CHAPTER TWO ~
By the time Andrea returns home a week later, it is still snowing in Chicago. The snow is less constant and the streets are not a murder scene waiting to happen but it is cold none the less. There is something different in her, as if guilt and age creeped up overnight and changed the person who she was.
A month after she arrived, she stood in the mirror for half an hour, simply staring at herself. The 29 year old self that blinked back unapologetic. She had two strands of silver hair, hiding on the left side of her part, and there was wrinkles vaguely showing around her large oval eyes. Her skin looked different than it had years ago, and she was sure she'd need a Photoshop filter to make it look the same. Yet, more than what the mirror could constitute she felt different, what was it all leading to? What was that existential question humans lived for? She had never been the philosophical type, never argued about the obscurity of human life, about religion or faith but today, here, alone she wondered about it. She wondered about her parents deep, unwavering, almost visible belief in God, the Catholic version that looked down benevolently from church altars and yet punished with such wrath. She wondered about religions unmovable view points, and she fought hard with herself. Her best friend's marriage crumbling from the foundations made her wonder about the sanctity of marriage. She closes her eyes and let the fog of the bath she took embrace the mirror. If she's honest she has to admit that is part of why she ran away from Miranda. Why she didn't stay in Paris or New York, why she didn't wait for reply or try again. She wanted to justify herself, say that the ball was on Miranda's' court and laugh at the impossibility of Miranda even remembering her name, but the truth is that she had ran away for her own internal battle. Tears of rage and impotence ran slowly down soft tan cheeks.
"Miranda?" Andrea asks startled as she opens her door dressed and ready to leave for the office. She has a metallic coffee tumbler in one hand with the law firm's name monogramed on the side, a cashmere coat hangs on her left hand and she's wearing a tailored black Valentino suit with a steel grey blouse and matching diamond earrings.
"It's good to see you learned some style" Miranda quips her hand caught mid -air as she was about to ring the doorbell. If this had been part of a movie it certainly would have made it into the preview.
Andrea takes a deep breath, she tries to say something to herself, something to calm the mess that has tumbled inside of her, but she can't come with a single word.
"What… what are you doing here?" she finally asks digging her mind out of the fog.
"is that how you win all your cases?" Miranda asks not really planning on being sarcastic, but being nonetheless because she always resorts to that when words fail her, when she's nervous, and regretting that she came.
Andrea deadpans, looking at her former boss as if she were a rare insect on a wall. The look of shock still can't wipe itself of her face. She's beyond confused, and then she inevitably her eyes rake the older woman up and down. She's wearing a long, tight black dress and an oversized camel colored coat, with a faux fur trim and matching gloves. She stops breathing, for a second time stops with her, if someone asked her she would swear the Chanel watch on her wrist had stopped with it.
"I came to apologize, Andrea" Miranda drawls out after the silence and after feeling the stare from her young ex-assistant dressed in a power suit in front of her.
The brunette gulps, and rests a hand on the frame of her door.
"You? Apologize?"
Miranda nods, 'may I come in?"
Andrea doesn't nod, she doesn't agree, she simply stands aside and lets the older woman in. Her perfume swifts by, bergamot and lilies. When she first started working for the Devil in Prada she would have pegged her for a dark wood notes and juniper kind of woman, a sexy, strong perfume, dominatrix to match her media persona. She was wrong, as she had been with a lot of things with the editor. She was a classic Chanel kind of woman, classic Chanel, classic heartbreak.
"I… hold on I need to call the office" Andrea states setting her coffee cup down and throwing her coat on the table, Miranda can't help but catch the mannerism and smile. She takes in the loft, simple but classic. A few abstract paintings, a large window view into the city and a striking centerpiece glass table. She nods, above the fireplace a few pictures, Andrea with a blonde woman about the same age, Andrea in a graduate attire, then with a few colleagues and an embossed corner name, a young Andrea with her parent's and finally Andrea at Runway in a paparazzi shot that Miranda had never seen, she's smiling a little behind Miranda with a fashion house behind them. Miranda was completely nervous about coming, she didn't like defeat or refusals and on the flight here she had been pretty sure she was walking into both. Now seeing the picture she felt a glimmer of hope.
"What are you doing here?" the young brunette repeats after a conversation on asking for continuance and being there a few hours late.
"I already told you Andrea I wanted to apologize"
"I heard you, but I'm not sure for what?"
"For everything I suppose," Miranda gulps and waves he hand 'for Paris, for pushing you away, for never responding to your letter, for not coming after you, for making you suffer."
Andrea can hear her heart beat faster, she can feel the pulse on her wrist, she doesn't want to cry so she turns around and pours a glass of wine from a nearby decanter.
"Apology accepted, Miranda. That was a long time ago. Now tell me what you really want. The queen of fashion does not simply fly out from New York to apologize to an ex-assistant." Andrea has gained some composure and she turns around.
"but you're no longer an ex-assistant. I just want one single answer An-dre-a" the silver haired woman asks, "does your letter still stand?"
"what?"
"Your letter, the one you sent me? Does it still stand?"
"What does it matter? Miranda, it has been six years, six fucking years! I have made a life apart from you, from runway, from Paris. I don't understand what you want? I … you never cared before?"
The editor stands up from the stool she had sat on by the kitchenette, she paces slowly by the large window, the skyscrapers are tall but not as tall as New York. She arches her back, and stands tall, "I went to look for you a day after the flowers, but you were… um.. gone" she says flatly as if it was one more thing to do.
It reminds Andrea of Paris, of the hotel suite, of vulnerable Miranda. She knows Miranda is trying, she knows this has to be one of the hardest conversations she's ever had.
"I didn't' know what to do. I looked for you months later. I tried to no… um" pause… "it wasn't hard to find your family, turns out the legacy daughter of a notable Chicago DOJ Attorney is new to post at USC's website. I almost went, but I could not bear to disrupt your life. I was hoping you would find someone to marry, to have a family with. I was hoping."
"That I haven't married still does nothing to satiate my curiosity as to why you are here."
"I framed all the flowers from that day, they are dried in my office, " Miranda whispers back still turned toward the Chicago lawyer.
"I saw him last night" Miranda states and Andrea winces.
"Do you love him?"
The younger woman laughs, the irony breaks her concentration. Of course, Miranda would pick the one night in the last few years where she has slept with someone. Steve, the man from California had shown up at her office two days ago.
~ two days ago~
"Andrea Sachs," he said throwing out a whistle of admiration as he danced into her office, "wow you didn't tell me you worked for the big leagues."
"Steve, what are you doing here?" she asks
"I was in town, you once offered me drinks."
"Wow, yeah … I didn't think you'd ever come" she said showing her surprise
"So that is a no?"
She paused, "you know what I'm feeling adventurous, and I am done with work. I know this great jazz bar."
They walk out as he tells her that he really was here on business, "I work for the LA tourism board, we come to different conventions to gain traction and get companies to go out to Los Angeles"
He was wearing a formal navy blue suit, unbuttoned with a silver grey shirt. He looked older than he did at the beach, his scraggy beard had been shaved off and his ocean blue eyes, looked grey and dark. It had to be Chicago, the cold did that to everyone.
"What do you do again?" she asked as she pulled her car out of the garage.
"I am in Public Relations" he states
"PR" she repeats more to herself than anyone else.
The sun is setting in the grey sky, the night is coming soon like a mantle of shine less stars and absolution. The jazz bar is filled with smoke and the smell of alcohol. They take a seat and order two sidecars, she gets a distinct feeling that he is a beer kind of man, but ignores it anyway. He asks about her stay in California, she tells him about Natalie's divorce.
"Are you a jazz fan?" Andrea asks as the very known "Shadow of your smile" starts to play in brassy tones and low beats.
He shakes his head, "not really"
Andrea arches an eyebrow, "oh, why did you let me bring you to a jazz bar?" she asks
"I didn't want to object" he says and tries to grab her hand
"I still feel the same as I felt on that beach" she confesses, tilting back whatever was left of their third cocktail.
"Oh" he muses, "but you are never going to make a move for it."
"Perhaps not, but I still love her" she says somewhat weekly and after a second of perplexed confusion, he almost pegs it.
"Oh, so she's married" he flatly states.
Andrea shakes her head, "no"
"I think I should drive you back to your hotel" she says
"I don't' think you should drive" he says and perhaps he is right, but they still do. They pull the navy blue, sleek Mercedez out of the restaurants parking lot and speed through Chicago.
"You're not going to offer me a nightcap?" Steve insists.
If Andrea wasn't so infatuated, she could love him. She pulls up at her building, hands the keys to the doorman and stumbles slightly into the elevator. It's gilded, with somber shades of gold and traces of an old Chicago that does not exists anymore.
~ present~
"I fucked him" she confesses unapologetically.
"I see" Miranda schools her features and Andrea can see the blue -eyed editor clench her jaw.
"Just answer my previous question, Andrea. Do you still feel the same as you did in that letter? Do you still love me? "
Andrea does not answer, she sips the Riddell stem glass in her hands, savoring the moment. How many times had she thought of what to say if Miranda ever asked? She had played this imaginary conversation in her mind a million times. The real moment was different, full of doubt and expectation. What happened if she said yes? The air stilled. She feels Miranda's fingertips flutter by her face, the smell of Chanel and new clothes. Her fingers lightly caress her cheek, pulling a loose strand of brown hair, she inhales sharply and lifts her eyes to the editors.
Miranda is watching her expectantly. How did she get so close? How had she walked from the window, across the room so fast?
"Yes," she breaths so softly it is almost inaudible.
"yes, you know I do. I always will" she confesses and before she could process the exact consequences of the monumental confession she has just made she feels the soft pressure of perfectly painted lips against hers. She feels them close in around her bottom lip, she moves with them, as if they had been made one for the other. This is what it is supposed to feel like, it's supposed to be easy and perfect, it is supposed to take your breath away. She's not going to make it into the office. Miranda's hands roam her waist and then they break for air.
The older editor smiles and waits expectantly again on Andrea.
"Do you?" the young woman asks pressing her cheek against her shorter companion.
She feels a nod against her head, "I am not in the habit of seeking people I don't love across the country"
Andrea chuckles, she's about to question what comes next when she feels Miranda pull at her shirt, then she feels the somewhat cold hands on her bare back and she closes her eyes. A warmth between her legs pools and she pushes the editor against the kitchen counter.
"Mmmm" someone moans and it's not clear who.
She hasn't felt this need, this want this desire in a long time. Not with Steve, not with anyone. And the truth is there has been no one. A few dates here and there, forced by her friends and always with the backdrop of Miranda.
"I love you Andrea," the fashion tycoon whispers slowly as she puts her leg in between Andreas core.
Andrea unzips the black Fendi dress her now lover is wearing, underneath is a large expase of milky white skin, and black lingere.
"Not here Andrea" she hears Miranda say. At his point the older woman is standing only in her lingerie set and Andrea hair ruffled but still in pants and an untucked blouse pulls the Miranda toward the bedroom.
A slow play followed, the silver haired woman peeled the remaining clothes of her young lover slowly, aided by the shadows that the corner light created. It was as if all the repressed words of the past six years came pouring out in fingertips trailing over smooth skin, and lips exploring crevices, as if hands treading in long luminous locks and hands ruffling short silky ones spoke the words both women kept concealed. Miranda sat on top of Andrea legs intertwined, biting her lower lip, rocking the woman below her, neither had ever done it, but it wasn't awkward.
"Oh yes, fuck yes… " Andrea mouthed as her body swayed to the Miranda's rhythm. The brunette's hands rested on the editors hips, "Miranda yes" she would say louder and faster as she neared her falling point. They had been making love all afternoon. The candor in their hearts would transcribe into hard, desperate, longing sex where they rushed to the finish. Miranda taking control and pulsing her manicured fingers inside an anxious Andrea. Then their first and primitive need satiated they had tried it again, this time slow and soft. Their hands trailing along the curves of each other's body, stopping for a kiss and an affirmation of love. As if a melancholy classical masterpiece played in the back of their mind, Puccini in a masterful opera that swelled as the screen captivated the love. Eventually they would simply lounge in the king bed, Andrea resting her head against the older woman's heart, hearing her palpitations as if she was dreaming. Her left leg thrown over Miranda and her hand encircling her lover's waist. They would sit in silence the darkness of the enclosed room bathing them in wonder. For those long expanses of time, it was as if they were both one. Andrea ended at the edge of her fingertips, the tips of her hair and Miranda continued. They had always been one, from the moment Andrea anticipated Miranda's words, needs, coffee orders to the moment Miranda felt alone and lost in Paris.
Then one of their hands would linger south again and they would find each other on top, or sideways making passionate love again.
When the evening fell and the blackout curtains were no longer necessary, the soft moonlight bathed the room. They sat on opposite couches, wrapped in bathrobes and sipping wine.
"I'm sorry I made you miss work" Miranda spoke.
Andrea chuckled, snorting as she put her wine down.
"It's a dread full case anyway" she said
"Either way"
"It was worth it, I doubt the courtroom would have been so satisfying" Andrea hinted and Miranda shook her head smiling.
When the dawn broke, Andrea woke from her slight dozing to find that Miranda was dressed and sipping coffee in the kitchen.
"Miranda, you should have woken me up"
"You looked tired" she winked.
"I … I was. Listen I have to work today" she said looking almost ashamed.
"I understand," Miranda put the cup she was drinking down and stood up. Looking regal even with no makeup.
"Andrea, I don't know that you understand what this means to me. I love you. I want everything with you. I am willing to make whatever adjustments I have to, to keep you in my life."
The blood drains from Andrea's face. She had expected this. Miranda never did anything halfway, the fact that she had flown here, and put herself in a position of possible rejection meant that she had thought about this a lot.
"I will fly out here every weekend, I will do anything. I want to go public, I want to everything."
She stops and notices the younger woman's silence.
"I don't know if you realize that" she says. All their future hangs on what Andrea answers to that.
"I want to marry you Andrea, do you not see that? "
Andrea nods, putting her hands in the padded pockets of her bathrobe.
"I see it Miranda" her answer is almost sad.
"But" the editor knows something she does not want to hear is coming.
"I can't" Andrea whispers.
"I see" the editor again schools her features, but she doesn't move. She doesn't sit down, or walk toward the window. She simply stands there looking at her purse across the room. A white Prada purse, similar to the one she had worn when she first met Andrea years ago.
"So… what you said yesterday?"
"It's true, Miranda, I love you. I do, I always have but I can't … my family. They would not approve."
The editor tilts her head backwards, and inhales sharply.
"I don't understand. You started all this. You sent that letter. If I had flown to the west coast, if I had told you I loved you in Paris? Would it have been different? Would they have accepted it then? Would you?"
Andrea knows her former boss is trying to not cry. She knows the best is to be honest.
"yes."
"how? How Andrea because I don't fucking understand? Was it just revenge?"
"No, not at all" she walks toward Miranda, she wants to kiss her but the older woman takes a step back and toward the door.
"I can't now. Jesus Miranda it has been so long. You can't expect people to drop their life, because you have decided to come apologize. I have a career, and my mother had a heart attack. Telling them would kill her, I can't Miranda."
The blue - eyed woman's face falls, she no longer looks mad. "I see"
"No! I don't think you do. I love you. As I'm sure you loved me all those years, yet you decided to not let me know. Seven years Miranda! I'm not questioning your reasons"
"So now it's my fault?"
"I really have to get ready for work, why don't you go to your hotel and meet me for dinner. I want to explain"
Miranda shakes her head, "No, don't worry Andrea it's not a big deal. Look at it as your lucky week. You fucked some man, you fucked some woman. It has been a good week for you, now you just need to win a case" she grabs her coat and puts her hands on the doorknob.
"No, it's not like that and you know it"
"That's all" Miranda whispers her signature phrase as she walks out the door.
"Miranda wait!" Andrea yells after her and stops as her down the hall neighbor walks out with her dog and looks at her strangely. She remembers she's still in a robe and barefooted, and that she has depositions in two hours. She walks back into her loft, the door thuds behind her. This is for the best. It has to be.
A few days later as she comes home from work, a package sits outside her door. She scrunches her nose, nothing that she has ordered recently. The young lawyer looks at her watch, out of habit, 9:30. She wonders what could be, it looks like a frame. She takes it in her hands, trying to juggle the frame, her coat and her laptop bag.
Upon closer inspection, she realizes the stamp is from New York, her heart sinks, suddenly she knows exactly what it is. She unwraps it slowly to reveal a beautiful onyx metal frame, expertly placed 24 white roses, dried, and panning against a black background. A note is tucked to the back, a single folded, monogramed piece of paper.
"I was going to throw it out, but I could not bring myself to destroy it. I hope you like it.
M"
Andrea stares dumfound and the note, she read it and read it a few times.
The phone rings, startling Andrea from her concentration on the cursive letters splashes across an off- pearl piece of paper.
Andrea throws her head back, and grunts exasperated.
It's Natalie, "Andrea I just got your message. I'm so sorry, you should have called again!"
Andrea shrugs as if her friend was seeing her.
"What happened?"
"Well, the one thing I never expected to happen"
"She appeared in your life, years later and wants what? For you to drop everything down? It's her fault Andrea, don't beat yourself over it"
"remember what we said about honesty" Andrea whispers over the phone
"Yes, if the only thing keeping you apart from her is your family then you're a fool to let her go…. But if it is also your own conscience however confused and misguided it may be then don't. "
"Nat…"
"Andrea" her demure friend cuts her off, "if you are not sure you will be miserable and you will make her miserable even if you love her"
"I … she seemed so hurt"
"Did you not learn from Grant and I? Even if, she loves you if you both are not sure then it's not going to work"
"She's sure" Andrea argues
"That's why it took her six years to find you? And that's why she runs at the first obstacle? I don't think so Andrea"
"I don't want to talk about this" she says plainly "I'm going to take a shower"
"I'm coming over," Natalie states
"No, you don't' need to. I don't need a babysitter Natalie."
Natalie sighs and whispers "but maybe I need you"
'Okay let's do a compromise, I have to go to New York next month for a few weeks, come with me. It will be a good getaway for both of us."
Natalie agrees.
Andrea hangs up the phone and sighs, she loves New York. She misses the crowded streets, the neon lights, the feeling of exhilaration that comes from simply existing there. The beacon of freedom for so many, for so long. The beacon of fame for others, for stories and companies and dreams to be made. Yet, she also hated New York the high crime rate, the poverty levels, the projects the asphyxiation that people must feel being there. Seeing the highs rises and the jewelry stores in Upper East Side Manhattan and knowing that you're never going to be able to afford them. A knock at the door draws her out of her daze.
"Miranda" Andrea sighs breathlessly as she's not getting used to stand at her doorframe and either be surprised by her former boss or yell at her. She's also beginning to wonder if the overpriced tag of this apartment because of security is banal since Miranda has come up without warning twice.
"I made it home and then I realized I wasn't being fair. I didn't give you time, to explain, to think to breathe so I thought I'd take you up on dinner" she pauses criticizing Andrea's reaction for a minute, slowly dragging her gaze from the black nail polish on her young lovers toes, to mid-calf black banana republic pencil skirt that flowed into a burnt orange blouse, now untucked and a gold statement necklaces that matches the weaved gold Chanel bangle on Andreas right arm and finally up to the large brown eyes that fixed their gaze on Miranda.
"If you still want to" Miranda adds somewhat tentatively.
Andrea lets go a breath she was holding and nods. "I don't know where we can go, it's Friday night"
Miranda smiles, "have you ever known me not to be prepared?"
Andrea shakes her head, "I'll grab my coat and keys."
"I'll drive" Miranda argues to which Andrea does not reply. She walks away from the door, hears it click behind her and then she feels the rampart heart beat from her chest, her heart is trying to escape before it gets broken again. Steve had been wrong, it would never heal.
She tucks her shirt in, grabs the black matching coat and her Birkin crocodile purse and rushes to not make the older lady wait.
Miranda is leaning against the opposite wall, right leg in front of the left, white heel resting sideways on the wooded floor, her black palazzo trails almost to the floor and the white and grey cape coat that accompanies her overlaps as her left arm hugs her stomach and her right one rests on top of it, cradling her face. She's smiling as she sees Andrea come out and reaches out to hold her by the elbow, "come I have reservation at my favorite restaurant here"
"You driving in Chicago, I never thought I'd live to see the day," Andrea pauses blinking as she steps into the grey car "in fact there are many things I thought I'd never live to see".
Miranda turns around to look at her in a mock curious glance and then as they pull away laughs slightly, "Like the most influential editor in fashion coming to beg for dinner twice?" she asks and though for a second it seems like a reproach, it is not. It is meant to be soft and gentle and disconsolate.
Andrea feels the sting of guilt in her soul. She stops to breath for a second and then turns to see her silver haired companion, concentrating on the night road.
"Miranda, I do love you," she lets the words fall simultaneously one after the other, she feels them hang in the edge of the car. They are meant to be a consolation, though after she says them she's not sure who they are for.
"I know" she hears the answer back
"I always will" her hand reaches out to the editor's thigh and though neither mentions it, she hears the editor sigh.
"I hope you liked the frame" Miranda speaks as they sit down at the dimly lit, rarely heard of restaurant.
"I did, it's beautiful. Leave it to you to make a masterpiece out of dying flowers" Andrea jokes
Miranda smiles, fluffing her napkin onto her lap and sais "if only I could make a masterpiece out of dying love"
"You can't because it's not dying"
"May I get you something to drink, ladies? "
"I'll have…" Andrea is about to order whiskey, neat like she always does but Miranda reaches across the table and places her hand ever so gentle over her own, and turns to look at the waiter, "We will have the house specialty," she turns to Andrea and sais "I think you'll like it darling"
Andrea nods and the waiter walks off.
"Miranda, I don't like people to order for me" she says as softly as she can.
"I'm not people, Andrea" Miranda answers playing with the thin silver chains falling down her chest, "besides if this is going to be our first and last dinner ever then what is the point of me playing nice?"
Moments of silence pass, the waitress comes back with two identical glasses, cut crystal and blood orange garnish. Andrea doubts, then she sips it. She closes her eyes and relishes in the soft notes of cardamom, and orange that peak out slightly against the hard flavor of bourbon and smoke.
"Did I choose correctly, Andrea?" Miranda asks knowing the answer will be yes. Instead than playing into her game Andrea chooses to answer with something different.
"This won't be the last dinner we have Miranda, you know it, I know it, we're meant for something even if it isn't each other"
"That is an elegant way of telling me you still hold the same opinion as last time?" Miranda questioned.
Andrea sighed, taking another sip of the orange elixir sitting in front of her. She gulped it down slowly buying herself time to answer the dominant woman sitting across her.
"Take your time answering, you know how that thrills me" Miranda deadpans and though she doesn't smile, Andrea knows her enough to know she's joking.
She shakes her head, "no"
"No?" The two lettered word hangs in the abyss of their dinner. "Which one is it? No you don't have the same opinion? Or no we're not meant for each other?"
Andrea can say anything, she can still escape the complicated situation, she can finish her dinner amicably with the fashion icon, and then go home to her comfortable flat, to her partner track, to her traditionalist family, and be happy.
"I don't have the same view," there is a time pass, it is now Miranda's turn to sip her drink. She does not want to interrupt whatever the younger brunette is about to say. Miranda is not used to being in a vulnerable position, she's not used to letting her guard down, to bearing her heart, to getting hurt. It makes her incredibly uncomfortable, the things she's capable of doing for Andrea, for a second assistant that abandoned her in Paris, for this young brazen woman who she hasn't seen in years.
"I want to be with you. I want you. I … just can't marry you…. Not yet. I want to get to know you first, this you," she pauses as if expecting Miranda to interrupt, she doesn't. "I want to know what you like to watch on TV, and what you eat for breakfast, and I want to know what you wear to bed, and what literature you like. I want to know everything about you Miranda, and I want you to know me" she inhales.
'I do know you Andrea," the editor finally speaks, voice calm and collected because she is not sure what direction this conversation is going in and the lack of control frustrates her.
"I know you're a wonderful, talented woman. I know you prefer dark chocolate over any other candy, I know before Nate you almost married your high school sweetheart, Henry Mills the son of the then Mayor of Boston, Regina, who lost her senate seat to Elizabeth Warren. I know that you are a middle child but Rich your baby brother passed away at four. I know you were a Biology Major and wanted to be a great doctor but changed to journalism after taking one single class freshman year. I know you like anything with carbs"
Andrea snorts
"I know you love me… "brown eyes meet diamond blue ones, "I'm I wrong?"
Again, Andrea shakes her head. "How do you even know all this?"
Miranda smirks, "You weren't the only one paying attention"
Andrea smiles a blush creeping from the warmth of the concealed compliment.
"Stay with me Miranda, stay some time. Here in Chicago"
Miranda looks down to the perfect asparagus that lay perpendicular on her white plate, she poises her knife and fork ready to cut the sirloin which they accompany.
"Okay" she whispers after a few minutes of silence in which the young lawyer has proceeded to finish the mound of mash potatoes and mushroom gravy that adorned her lamb plate.
"Okay? You'll stay?" she smiles. It is enough to make Miranda know that staying is the right decision, it fill her thoughts with nerves and her whole being with a certain knowledge and happiness she only feels with the younger woman.
She nods.
Andrea doesn't say another word, she simply reaches out to hold the hand that is still strewn across the table.
They both lay awake that night, side by side as innocent as two teenagers at a sleepover.
The muted sounds of mob city surround the quiet high rise and the shadows cast by the sliver of light that enters the bedroom provide a pattern of concentration for both women.
Miranda rests her head upon Andrea's shoulders, and almost toward the sunrise sleep forces their eyes closed.
The days breeze by, wistful, wrapping themselves around the two women like ocean spray onto rocks, silently and gently. This time around the universe conspires, sunlit days and winter nights to give two damaged souls a respite. Perhaps it was a gift, an offering that the world was giving them. If you asked Miranda she would have said the days were wonderful because they had been worth the wait, because there was an anticipation of something, because they had been through so much, their hearts were mended and fragile and those days in a bubble of their making were wonderful. If you asked Andrea, the eloquent lawyer who trader words on paper for words on the stand, she would say they were beautiful in their own right like winters in Maine, frozen oceans that splashes shallow waves and grey mornings watching the rain in Paris. She would say they were beautiful like delicate pastries wrapped in teal parchment and dimming Christmas lights but above all they were beautiful because she spent them with Miranda.
"can I tell you something?" Andrea asks one night confession weaved into the bliss of the few days spent together. They're sitting in Andrea's sofa the room is completely dark save for the faint lights of the city below. Miranda is resting her weight against Andrea's middle, while Andrea leans into the corner of the couch, her hands gently trail Miranda's shoulders and arms. She does it very lightly, almost as if her fingers fluttered above the porcelain complexion of her older lover's skin.
"mmmhhh" Miranda hums closing her eyes.
"You can't laugh" Andrea cautions
"Or else?" the queen of fashion asks and even though her eyes are closes and the room is dark you can imagine seeing her glare.
"Miranda!"
"Andrea just tell me" she pauses, "if you killed someone I am sure we can figure out how to hide the body" she jokes and laughs lightly at he own joke.
"That first day, when I met you I had this feeling that I had met you before" Andreas whispers ignoring the joke
Miranda doesn't speak.
"I knew you, I wanted to sit down and talk, catch up. It as the most bizarre feeling"
"You probably remember paging through a magazine and seeing me, but not enough obviously since you had the hideous blazer on."
"Hey! Be nice"
"How did you change so much Andrea? How are you this fashionable siren now?" Miranda asks
"Miranda this is serious, it is a confession I have never made to anyone. I don't think I even wanted to admit it to myself. True love, soul mates that is just phrases invented by the media. But, you… I wanted to hold you and say I had missed you"
Miranda turns around putting some distance between them, their bodies are still touching only now they are facing each other. The silver haired legend purses her lips and then smiles pulling Andrea's thin hand toward her lips and blowing a kiss.
"I know Andrea. If we are doing confessions, I felt it too. I wanted to run up to you and say, 'hey there you are'. After you left it was as if I had missed something. I called it hope, hope that you would turn out to be amazing," she stops herself Andrea breathes in time stills.
"And you did… you turned out to be both amazing and disappointing … when you left. "
Andrea hangs on to her every word, even though her former boss has been living with her for almost a week now, even though it was Miranda who flew out to seek her, it was hard to get her to say what she felt, hard to get her to explain why all this was worth it, hard to get her to speak about Andrea's time at Runway and the years that transcribed in between then and now.
So, this narrating Miranda, this soft-spoken story teller was new. Andrea wanted her to speak forever, she would be content to let the hours melt away, let time pass indefinitely as long as her lover was holding her hand and purring words into the night. Miranda doesn't catch the admiration in Andreas dark chestnut eyes, she doesn't catch the slightly parted lips and the lack of blinking, the adoration, the god like idolatry that fills the room and spill from Andrea. She never did, she was for all her attention to detail oblivious when it came to herself.
"I had denied it until then. Chucked it to the way you changed, I had filed that flutter I felt when I saw you to pride that you had learned about fashion, that you had adapted, then I told myself it was admiration at the way you did your job…I remember going to sleep at night and thinking of you," she paused to push her silver locks out of the way. 'It would perturb me that I thought of you at night, and I would tell myself that it was because you were competent, that maybe one day you'd be interested enough, and good enough to be me."
Andrea wants to ask her a multitude of questions, she wants to ask her if she thought of her in every way possible, if as Neruda once said she loved her as dark things are meant to be loved. She wants to ask her everything, but she stays quiet because she's afraid to break the spell. She's afraid that if she speaks Miranda will realize that she's vulnerable, that she's talking about them and stop. That whatever magic spell has been cast will fall.
"I guess I saw myself in you, I still do. More than that however I used all those excuses to deny that I felt an attraction, a love for you. I did it until Paris, until you left. I realized I missed you, more than I had ever missed an assistant, I missed not the way you knew my appointments, my likes and dislikes, not the way you always got my coffee on time or did the impossible tasks. I missed your smile, your eyes looking expectantly at me, your quirky comments, your random candy wrappers I found, I missed your voice and …. I didn't know what to do. I had to be crazy. I could not be in love with you…. A beautiful girl 24 years younger. It was madness and … surely I was alone in the depth of my feelings"
Something in the distance hums and ticks, household artifacts aching away. Andrea twitches, Miranda sighs and wipes the back of her hand on her cheek. For the first time Andrea notices that tears stream down porcelain skin, she doesn't remember seeing Miranda cry, except in the Paris suite. She wants to kiss away the clear pearls that stain her lover's cheeks but she doesn't.
Miranda continues the unrehearsed speech.
"Then you wrote that note and the only validation I needed was granted"
"So … what detained you?" Andrea finally asks
"Fear …" she sais and leans in to kiss the brunette
"Of what?"
"That it was just infatuation, girl crush, power admiration … I have seen it all. I was afraid that you would find someone new after having the 'impossible'," she air-quotes in the darkness, "I didn't think I would be enough, the real me, without the lights and the glamour, without the power suits and people admiring me. I was afraid that the Miranda that existed once the doors closed, the one that lounges in soft loose cardigans, and reads books before bed, the one that likes to sit hours on end holding your hand, the one that would rather stay in and cook than go to one more gala, one more party, that she would not be enough "
"What changed your mind?" Andrea asks moving so that her back is flat on the couch and her head rests over the editor's thighs.
"Fear," she laughs, "of missing my chance completely. I figured if you really did love me after all this time, then maybe just maybe I stood a chance"
Andrea laughs, and pulls the editor down for another subtle kiss, "Miranda you never just stood a chance, you were always the one. All you had do was speak."
There is a long silence. Andrea is procession everything Miranda has said, all that time Andrea spent trying to tell herself she loved Nate, was the time Miranda tried to convince herself that she did not love Andrea. Suddenly she gets up and faces her lover again, "I have something to tell you" she pauses.
Miranda nods, but does not speak.
"I am going to New York for a few weeks next month"
Miranda arches an eyebrow, waiting for Andrea to elaborate.
"I… Diane wants to open in New York instead of LA, and I'm going to set up shop so to speak,"
Miranda blinks a few times and then gets up without warning to refresh their glasses of wine. Walking away has always been Miranda's way to prelude she's about to say something important. Andrea knows this, "Miranda?" she questions into the semi – lit darkness.
"Do you want red again?" she retorts.
"Red is fine, is everything okay?"
"Yes" she answers as she settles back on the couch away from Andrea, leaning against the opposite corner.
"I though you would be more enthusiastic, we get to spend a month in the same state" Andrea reproaches sipping her new glass of California Merlot. There was no immediate answer from her counterpart, instead the silence tasted of berries, earth and jam.
"I don't know why or what happens next Andrea, these few day have been grandiose, unforgettable, a romantized version of life but it's not realit ,darling, " her voice peaks at the last word indicating aggravation.
"What comes the day after tomorrow when I leave? Hmmm?" her ocean blue eyes look directly at Andrea, "Do we send each other anonymous flowers and cards? You hadn't told me about New York for a reason, and I am still not sure why you asked me to stay. Why will Manhattan be different? Our secret affair remains the same, exactly what I didn't want all those years. What happens now Andrea?"
This time Miranda pronounces her lover's name, like she always does, slow and long and purring at the syllables. Andrea crawls over to her older lover, putting her now empty glass of wine on the nearby floor. She squeezes into the side with her and rests her brown locks upon Miranda's soft sweater.
"I don't know Miranda, I don't have all the answers. I wish I did. I know it's a lot to ask, patience from the woman who can have anything and anyone. I know the mere fact that you deigned to come for me, to love me, to know I existed was asking a lot, getting a lot. Miranda, I only know I love you. Knowing you has been the cornerstone of everything I am today, you changed my life in every imaginable way and I can't let you go. I want to spend every possible moment in New York with you. Please humor me."
Miranda sighs melting into the pleading tone from the younger woman holding her hands.
"I want to my darling, I want to humor you but I don't know how to live without you now that I have you" she frees her left hand and cups Andrea's face, a tender touch marred by a cloud of sadness and doubt. The freedom of the past few days, the playfulness, the idealism starts to break away, separating like vinegar and water and both women feel their hearts tear again.
"I am not as brave as you Miranda," the lawyer finally admits closing her eyes at the tender hand cupping her cheeks," I never was. "
"Is that why you ran away?" Miranda asks softly almost like a mother would ask her crying child. Andrea nods and tears fall.
"Please don't end this"
"all right Andrea, I'll let you break my heart" she sighs and presses a soft kiss on the check she had been caressing.
"Tell you what," she continues fly out next weekend, "Well to go to the Hamptons and then the following month life will tell us what we do from here"
Andrea nods, a certain relief comes from hearing the editor say that she's going to let fate decide. She feels an uneasy calm, sort of like when the wind stops and the ocean settles but the natives know a storm is about to come; yet it's calm nonetheless and both women take what they can.
"I won't break your heart" she whispers into the night.