow Andréa had neatly slotted herself into Miranda's routine, and had changed everything. Now, instead of one cup she automatically made two. Instead of sitting silently with those cups, she and Andréa shared her study in companionable silence with their own occupations, or spoke softly about any number of interesting topics. Everything was interesting when it was Andréa who spoke about it.

Miranda realized that Andréa hadn't just changed her morning routine, but was now imprinted on every moment of every day. Her ride to work now had an extra passenger, her calendar now took into account another person's schedule, her children now had another person to love and be loved by. Even her scalding comments on The Book now were sometimes designed to elicit that delightful giggle that Andréa possessed and would often bestow on Miranda's dry wit.

It took her breath away for a moment to realize how completely Andréa had infiltarted her days. Something like panic started to creep up the back of her throat. How could everything have changed without her realizing, what if it all went horribly wrong, how could she have grown so attached to her assistant, what if— but then she thought back to the day she and Andréa had both been exhausted after taking care their sick girls, and poor tired Andréa had simply explained her presence at Miranda's house by saying they had been looking over the Book late.

And suddenly it wasn't a terrible thing. It was as simple as Andréa had made it seem. Andréa was just there. She hadn't upended Miranda's routines, she'd simply slipped seamlessly in. She didn't make a fuss or anything like that. She was simply there. She didn't break her way in like so many before had tried, she just filled a gap that Miranda hadn't known was empty.

Whether she was smiling blindingly, or fired up about a political debate, or soft and sleepy enough to cuddle up next to Miranda without being embarrassed, she was there and it was perfect.

Miranda smiled softly to herself. Yes. It was perfect. She finally had exactly what she always wanted. Well. Almost exactly. She thought frowning slightly.

It was simple and perfect, but so very precarious. Nothing was ever said outright, so perhaps Andréa didn't want anything more than just this...companionship...they'd developed. Miranda thought she could remember the way Andréa's eyes had burned into her that first night of the charity dinner, but maybe it had all been wishful thinking. She thought she could remember countless times Andréa had reacted to her in some mesmirizing or sweet or wonderful way, but maybe Miranda was misconstruing the attentions Andréa gave her.

Maybe all Andréa wants is friendship, or (God forbid) a mother figure. What then?

Miranda took a deep breath. She was a reasonable woman. This deranged spiraling would have to be put to an end. Miranda resolved that as soon as Andréa was back she would talk to her and very clearly ask what exactly she thought this was all about.

She finally took a sip and subsequently grimaced at her now cold coffee. She had a solid plan. She would just ask her as soon as she got home that evening. Simple.

Miranda did not ask Andréa that eveing. She'd meant to. She'd had the best intentions really. She'd gone all the way to opening her mouth to say the words when Andréa walked through the door with her little luggage bag, but then Andréa had looked at her with those deep captivating eyes and had smiled so brightly it felt like the sun had come up after a year of darkness, and Miranda realized that she absolutely could not ask her because she absolutely did need Andréa in her life in any capacity possible, and asking her opened the terrible and unacceptable possibility that Andréa would leave, and Miranda would lose her.

So instead of asking, Miranda smiled right back and took her coat, and they sat down to dinner with the girls. That night Miranda lay in bed, knowing Andréa was just upstairs sleeping peacefully and hoped with all her might that she would be able to figure it out, and that Andréa really did love her back. Because at that still quiet hour, Miranda realized it was absolutely true. She loved Andréa Sachs, and she was terrified.