Andrea's career was doing well, and her editor rewarded her with a promotion to news desk. Her job didn't change much, but she was no longer simply a "staff" reporter and was able to choose her own stories to some extent. She found herself drawn to stories of homelessness, mental health issues, and drug addiction—without even realizing it.
At some point, Miranda started subscribing to the Mirror, having it delivered to her office instead of her home. Rebecca reported that she scanned it everyday for Andrea's byline and only read that story, often beaming with pride.
Her most recent story was one she was most proud of, about a young man who grew up in poverty, was sent to jail as a juvenile for drug offenses, and got clean, started a family, and recently opened his own food truck. It was a heart-wrenching story with a happy ending, and it filled almost an entire page.
That morning, when she was working in her room and Miranda was at the office, she got a text message from the editor.
Those stories you write will not fix me, Andrea.
Andrea stared at the text message, speechless. Her first thought was that she was not trying to "fix" Miranda, but as she thought more about it, she realized that she had practically been seeking out stories of drug addicts and writing about their recoveries. Andrea tried to call the editor, but it went straight to voicemail. They didn't talk about the text message after that.
A few weeks later, when Andrea came down for lunch, Miranda was still sitting in her armchair in the living room. Andrea took a seat on the sofa next to her. "Thelma and Louise give you a hard time today?" she asked. They often had conversations like that after Miranda's therapy, light, surface-level discussions. Miranda tended to save the hard stuff for evenings.
"Andrea, why do you care so much?"
"Huh?"
"About me. Why do you care so much?"
Andrea almost rolled her eyes, but caught herself. "Isn't it obvious?" She got up and walked out, heading to the kitchen to grab a granola bar and head back upstairs. They'd been doing this—this living together and dancing around one another—for almost six months already. Miranda's doctor recommended another three months of daily treatment, and the woman only agreed to it when Andrea said she would stay. It was obvious—or at least, it would have been obvious to anyone else. The only reason Andrea didn't push this was because of Miranda's treatment. Even though Stuart was supportive of what he called "natural relationship development," she figured that Miranda's unwillingness to see what was in front of her was clouded by the lack of trust in herself that she often talked about. Again, they did not talk about that conversation.
The following week, Miranda had a final meeting with her divorce attorney to finalize the divorce from Stephen. The whole process had taken much longer than necessary, partly because Miranda kept pushing meetings back until she felt she was mentally strong enough to face him, and partly because he wanted half the townhouse. Rather, half the proceeds of the sale of the townhouse, or, if Miranda didn't want to sell, he wanted her to pay him half its market value. It was a ridiculous ask, but in a way, Miranda was relieved because it gave the attorneys something to fight over for several months—months in which her involvement was not needed.
Andrea was upstairs working when she heard Miranda come in the front door. She remembered her meeting at her lawyer's this morning, and knew Miranda didn't plan to go into the office this morning like she usually would. Andrea kept working, until she heard the sound of glass shattering. She quickly ran downstairs and saw Miranda standing there, looking at shards of glass in the sink while she held her hand.
"You're bleeding," she said, gesturing to her hand.
"It's just a scratch."
"I'll go get a band-aid," Andrea said. She went upstairs to the hall closet, took out a few band-aids, some antibiotic ointment, and a square of sterile gauze. When she returned, Miranda was sitting at the table, still holding her hand.
Andrea sat next to her and gently took her hand, cleaning the wound, which was actually a deep gash across her palm. After ensuring it was clean and there was no glass inside, she applied ointment, and then the band-aids. She gently stroked the back of her hand.
Miranda looked up and gave her a half smile. "Thank you."
"What happened this morning?" Andrea asked quietly. She could see Miranda was still very tense, rigid even.
"It was the first time I had actually seen Stephen since Paris."
Andrea's eyes widened. "Really? Wow."
"I forgot how much I loved him—loved, past tense. Our relationship sort of flashed before my eyes and I was not prepared for that. I've spent so much time recently hating him for bringing that drug back into my life, it overshadowed everything else."
"That sounds difficult."
"I think I smashed the glass on purpose, for the pain."
"Are you feeling—" she paused, trying to find the right word.
"Like I'm slipping," Miranda supplied. "Like I need a hit to function. Like I might die if I don't take the edge off."
Andrea bit her lip. "Is it that bad?"
"Probably the strongest craving I've had since, well, since before everything."
"I was going to ask if you wanted a piece of gum, but that just sounds ridiculous."
Miranda chuckled. "Right? Some of her ideas are a bit out there."
"Like, what?"
"Let's see, doing a warrior two pose whenever I'm feeling blue. Walking barefoot on the sidewalk when my mind is racing. Sticking my face in a sink full of cold water. I forget what that one was for."
Andrea laughed. "I'm all for yoga and mindfulness and grounding yourself, but come on, she gets paid for that?"
"I know. I even told her that I would never put my bare foot on a New York City sidewalk unless I truly wanted to die."
"How'd she take that?"
Miranda smirked. "She asked if I needed to do a warrior two."
Andrea laughed. "Miranda, would you like to do a warrior two with me right now?" She stood and positioned her feet, rotated her right leg, and lunged.
"Oh please, you're not serious."
"I think I'm actually starting to feel happier and more optimistic."
Miranda rolled her eyes and mirrored Andrea's pose. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I have nothing against practicing yoga, but a single pose without the focus on breath work is just idiotic. And thank you for making me do this idiotic thing," she added, standing up. "I really needed this," she gestured between them, "this conversation, not the pose."
"Of course," Andrea said. "What else can I do? Do you want to go for a walk, watch tv, do a crossword?"
"There's still really only one thing I feel like doing." She looked up and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I have another idea. Come upstairs for a nap in my room?"
Miranda agreed and followed her upstairs, crawling onto the bed, careful of her bandaged hand.
"I'm going to wash my hands, then I will join you. Do you want a blanket?" she called from the bathroom.
"Not unless you do."
Andrea tossed the throw blanket towards the bottom of the bed. "For my feet," she said, climbing behind Miranda in the center of the bed. She stared to drape her arm across the woman and paused to ask if it was okay.
Miranda tugged her arm tightly around her waist and let out a deep sigh.
Andrea could tell the woman fell asleep by the way her breathing changed, and she hoped that Miranda felt safe there. "I love you," Andrea whispered, barely audible. Then she, too, fell asleep.
Miranda had longer sessions with Thelma and Louise that day, and Stuart even pulled Andrea aside to make sure she was doing okay, too. Andrea was clearly shaken up by everything.
"I'm scared that I can't protect her. That I can't do enough to keep her safe," she admitted.
"Andrea, that is not your job. I understand that it's who you are, but Miranda needs to know she is responsible for her own actions and that you support her in that capacity. Your willpower can't fix her."
Andrea's eyes darted up at his use of the word "fix."
"She told me about your articles. She feels like you don't trust her."
"What? But I—"
"It's natural for someone in recovery to feel this way," he interrupted. "In some ways, they're projecting. They don't trust themselves yet, so they instead blame the people they love for not trusting them."
Andrea raised an eyebrow.
"Their family, their friends, their support group," he clarified. "She hasn't talked about anything on that other topic—that was my word, not hers. But if it helps to know, she thinks that I don't trust her either. I hate using this terminology, but it's really just a phase."
"So if she's going to do something that's bad for her, I'm supposed to just let it happen?"
"That's a bit extreme," Stuart said. "You can try talking to her, draw out her reasoning, let her know you care, but if she still wants to do it and it's not something too serious, then, yes, you should probably let her."
"So, like the cut on her hand?"
"Yes. I would have advised you not intervene. Let her take action and deal with the consequences, while still showing her care and support. Exactly as you did."
Andrea nodded. "What if there's like a relapse?"
"You mean if she uses cocaine?"
"Yes."
"I honestly don't think the approach is any different than with the glass. Although, she likely won't try to do it in your presence, if she does relapse. You can't live her life for her. Making decisions for her can sometimes do more harm than good."
"Okay. Thanks. I, uh, better get back to work. I haven't gotten much done today."
"Wait," he said. "Did you clean the glass out of the sink?"
"Shit! No. I'll do that first!"
"No. Leave it there. Let her do it on her own."
Andrea took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than she thought.
Caroline and Cassidy were regularly spending Saturday nights with Miranda, and when they spent the night, the three of them would usually snuggle in Miranda's enormous bed. Sometimes Andrea would stay with Emily on those nights, but tonight, she watched a movie with Miranda and the girls, made them popcorn, and joined them in a game of Uno before bed.
In the middle of the night, Caroline came running into Andrea's room, shaking her awake.
"What is it?" Andrea asked, quickly getting to her feet.
"Mom's crying in the bathroom and the door is locked. I'm scared."
Andrea hugged her. "I'll take care of her, sweetie."
In Miranda's room, Cassidy was sitting next to the bathroom door. "Why is she sad, Andy?"
"Cass, I don't know. Adults get sad for all sorts of reasons. I know she loves you two more than anything, though. So she's probably just in there because she doesn't want you to worry."
Cassidy got up and stood next to her sister.
"Why don't you both go climb into my bed and try to get some sleep? I'll talk to your mom, and I promise I will help her not be so sad."
The two girls nodded and went across the hall, closing the door.
She knocked on the bathroom door. "Miranda, let me in." After getting no response, she said, "If you don't unlock this door I will literally kick it until it breaks." A few seconds later, she heard the lock turn.
Andrea opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. Miranda was sitting on the floor with her knees tucked against her chest. Andrea sat beside her and simply put her arm around the woman's shoulders.
Miranda started crying again, first on Andrea's shoulder, and then sliding down so she was curled up on her side with her head in the woman's lap. Andrea softly stroked her hair and rubbed circles on her back, and for a good thirty minutes not a word was spoken. Finally, Miranda sniffled and pushed herself up and mouthed the words "thank you" to her.
Andrea reached for a tissue and handed it to the woman, who wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "I told the girls to go sleep in my room. I wasn't sure what was going on. I hope that's okay."
Miranda nodded.
"If you don't want to talk, that's okay."
"I do. I will. But let's go somewhere more comfortable."
Andrea agreed and helped her up. Miranda splashed her face with some water, then climbed up on her bed. Andrea joined her, sitting up against the head board.
Miranda laid her head on the other woman's shoulder and took her hand. "It was a really bad dream. My father was in it—he died over 20 years ago. It was the present time, and he was just so cruel to me. He was saying that I was a failure as a woman, as a mother, as a human. And he was laughing. Cackling. It was his laugh, I'd recognize it anywhere, but I just couldn't wake up and get out of the dream."
"That sounds horrible," Andrea said.
"It was. I ran to the bathroom because I thought I was going to throw up. And then I just couldn't stop crying and didn't want to wake the girls."
"And then I threatened to kick down the door," Andrea said.
Miranda chuckled. "Yes, you threatened to kick down my door and here we are." She squeezed Andrea's hand. "I am really going to miss having you around."
Andrea turned to her. "Are you kicking me out?"
"No, no, nothing like that! It's just, next week will be 8 months. You have a life. I can't expect you to stay here and babysit me forever."
"I'm here because I want to be and I want you in my life. My choice. Plus, I'd be like the world's worst babysitter since I let you do anything you want."
Miranda considered that. "I guess you're right."
"You know, he's wrong."
"Who?"
"Your father in your dream. He was wrong about you. You're not a failure, you're an extraordinary human being."
Miranda didn't respond.
"I mean that. Miranda, you are not a failure."
"How can you be serious? I'm twice divorced, my daughters don't want to live with me, I almost died after a cocaine overdose, and I have to see a psychiatrist on a daily basis. What about that tells you that I'm not a failure?"
"First, your daughters were snuggled up with you in this very bed not one hour ago. They want to spend time with you and want to move home. Next, divorce isn't failure. You're not responsible for James cheating on you. And I think you would have stayed with Stephen if he were willing. That's not failure. When things don't work out, you move on. People move on."
"And everything else?"
"You're a human being, Miranda. Humans make mistakes. You're here, you're alive, you're getting help for the addiction. You are fighting, not failing. Now, can we go back to sleep?"
"If you promise to stay in here."
"Deal," Andrea said. She sank down into the pillows.
Miranda followed, then hesitated. "Can I—?" she asked, gesturing at the woman's chest.
"Yes," Andrea said, holding her arm open and letting Miranda snuggle against her.
"Best babysitter ever," Miranda whispered before falling asleep.
That morning, the twins woke and saw their mother fast asleep, her body wrapped around Andrea's. "Whoa," Cassidy whispered.
Caroline tugged her back and they quietly made their way downstairs to get the supplies for pancakes ready. Cassidy used the coffee maker to brew a pot of coffee, then when there was nothing left to busy themselves with, she sat at the counter and looked at her sister. "Do you think mom is gay?"
Caroline shrugged. "I thought Andy was just a friend. Maybe it's more. Mom was pretty upset last night about something."
"Yeah but she was practically drooling on Andy's chest." She giggled. "I mean, Andy's cool. I don't care either way."
"Same. It was just kinda weird to see it."
"I think it'd be weird to see mom and dad like that, too. Or even mom and Stephen, before."
"True. Maybe we will need to start planning more sleepovers to find more clues."
"Or we could just ask her."
Miranda appeared in her pajamas, making a beeline for the coffee. "Ask me what?"
"Nothing," they said in unison, exchanging glances and agreeing to keep quiet.
Andrea was still upstairs in bed. She had slept very well, and she was sure it had to do with the woman whose arms she was in. It was a little awkward when they woke up. Miranda snuggled in a little closer, then, as though she just realized where she was, she quickly sat up and moved away. Andrea reached out for her hand and asked her how she slept, "I slept well," she said, then got up to use the bathroom and said she had to go make breakfast.
James was picking them up at 11:00 am, and Andrea came downstairs around 10:45, saying she had some work to do this morning, which was a complete lie that no one bought.
The girls both hugged Andrea goodbye, then their mom, and begged to sleep over again the following weekend. Their friend had a sleepover birthday party on Saturday, so they asked if they could come Friday night instead, and Miranda agreed.
Once they left, Miranda straightened up the kitchen, then said she needed to go upstairs and shower before her session.
"Wait," Andrea said, taking her arm. "I'm cashing in one of those you-can-hug-me-whenever cards." She wrapped her arms around the woman, hugging her tightly. "We okay?" she asked.
"Yes, we're okay."
Later, when Miranda was talking with Stuart, she told him about the dream and her reaction, how Andrea threatened to kick in the door, and how she just felt the urge to be close to Andrea after that.
"Why do you think you wanted that closeness?"
"I genuinely like her. I like having her around. I know this part of treatment is coming to an end and she's probably going to leave and I really don't want her to."
"Have you talked to her about that?"
"Last night, I sort of brought it up. We were both exhausted so we didn't really discuss it, but all she said was that it was her choice and she wanted to be here."
"So there's your answer."
"But she didn't say how long."
"Why does that feel important to you?" he asked. "How long do you want her to stay?"
"Forever." Miranda reached up and covered her mouth, surprised at her own answer. "I—I want her here, always, I guess. She makes me feel safe."
Stuart didn't respond, instead letting Miranda think about what she just said. "Anything else you want to share?"
Miranda shook her head. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Yes. But, Miranda? If you want her to stay, you're going to have to let her know how you feel—in words. Talk to her."
Miranda sighed and nodded.
Later that evening, the two women were sitting on the couch in Miranda's study. Miranda was reading through emails on her laptop, and Andrea was curled up with a book.
Miranda closed her computer and set it on the coffee table. "Can we talk?"
Andrea looked up and put her book down. "Of course." She turned to face her. "What's up?"
"I'm really not very good at this, verbalizing this stuff," she said.
"Does this have to do with the dream last night?" Andrea asked, trying to help the woman find the words.
"I'm very grateful for last night. You helped me feel safe. And I think you made my daughters feel safe, too."
"I'm glad."
Miranda bit her lip and looked down at her hands, fidgeting in her seat.
"Did something come up in your session that you want to talk about?"
"I can't." Miranda shook her head, quickly standing up walking towards the door.
Andrea followed her, gently stopping her and pulling her into a hug. "Please don't shut me out," she whispered.
Miranda turned and their lips brushed. Andrea jumped back, and Miranda quickly turned away and walked back to the couch, burying her head in her hands. She felt the other woman sit next to her and guide her hands from her face.
"Hey," Andrea said quietly. She softly brushed Miranda's cheek. "What's going on with you?"
"I'm so embarrassed," Miranda said, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"Ah, okay. Here I thought maybe you were trying to kiss me," Andrea said with a smile.
Miranda opened her eyes and looked at at her. "And if I was?"
"You took me by surprise before, but I don't dislike the idea. Maybe you should try again."
Miranda softly pressed her lips against the young woman's, and Andrea eagerly reciprocated. When she pulled away, Andreas forehead rested against hers.
"I've been imagining that since the day I hired you," she whispered.
"That was nice."
"Hmm. It was. I should go get ready for bed. It's going to be a busy week."
"Goodnight," she said as the woman walked out of the room. Andrea sighed and brought her fingers to her lips.
The following week, Miranda went to see Dr. Wright to discuss any outstanding issues before her daily treatment regimen came to a close. For the past week, she hadn't stopped thinking of that kiss, the feel of the young woman's soft, full lips against her own. But Andrea was her friend, and she didn't want to risk losing that.
"Miranda?"
She turned and looked at Dr. Wright. "I'm sorry. A little preoccupied."
"As I was saying, you have truly been given a second chance. Don't forget that. Your heart is strong. The blood pressure medication is working. You're doing well in therapy. You're going on nine months since you've last used. You should be proud of yourself."
"Thank you. I couldn't have done it without all this support."
"And that's why I don't want it to end abruptly. I think we should move to weekly sessions with your therapist and psychiatrist, and monthly visits from the nurse. How does that feel? Is it manageable, or would you like more support for a while?"
Miranda was tempted to say she needed more, but she knew the only motivating factor there was keeping Andrea close. She had been feeling good, stronger, and more in control. "Once a week feels like it will be enough," she said.
That evening over dinner, Andrea asked how her appointment went.
Miranda set down her fork. "I need to talk to you about that. I was going to wait until later, but, I graduated to weekly sessions. Sunday is my last daily session."
"Oh, wow. I mean, that's good, right?"
"Yes. It feels good. But as I've alluded to previously, I will certainly miss your constant presence here. We haven't really talked about it, but," she sighed. "I rely on you, your presence here, so much—I worry whether I can trust myself when I'm on my own. I feel like I'm kicking you out, and that's not the case, not really."
Andrea tried to hide her disappointment. "I understand. I knew that day would come."
"You don't have to leave right away, though. Take your time. I know you were subletting your place."
"It's month-to-month now, so I just need to give her 30 days. Is that okay? I could probably stay with Emily for a while, or even get a hotel—"
"Don't even think about going to a hotel! Stay for 30, 60, however many days you need. I don't actually want you to leave, if that isn't obvious."
"I know that. And I don't really want to leave either, but I do understand why it's necessary."
"I still expect to talk to you daily, you know. And you're always welcome here for lunch or dinner or for no reason at all. I want to be very clear that this is by no means a goodbye."
"Got it. And for what it's worth, I'm really proud of you, Miranda."
"You have been such a blessing in my life, Andrea. I don't want to think about where I would be if you hadn't come into my life."
Andrea reached her hand across the table. "And we don't need to think about that because I did. Veni, vidi, vici, if you will. Maybe not yet on that last one," she added with a wink.
Miranda squeezed her hand and smiled the brightest smile Andrea had ever seen. This was most definitely not a goodbye.