As Miranda drifted off to sleep, she heard those whispered words repeating over and over in her head. Fight for me. If not for yourself, do it for me. She couldn't understand why Andrea would say such a thing—there was no fight. She was fine. This little mishap was because Roger's supply was cut with some opioid—or that's what she overheard the doctors saying…
The nurse told Andrea she should go home, shower, get some sleep. They were admitting Miranda, and she'd be relocated to a private room upstairs and would be staying at least one more night while they continued to run tests on her heart. Andrea asked how long until she'd be transferred, knowing the private room had a sleeper sofa, but the nurse said it could be as long as 6 hours. She didn't want to wait, so she exchanged numbers with the nurse and asked her to call with the new room number and any other changes. And the nurse promised to pass the information along at shift change.
So, Andrea left and walked to the townhouse. Standing in the foyer, she could tell Rebecca had a cleaning crew there already. She wasn't sure why she went to Miranda's instead of her own apartment, but it felt better to be there, like she was closer to her. As she walked upstairs to Miranda's bedroom, she was overwhelmed at the scent of the woman. She dropped her bags on the floor and walked into the bathroom, crying as the hot water enveloped her.
After drying her hair, her eyes were red but she had stopped crying. She didn't have any clean clothes, but she knew that she could fit into most of Miranda's things, so she found a pair of leggings, a tank top, and a sweater and put them on. She found a new tube of mascara and set that on the counter, so she could use it before she left.
Then, she collected Miranda's toothpaste and toothbrush, her shampoo and conditioner, her moisturizer, brush, and a washcloth. She put those items into a medium-sized Louis Vuitton neverfull bag that was in her closet, and paused at the shelf where Miranda had been keeping her locked jewelry box. In its place was a green velvet box, the shape of a cigar box, and the lid was padded with a quilting stitch. Curious, she opened it, then quickly closed it. She did not need to see the needles and and spoons and lighter and tourniquet inside. She opened a few drawers and selected several pairs of underwear, a pair of pajamas, a tank top with a built-in bra, and a pair of socks and added them to the bag. Physically and mentally exhausted, she set her alarm for 4:00 am and fell asleep on top of Miranda's bed.
She woke several times during the night, each time with the image in her mind of Miranda, lifeless on the kitchen floor. When her alarm finally went off, she read a text message from the nurse: She's sleeping peacefully in room 928. She was relieved. She got up, washed her face, brushed her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in the drawer, and applied mascara and some Rosebud Salve—the tin Emily gave her—to her lips. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, tossed her own clothes into the laundry room, and headed downstairs. She stopped at Starbucks for a large coffee and a blueberry muffin, then entered room 928.
She took some of Miranda's things out of the bag and laid them out on top of the dresser. The woman was connected to a lot of wires, which Andrea assumed were there to monitor her heart. She saw a bandage on her arm where the needle was, and wondered when Miranda had started injecting the drug. She gently reached for Miranda's hand.
These feelings were still new to her, but she quickly recognized them as love. She cared about the editor possibly more than own self, and she desperately wanted to see her healthy and happy—or at least satisfied. She didn't know that she ever saw Miranda truly happy. Regardless, Andrea knew she could not go through this again. She laid her head on the mattress next to the woman's arm. Finding Miranda. Rushing to the ER. Her denial that she had a problem. They didn't know yet if it had damaged Miranda's heart, but it surely damaged her own. The tears threatened to return, but Andrea knew she needed to be strong today. For both of them.
She must have been squeezing Miranda's hand, because she felt a little squeeze and quickly sat up. "You're awake."
"I am."
"How do you feel today?"
Miranda was going to say like death, but replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours, she thought better of it. "Not well."
"Do you need the nurse?" Andrea stood, ready to walk out into the hall.
"No. Not yet." She reached for Andrea's hand and squeezed it. "I like the quiet morning hours."
Andrea smiled. "Me, too."
"You're wearing my clothes."
"Oh!" Andrea blushed. "Yes, I went to your place to get you some things," she gestured towards the dresser, "and I was too exhausted to go home, so I just showered and changed there."
"That's fine. I would have done the same." What Miranda really wanted to say was that she loved the idea of Andrea wearing her clothes, making herself at home in her space. "I appreciate that," she added.
"I think you're still connected to the heart monitors, otherwise I'd say you could change into something more comfortable."
"Yes."
The silence between them was not especially awkward, as the same unspoken things were on both their minds. Andrea didn't trust herself to say more, knowing if she brought up rehab again Miranda might make her leave.
Miranda cleared her throat. "Your words were in my head all night."
Andrea's eyes widened. "Really? I mean, I told you I'd be here when you woke, and I was, wasn't I?"
"Yes, but I meant the other words. The ones you whispered in my ear."
"Oh." She nervously bit her lip. "And?"
Tears welled up in Miranda's eyes, and when she opened her mouth to speak, a strangled sob escaped. She quickly brought her hands up to her face and nodded. "Okay," she said through her tears. "Okay."
Andrea reached over and gave her a giant hug. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you," she repeated over and over.
Just then, the nurse knocked on the open door. "Miranda, good morning. We noticed some activity on your heart monitor so I wanted to come in and check. I'm Jaclyn, but you can call me nurse Jackie," she said with a wink.
Andrea stepped away so Jackie could check her patient, taking the opportunity to wipe the tears from her face. Jackie said she needed a few more hours with the heart monitor, but agreed to remove the leads so Miranda could shower and freshen up.
"When will I be able to leave?" Miranda asked. Andrea held her breath, praying Miranda had not changed her mind. The editor must have sensed this, because she quickly added, looking straight at Andrea, "I plan to stay as long as the doctor requires. I was just thinking I might need to make arrangements for work."
"I'm not certain, that'll be a question for the doctor. He's usually here around 10. And, you're all set. There's soap and towels in the bathroom. Please use the safety rail and seat in the shower. There's an emergency cord you can pull if you fall—it will alert us at the nurse's station. Just let me know when you're finished and I'll be back to reattach the monitor." She lowered the railing on the bed, then quietly stepped out of the room and closed the door.
As Miranda got up, she took Andrea's outstretched hand—not because she needed it, but because she didn't want to be reminded of the risk of falling as if she were in a geriatric ward. Standing on her feet, in hospital socks that apparently had rubber grips on the bottom, she walked over to the dresser. "Is there anything you can't do?" she asked.
Andrea smiled proudly. "Probably. Haven't found it yet, though."
Miranda chuckled as she took a pair of underwear, the tank, her pajamas, socks, shampoo, brush, and wash cloth and carried them to the bathroom. "You don't have to follow me in here. I can manage. Go finish your coffee," she said, gesturing towards the sofa table on the other side of the room.
"Okay, Miranda. You can only have decaf for now, but do you want a decaf latte when you're finished?"
"No, some tea is fine. Whatever they have here."
Andrea nodded and Miranda closed the door. Andrea poked her head out in the hallway and asked if an aide could come change Miranda's sheets while she was showering. In the meantime, she sent Rebecca a text with Miranda's new room number and told her she was doing okay this morning. Immediately, she got a call back.
"Hi, Rebecca."
"Andy. I didn't want to wake you. This is in the press. I begged Leslee to come back and help with this, and she agreed. It looks like one of the EMTs talked. Most of the reports said she was found unresponsive, but The Post had a source that said she had a needle sticking out of her arm."
"Fuck."
"Yes, well, Leslee put out a statement saying that she had an unknown allergic reaction and that the needle was in fact an Epipen, and that she is recovering in the hospital."
"Okay. Good. That's really good," she said.
"But then her ex-husband called me, James, Caroline and Cassidy's father. He wanted to know what I knew because he knew she did not have any allergies. I think he knows."
"Fuck."
"I said I wasn't sure and played up the 'I'm new here and don't know what I'm doing' bit, and I think he bought it."
"Okay, good. I will have to see how Miranda wants to handle that one."
"Oh, and I also am having some flowers sent over—one from Runway and another from her daughters—and several designers mentioned they were going to be sending flowers, but I asked them to just have it sent to the office. Stephen will take them the townhouse later. I figured since it's out there that she was taken by ambulance to the hospital…"
"Yes. Good idea."
"Is she really okay?"
"I think so. Kinda hard to tell with her."
"I've only known her for a few weeks and I can see that. I can't imagine what you must be going through. Oh gosh—I should have asked. Can I have anything sent over for you? Or Miranda? A change of clothes or breakfast or—"
"No, but thank you," Andrea interrupted. "I went to her house last night to gather some things, and I slept for a few hours before coming back."
"Okay, good. I'm sorry that just slipped my mind."
"You had a lot of other things to worry about, and I must say, you have handled it all more calmly than Emily or I would have!"
"I can see she's going through a rough patch here. My mom's brother, he has substance abuse issues. I can sympathize."
Andrea heard the hairdryer turn on in the bathroom. "Look, I have to go. Keep doing what you're doing. I'll stay in touch."
Andrea finished her coffee, and by the time she was going to call the nurse and ask for a breakfast tray, someone showed up with a tray of tea, fruit, toast, eggs, sausage, and an English muffin. She figured Miranda would be hungry, so this was perfect.
When Miranda emerged from the bathroom, she looked like herself, minus the makeup. She quickly sat on the edge of the bed.
"You okay?" Andrea asked, crouching down in front of her.
"Lightheaded."
"Your breakfast came. Do you want to sit in the chair and eat?"
Miranda nodded and Andrea helped her into the chair. It was a multifunction chair that reclined, raised, tilted, and had all sorts of gadgets attached. Andrea pulled the table out of its hiding spot in the armrest, then set Miranda's breakfast in front of her.
She poured herself a cup of tea, then proceeded to eat the eggs, toast, and fruit. Andrea sat on the sofa on the other side of the room, texting Emily and skimming the news stories. She dreaded breaking this to Miranda. But, it looked like she had no choice, because someone just came in and delivered two vases of flowers.
Miranda's eyes widened, and Andrea grabbed the cards from the arrangements and handed them to the editor. One said "Get Well Soon! Love, Your Runway Family" and the other said "We love you, Mom! Get well soon!" She handed them back to Andrea, speechless.
"Are you finished eating?" Miranda nodded, so Andrea took the tray away and lifted the table so she could stand. Andrea helped her into bed, which she had arranged in a sitting position.
"Care to explain?"
Andrea took a deep breath. "One of the EMTs talked to a reporter. Rebecca got Leslee to put out a statement that you were unresponsive due to an allergic reaction and that it was an Epipen, not a needle." She sat on the bed and took Miranda's hands. "Look at me, please?"
Miranda met her eyes. "My daughters—they know?" Tears threatened to fall.
"They know about the allergic reaction, not any of the details. James, however, called Rebecca and knows something else is up."
Miranda shook her head and laid back against the pillow. "Are there photos?"
"No."
"Good."
"Rebecca can call James back for you if you need. I told her I wanted to check with you first, though."
"I'll call him."
Andrea nodded, then texted Rebecca.
Jackie came in to reattach the heart monitor and tell Miranda the doctor would be in shortly.
Dr. Wright, who Andrea recognized from their first ER visit, introduced himself and took a seat next to Miranda's bedside. "Why don't you give us some privacy?" he said to Andrea.
She turned step out of the room, then she heard Miranda's voice. "She stays. I'm consenting to you sharing any personal health information with her."
"Okay, then, have a seat, Miss—"
"Sachs," she said, extending her hand. "Andrea Sachs."
"Andrea is my… closest friend," Miranda said.
"Well, Miranda. The syringe the paramedics recovered tested positive for cocaine and fentanyl, which was exactly what your bloodwork showed. We'll come back to that. Your nasal passages show minor damage, nothing too concerning, but your heart. Have you ever been treated for high blood pressure or seen a cardiologist for anything?"
"No."
"I looked at your vitals from your physicals over the last five years, and particularly in the last two, your pressure was high enough to merit treatment."
"I told my doctor I was just nervous," she said. "That's why he didn't treat it."
Dr. Wright nodded. "Well, that lie may have worked in your favor. If your doctor had treated your pressure with a beta blocker, it would have regulated your pressure, but it would have also left the cocaine to do more damage to your heart, much sooner."
"What are you saying?" Miranda asked.
"Your test results suggest that you suffered a mild heart attack, which led to the cardiac arrest. You are very lucky to be alive right now."
"So, what now?"
"I am going to prescribe a vasodilator to treat your hypertension, but you have to understand that cocaine counteracts this. Cocaine makes the blood vessels constrict, which makes your pressure go up. The medication makes your vessels dilate or expand, which lowers your pressure. They don't balance each other out, they battle each other out, which exhausts your heart muscle. So, no more cocaine."
Miranda nodded.
"I'm also going to prescribe a benzodiazepine, a milder version of what I gave you last night. I'd like you to take this for the next month, then we'll talk about tapering off. The vasodilator though, you'll be on that for the rest of your life. The drug use has caused permanent damage to your blood vessels and to your heart."
Miranda nodded again, this time, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
"We were seeing some irregular rhythms when you came in, but it seems to have returned to a normal sinus rhythm. I was worried that the chambers of your heart were also damaged, but it looks like they're not—at least not badly enough for a diagnosis of cardiomyopathy. The prognosis for that is not great, about ten years if you're lucky."
At that, Miranda gasped and brought her hand up to her mouth. Andrea reached for her other hand and squeezed tightly. "But I—I don't have that, right?"
"Correct. As I said before, you are extremely lucky. I hope this is a wake-up call, Miranda. I hope you see this for what it is: a second chance. Did I see in your chart that you have teenage children?"
"They're twelve. Twins."
"You want to be there to see them graduate college, pick out a wedding dress, don't you? You need to take this seriously, otherwise that might just be a pipe dream."
"I understand," she said shakily. "So, um, what does the other treatment look like? Rehab, or whatever it's called."
"Are you ready to talk about that now?"
"Yes."
Dr. Wright took a few brochures from his clipboard and handed them to her. "Is cocaine the only drug you use?"
"Yes, well, and alcohol on occasion."
"When was your last drink?"
"Maybe last week, a glass of wine at dinner. After my… first visit to the ER, I've been careful not to mix," she admitted.
"Okay. So it sounds like you're not going through any alcohol withdrawal. And what about opioids? I'm asking because the bloodwork doesn't tell us much about that due to the doses of Naloxone you were given yesterday."
"I don't use opioids. I don't even have any prescription pain medication in my home," she said defensively.
"Okay. I believe you. I'm specifically talking about the cocaine that was clearly cut with fentanyl. Was it a new batch? Or did you get it from somewhere different?"
"I have some fentanyl test strips that I've used before. Usually once with each, um, purchase. I don't remember if I tested this. I think I opened a new bag yesterday."
"I would like to keep you overnight to monitor that. If you have been taking fentanyl unknowingly, you will need what is called a medical detox. But cocaine alone does not require that type of treatment."
"So, these?" she asked, holding up the brochures.
"Assuming that you've only been using cocaine and don't need an opioid detox, you will not need to go to a residential, in-patient treatment facility. These two brochures provide some options, ranging from weekly visits to an out-patient clinic to daily in-home treatment services. All of these options would be appropriate, as the treatment providers create a unique treatment program for your needs. Take some to look these over. I'll be back this afternoon, and hopefully I can answer any questions you may have."
"Thank you, Dr. Wright," Andrea said. Miranda seemed to be speechless, staring down at the brochures in her hand.
"Miranda, remember, this is your wake-up call."
Miranda nodded and the doctor left the room. She dropped the brochures and brought her hand up to her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Andrea quickly took the mauve emesis basin from the table and gave it to her just in time. She gently stroked Miranda's back, but turned her head and discreetly pressed the call button for the nurse.
An aide quickly came in and tended to Miranda, and Andrea stepped out into the hall to give her some privacy. And to keep her own breakfast down. As she was taking deep breaths, Dr. Wright approached. "Ms. Sachs, was it? Do you think she's ready this time?"
"I do. I've never seen her this scared."
"I intentionally did not sugarcoat this. When you look through the treatment programs, keep in mind that I think she will benefit most from daily treatment. Even if it's only a few hours a day."
"Really?"
"Yes. In some ways, her type of addiction can be more difficult to recover from because the effects of the drug are fleeting. It will feel normal to her, and because of that, there's an increased danger of slipping back into old habits. Does she live alone?"
"Yes. Her daughters are staying with their father, her ex-husband, right now."
"Have you thought about staying with her, moving in with her, I mean?"
Andrea's eyes widened. "No. Should I?"
"She obviously trusts you. I think it would help her. And you."
"Me?"
"Yes. It is hard enough to watch someone you love go through this. I suspect it would be even harder for you if you were apart, not knowing where she was or what she was doing."
Andrea nodded.
"Most of the in-home treatment includes group-like therapy sessions. You could participate. Just something to think about."
"Thank you, Dr. Wright," she said. "I'll definitely consider that."
Back in Miranda's room, she was sitting in bed, fanning herself with one of the brochures.
"How are you?" Andrea asked.
"Better. I just—"
"It was a lot to take in. I know."
"Why were you there yesterday?"
"Huh?"
"At my home, in my kitchen. Why were you there?"
"I was worried. After our conversation in the morning, then your cryptic text message, then Rebecca telling me she couldn't get in touch with you and you hadn't shown up for a meeting, I just thought the worst."
"And that's what it was, wasn't it?"
"No! I was scared you were dead, Miranda. That would be the worst, that was what I feared, what I worried about for months. Finding your body."
"I'm sorry, Andrea," she said quietly. "For putting you through all this. I know you've been telling me you cared since—well, for a while now—but I never realized what this must have been like for you. And in some ways, Emily, too."
Andrea began to cry and realized it was the first time she really let herself cry in front of the other woman.
"Come here," Miranda said, putting the brochure down and opening her arms.
The younger woman shook her head. "No, I—I need a minute, okay?" She quickly stepped outside and walked down to the first floor where she could get some fresh air. This was everything she wanted, wasn't it? Miranda was letting her in, apologizing, offering a shoulder to cry on. Yet for some reason, she couldn't accept it. She called Emily and asked her to meet her at the coffee shop down the street.
"I think you're afraid of your feelings," the redhead said.
"Really? I was thinking that like, maybe I only liked her as a boss, but now, seeing her so vulnerable…"
"That's not it and you know it," Emily said. "You saw her vulnerability when you worked for her. I didn't, but you did."
"Yeah but, she was such a bitch the rest of the time. Like, truly a cruel human being."
"I've talked to Nigel about this, actually. He thinks Stephen is to blame—both for her bitchy attitude and all this."
"Wait, you told him?!"
"No, he figured it out. He's known Miranda since they were in their mid-twenties at Seventeen. He said that was her drug of choice back then, but when she started moving up the career ladder, she quit it."
"Somehow I can't picture Miranda in her twenties," Andrea said. "Did she change her name or something? I know I've looked before, but it's pretty shocking that she's been in a very visible industry her entire career and there are no photos of her on the internet before the twins were born."
"I've thought that, too. Since you're her closest friend now, you should ask her."
Andrea sighed. "I still don't know what to do."
"Do you care about her?"
"Yes, of course."
"So go be with her. Hold her hand or whatever she wants. Stay with her during her treatment. Be a best friend."
"And just ignore everything else I feel?"
"Yes. Haven't you heard that you're not supposed to form romantic relationships during rehab? It's not healthy. There's too much unnatural vulnerability. You fall in love with a persona, that's all."
"I guess you're right."
"Do you think she will let you stay with her?"
"Right now, I think she will agree to anything I say. Maybe that's what's scaring me."
"You should get back to her. I have to swing by my office. Let me know how she is tomorrow."
Andrea hugged her and walked back to the hospital.
"I didn't think you were returning," Miranda said, her voice cool and detached, like it was when Andrea worked for her.
"I told you I needed a minute."
"My apology too hard to stomach? Or was it that you secretly regretted finding me in my kitchen."
Andrea stared at her with a gaping mouth.
"Oh my, I've managed to render the Andrea Sachs speechless. You could have just left. Walked away. No one would have even known you were there. Why didn't you just leave me be? Others might have done that," she said. "I certainly know Nigel would have."
Andrea shook her head but couldn't manage to form any words.
"Come on, you can do it. You can do anything, can't you?"
"Stop!" she shouted. "Stop! Just—stop, Miranda. What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem? Don't you mean your problem, your problem seeing me weak and submissive and scared? I should have known it was too much for you."
"Jesus, will you listen to yourself?!"
"Jesus can't help me, Andrea."
Andrea shook her head and turned, practically running out of the room and right into Jackie.
"Whoa, what's wrong?"
"It's like—it's like she's a different person."
"It's withdrawal," Jackie said. "I don't know specifics, but something with dopamine in the brain. Patients often cycle through depression and agitation pretty wildly, which leads to some crazy mood swings."
"What do I do? I can't sit there and take it. She knows exactly what to say to hurt me."
"I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you. Headphones? It will pass. Pretty quickly, based on my experience."
Andrea sighed. "Can you go check on her?"
Jackie nodded, and less than a minute later, she returned. "I just checked her IV. She looked like she was about to cry, so I'd say you're good. Be firm with her. You got this. She knows she needs you."
Andrea stepped back into the room again, and just as Jackie said, she had tears in her eyes. She was curled up on her side, clutching the pillow. Andrea sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "I walk out of rooms sometimes, Miranda, but I come back. Even after Paris, I came back. This is really hard for me. I care about you so much it hurts. Sometimes, I just need a few minutes. Some fresh air. But I will come back. You words hurt, but they don't scare me. I know this is hard for you, too, or at least it's unfamiliar. I know you get defensive when you're hurting. But I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," she said.
Miranda looked up and met her eyes.
"So you can get defensive and lash out and push me away all you want, but it's futile. I am here, and we will get you through this."
Miranda stared at her as though she had two heads.
"I'm not the same person you hired. And I suspect you're not that same person, either. So, those are my terms."
After a long pause, Miranda said, "Okay."