Chapter Text
I guess you thought
I'd hide the sun from my liquid thoughts and
Make ice for you
You thought I'd seed my clouds
With the rain of your personal dreams
I guess you thought I'd throw confetti
At your parade of lofty thoughts
I guess you thought I'd shine good morning
Miranda is sitting at the restaurant, 15 minutes early as usual, waiting for Andréa to arrive. If she chooses to come. She’d asked the driver to message if there were any issues, and she hasn’t heard from him, so she’s assuming that he picked Andréa up on time. She’s chosen a seat facing the door so that she can see as soon as Andréa enters the restaurant.
She’s uncharacteristically nervous. She’s already indulged in one cocktail and has shredded a bread roll onto her side plate. It’s not like she ever had any intention of eating it, but now the crumby mess is just a clear indicator of her unease. With a flap of her hand, she calls over a waiter and instructs him to take it away, ordering a second drink at the same time. The last thing she wants is to appear anxious in front of Andréa. She needs to be rational and logical. She needs to outline to Andréa exactly what her feelings are.
If only she could work that out before the younger woman gets to the restaurant.
Ever since deciding to fly to California to track down Andréa, she’s been trying to formulate a clear idea on what it is she’s feeling, and what it is she wants. The last one she is reasonably clear on - she wants Andréa back in her life. What she can’t clarify is what exactly she means by that. At every turn, her head keeps getting in the way. Her feelings are a confusing, hazy cloud. It’s not a sensation she’s accustomed to, nor one that she particularly enjoys. She is the kind of person for whom emotions take a backseat to decisions, for whom decisions are made using rational thought processes. But with Andréa, it seems that every decision is made from an emotional standpoint. Even the decision to systematically destroy all her career prospects - that was certainly not a rational one.
The waiter returns with her drink, a classic Sidecar cocktail. Without even thinking about it, Miranda downs it quickly, enjoying the tartness of the orange and lemon, and the heady burn of the cognac. As she puts the glass down, she belatedly realises that it’s her second of these in the space of ten minutes. If she doesn’t slow down, she’ll be intoxicated before Andréa even arrives. On further thought, she determines that may not be such a bad idea, and orders another one from a passing waiter.
Her thoughts are still racing, chasing each other’s tails, in her quest to work out what she’s going to say to Andréa. Her mind goes blissfully blank when she sees the object of her introspection enter the restaurant. Miranda is inordinately pleased to see that Andréa has chosen to wear the dress she sent over, a Calvin Klein black honeycomb knit tank dress with a fluted viscose skirt, paired with black Louboutin heels. She is absolutely stunning. Miranda stands from her seat as Andréa approaches, feeling her head spin as the alcohol rushes through her system. Maybe ordering the third drink wasn’t a good idea after all.
Andréa looks at Miranda, her face inscrutable. She wishes that she could read the young woman, as well as she seems to be able to read her. Usually Andréa’s face is like a billboard, projecting her feelings, easily read by any casual passer-by. But in the intervening twelve months since they’ve seen each other, Miranda notes that she seems to have learned how to hide her emotions behind a well-placed mask. At least tonight, anyway. Yesterday in her dingy dorm room, Andréa had been less unfathomable. While Miranda misses the ingenuous fresh-faced young woman who used to work for her, she is pleased that she is learning how to control her visage - it’s something she’ll need if she intends to pursue a legal career.
Miranda leans in to give Andréa her customary side-to-side air kisses, but the alcohol she’s consumed makes her maladroit, and she misjudges the distance - the first kiss lands on Andréa’s cheek, the second at the corner of her mouth. Miranda is surprised by the softness of Andréa’s skin, and even more so by the slight gasp the younger woman gives. She’s pleased to note two things - one, that Andréa doesn’t pull away; and two, that the look in her eyes is one of longing and not disgust. With an inner victory-smirk, Miranda manages to take her seat without any further displays of ineptness, gesturing for Andréa to take the other seat.
They sit for a few moments in awkward silence, neither knowing what to say. Miranda misses the comfortable silences they used to share in her town car on the way to and from meetings. It always felt companionable, as if they didn’t need words to fill any perceived space between them. In the absence of having the right words to say, Miranda scans Andréa’s face, trying to ascertain her mood. Miranda needs to know how to play this evening, how to proceed with the conversation she so desperately needs to have with her. She has so much to say, but can’t find a single word.
For her part, Andy has too many words to say and none of them seem to be the right ones. She wants to grill Miranda, wants to interrogate her, yell accusations at her and demand answers. She wants to tell her how she feels, how she’s felt for all this time, how much she misses being in her orbit every day. None of the words seem right, all of the words want to be said, and none of them can line up in a way that Andy can make them come out of her mouth. Miranda is just as beautiful as ever, and Andy is experiencing her customary inability to speak in her presence.
Finally, they both speak. At the same time. “How are your studies going?” “How are the girls?”
“Good, I’m enjoying Environmental Law.” “They’re excited about high school next year.”
Their awkward exchange makes Andy giggle, and Miranda’s mouth quirks in one of her half smiles. Thankfully, it breaks the tension between them, and the awkwardness vanishes in their shared amusement.
“How long have you been performing at open mic nights?” Miranda asks, genuinely curious. She’d always had the impression that Andy would be too shy to do such a thing.
“Oh, it was spur of the moment. I’ve been writing my own music for…a bit now. It was a good…free therapy,” Andy smiles self-consciously. “Jen, my roomie, you met her, she took me to the college bar, got me drunk, and convinced me to get up and sing a cover. I loved it, didn’t think I would, but I did. I get horrible stage fright sometimes but…,” Andy trails off, realising that she’s babbling. She knows how much Miranda hates that. She inspects Miranda’s face and sees no sign of irritation, which completely bewilders her. Miranda was actually listening, and was actually interested.
“Do you play any instruments other than guitar?”
“Yes. My mum was a frustrated musician, so all of us learned at least one instrument. My sister Jilly learned violin, my brother Brad learned trumpet and drums, and I learned piano and guitar. I always loved the piano the most, but a guitar is much more portable.”
Miranda’s eyes twinkle at Andy’s joke, “Much easier to move around than a piano.”
The waiter swings back around past their table, depositing two cocktails in front of them. Miranda realises he must have seen Andréa join her and assumed she’d ordered for both of them. Before she can say anything, he’s moved on.
“Did you order me a drink, Miranda?” Andy asks, a jesting tone to her voice, “That’s very presumptuous of you.”
Miranda can see she’s joking, and decides to play along with it - better than her usual reaction of making a biting comment, “Well I figured if I was getting lubricated then you should be as well. You need to catch up though because I’m ahead of you,” Miranda is curious as to the cause of the bright red flush that spreads up Andréa’s chest and face. As pretty as it is, she’s not sure what she said to make it happen. She wants to do it more often.
“What did you order for me?”
“It’s called a Sidecar. It’s of Parisian origin, a cocktail composed of cognac, orange liqueur, and lemon juice. It’s fairly…potent.”
Andy takes a hesitant sip, her eyes widening as the liquid hits her tongue, “Oh wow! Miranda this is…divine! Thank you,” genuine happiness lightens Andy’s face and Miranda feels a hot flush of her own spread across her skin.
“You’re very welcome,” she says softly, “I took the liberty of pre-ordering us the seven course tasting menu with wine pairings.”
“Wine pairings, Miranda? On top of this deadly cocktail? Are you trying to get me drunk?” Andy grins at her, that open and honest smile that Miranda has missed so much.
“I thought it might be harder for you to run away if you couldn’t walk in a straight line,” Miranda jokes, and then wishes she hadn’t - what if Andréa takes it the wrong way. She’s relieved when she instead lets out a peal of genuine laughter.
“Good plan. Bribe me with good food and get me too drunk to walk. You know exactly the way to my heart.”
Miranda takes a large gulp of her drink to cover the shock at Andréa’s words. The way to her heart indeed. Andy notices, and grins slyly behind her own glass. If Miranda is going to be this easy to bait, this night could be fun after all.
“You said I could ask anything, right Miranda?” Andy has a mischievous glint in her eyes, and Miranda briefly regrets making that offer.
“Yes, do I get the right to plead the 5th?”
“No, that wasn’t part of the original deal. I will expand on the terms and allow you to ask me one question for each one you answer.”
Miranda nods her head slightly in acquiescence, “Ask away, Andréa, I’m sure you have lots of questions burning a hole in your brain.”
Andy takes another sip of her drink before putting the glass down and running her finger over the rim; Miranda can’t help but watch the tip of that long, slender finger running lightly over the glass.
“Okay, first question,” Miranda braces herself for one of the prying questions that tabloid journalists usually pepper her with. “What’s your favourite movie?”
Miranda blinks at her in surprise; that wasn’t what she expected, “My favourite movie? Same Time, Next Year. ”
“Really? A romantic tragedy? You surprise me Miranda. I expected one of the classics - Casablanca , Lawrence of Arabia , The Great Escape . Or something foreign, like Le Feu Follet .”
“ Same Time, Next Year is a story about the power of love and partnership against adversity. And Le Feu Follet , Andréa? It’s a movie about suicide,” MIranda gives her a trademark disapproving look.
The waiter heads off any potential bickering by bringing the first of their courses and wine.
In between bites of crab, Miranda prompts Andréa for her favourite movie.
“Well, on the condition that you’re absolutely not allowed to judge me. Broadcast News .”
Miranda gives her a strange look, before quoting “Wouldn’t this be a great world if insecurity and desperation made us more attractive?”
Andy gapes at her, “You know Broadcast News !?”
Miranda chuckles, “It’s not one of my favourites, but it’s definitely in my top…50.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll accept that. Favourite colour?”
“Really, Andréa, you can ask me anything and you’re asking me these completely vapid questions?”
“My questions, my prerogative.”
“Fine. Rosso Valentino.”
“Why?”
“That’s two questions. Valentino patented the distinctive shade of red that is a shade between carmine, purple and cadmium. It is uniquely distinctive, and is bright without being garish. It can highlight the line of a dress, the waist of a tunic, the lining of a jacket. It can be easily identified by designers and fashionistas around the world. It was one of the defining characteristics that put Valentino on the map.”
“Wow, that’s an answer and a half. My turn?” Miranda wonders at the sudden blush that colours Andréa’s countenance again. It becomes clear when she mumbles the words “Cerulean blue.”
Miranda knows she should leave it alone, she knows now why Andréa is blushing, but she can’t help pushing her luck with the to-and-fro of honest answers, even if she had previously described the questions as vapid.
“Pray tell, why is that your favourite colour Andréa?” The corners of Miranda’s mouth twitch in a barely-contained smirk.
“A long time ago, in the glass-lined office of a premiere fashion magazine far from here,” Miranda rolls her eyes at the start of Andréa’s answer, “a silly young girl stood in front of one of the leading fashion experts in the country, possibly the world, and made the mistake of disparaging the hard work that went into producing that magazine. Rather than firing the impetuous idiot on the spot, she was instead given an elucidating education on the colour of the hideous lumpy sweater she was wearing, right down to the particular colour of said sweater. It wasn’t blue, it wasn’t turquoise, it wasn’t lapis, it was in fact cerulean. That silly girl took that revelation to heart, and went home and researched the different shades and names of the most popular colours in current fashions. As a result, she determined that her favourite colour was cerulean.”
Miranda looks at her in shock, “I didn’t know you did that!”
“Your…speech…left an impression.”
“That’s a nice way to say that I belittled you with a verbose lecture.”
“You had every right to. I was rude, ignorant, and dismissive of all the hard work you put in. And it was the catalyst to me taking my job and yours seriously. It opened my eyes. It was enlightening. And it wasn’t by any means the worst thing you ever said to me.”
Miranda can see that Andréa is trying to make light of the situation, but she flinches in spite of herself - their history is marred by so many instances of Miranda using her words to wound and humiliate Andréa. She doesn’t know how she can come back from this.
“I’m sorry, Andréa. I’m sorry for all the times I said mean or hurtful things to you. It wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Miranda, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t use your incredible ability at phrasing words to remind people of their position in relation to you, to your incredible intellect and experience, to just what you’ve had to master to build the empire that you have. I’ve never held your words against you. Yes, they hurt at the time, but they also served to teach a lesson. And I learned, I learned so much working for you. For that, if nothing else, I am grateful.”
“I don’t deserve your gratitude, Andréa.”
“Yet you have it anyway.”
The silence washed back over them. This time it was contemplative rather than awkward.
They shared the next few courses in relative silence, other than comments on the food and wine. The crab was followed by caviar, then squid, and agnolotti. For the fourth course, the waiter asked them if they would prefer beef short rib or Japanese wagyu ribeye. After a short discussion, they agreed to get one of each and split.
While waiting for the next course, Andy decided to brave the silence, “I have more questions, if you’re amenable.”
“A promise is a promise. Fire away.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
Miranda stiffens, and Andy is worried she has crossed a line. Miranda is notoriously private, and this information is not publicly available anywhere that she could find.
“I have three,” she says finally, her voice almost inaudible over the background noises of the restaurant. “I have an older brother and sister, and…I had a twin sister. My mother died giving birth to us. My sister died two days later. It’s hard to miss someone you never knew but…I’ve always felt there was a part of me that was…absent. I look at my girls and wonder what it would have been like if Eliana had survived.”
“Miranda…I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Andy reaches across the table and takes a hold of Miranda’s hand, covering it with her own. Miranda looks down at their hands, turning hers over under Andy’s, intertwining their fingers.
“It’s alright, I just don’t talk about it. It wasn’t a good part of my life, and I got away from there as soon as I could. I’m not the same person I was back then. I don’t regret my childhood; it taught me to fight for what I want in life, what is important to me.”
With those words, Miranda meets Andy’s eyes, giving her a meaningful look. Andy’s heart skips a beat, and she wonders if Miranda is implying that Andy is something important to Miranda, something she wants to fight for. And she wonders what that would mean exactly. Then she wonders if she’s imagining it all, if it’s just wishful thinking.
“Well…you already know about my siblings. Jill is married with one child, Isaac. Her husband is…acceptable. I never liked the guy, but Jill likes him, so I keep my mouth shut,” Andy knows she’s babbling again, but she’s hoping that opening up to Miranda about her own life will help to make her feel less exposed.
“Brad is the epitome of Midwestern jock. He’s tall, he’s blonde, he’s got a chiselled jaw, he enjoys line dancing. Frankly, he’s probably the reason I’m going to end up in therapy,” Andy is pleased to see the corner of Miranda’s mouth twitch. She still hasn’t let go of her hand, and Andy has started to gently rub Miranda’s wrist with her thumb, brushing back and forth on the pulse point.
“Brad and Jill are both lawyers, like Mum and Dad. They all work for the family practice. I’m the black sheep of the family, the only one that didn’t go into law. Until now of course,” Andy realises this may be a sore topic for both of them, “Well, actually, if anything, I’m the rainbow sheep of the family.” Andy pauses and waits to see if Miranda picks up on what she just said. She watches Miranda’s reaction. Other than a slight flexing of the fingers that are intertwined with hers, Andy doesn't notice any external reaction. Andy decides to plough ahead with her ‘confession’.
“I was14 when I brought home my first girlfriend. My family is Jewish, and I had no idea how they were going to take it, but we’d always been raised to be exactly who we were. Other than insisting we would all go to college, our parents had told us that we were free to make our own choices in life. Within reason, of course. So I brought Sofia home for Thanksgiving. Most awkward holiday ever. Jill kept eyeballing us, Brad made crass innuendos, and my parents had no idea what to say. They adapted quickly though, and by the time I brought home my second girlfriend when I was 16, they knew what to expect and were perfectly welcoming and accepting.”
“I thought…sorry, it’s not my night to ask questions.”
“Miranda, I just told you about coming out to my family. You can ask me questions.”
“I thought you had a boyfriend, when you were working for me that is.”
“Nate, yes. I worked out fairly early on that I was pansexual. Do you know what that means?” Miranda shakes her head, looking confused, “Pansexual is being sexually, romantically, or emotionally attracted towards people regardless of their sex or gender identity. I don’t see gender, I see the person. I fall in love with someone’s personality, not their reproductive organs.”
“Does that ever get confusing?”
“Not really. It just means I have…more options,” Andy giggles.
“You’re an exceptionally giggly person, Andréa, do you know that?”
“Does it bother you?”
Miranda cocks her head to one side, giving her a contemplative look, “No, no I don’t think it does.”
The companionable silence falls over them again. Andy continues to hold Miranda’s hand across the table until their next course arrives.
They finish their meal, all the way up to the dessert course, without any further questions from Andy. Instead they talk of inconsequential things, primarily the antics of Emily and Serena, who are still dancing around each other. Miranda voices her exasperation with them not working out how they feel about each other, while Andréa assures her that they’ll work it out once Emily pulls her head out of her arse. Miranda laughs out loud at that, an honest-to-goodness, heartfelt laugh.
At the end of the meal, Miranda settles the bill. Andy, to her surprise, has enjoyed herself, and doesn’t want the night to end. When Miranda suggests that they move to one of the secluded couches near the bar, Andy is all too happy to agree. The Miranda she has seen tonight has been diametrically opposed to the Miranda she had become accustomed to. This Miranda is gentle, open, and attentive. She hasn’t said one sharp or hateful thing all night, and has in fact apologised for the things she’s said in the past - an unheard of occurrence, Miranda apologising for anything. If she let herself, Andy could almost forget all the torment Miranda put her through when she was trying to find a journalism job. Almost.
As they sit down in the lounge area, secluded in shadows, the main source of light being a candle on the table, Andy realised that this setting, away from the main hustle and bustle of the restaurant, was exceptionally intimate and romantic. Nobody from the other couches could see them clearly, none of the guests from the restaurant either, and the couches were small enough that they were forced to sit in close proximity to each other, their knees and thighs brushing against each other. All in all, it's a seating area designed for couples. Andy wonders if that was Miranda’s intention.
Despite having drunk a significant amount of alcohol already, Miranda orders them both another Sidecar cocktail.
“You’re still two behind,” she reminds Andy with a grin.
Andy wonders how many more drinks it would take for her to forget about the past year. Or to be brave enough to kiss Miranda.
As they sip their drinks in silence, Andy wonders what Miranda expects from this night. She's too afraid to ask, despite the carte blanche Miranda has given her to ask anything. Instead she prattles on about her studies, the classes she’s been taking, what she’s enjoyed and what she’s hated. Miranda listens attentively, asking questions in all the right places. Andy can almost fool herself that this is a real date, with a girlfriend who cares about her life.
In turn, Miranda shares the twins’ latest exploits, Cassandra’s first boyfriend, Cassandra’s first break-up two days later, and Caroline’s soccer team winning their season tournament. She complains about the incompetence of her staff, though she carefully avoids any mention of Andy’s replacement.
Somewhere around the second cocktail, Andy notices that Miranda’s hand keeps brushing her knee. She knows it’s not accidental, but chooses not to say anything about it. By the third cocktail, Miranda has given up on being subtle, and is resting her hand lightly on Andy’s knee, her thumb making small circles across her skin. She’s tempted to put her hand over Miranda’s, but doesn’t know how she’ll react if she does.
By the fourth cocktail, Andy is brave enough to ask the question that has been burning in her brain since yesterday when Miranda turned up unannounced at her dorm room.
“Miranda…I have to know…why are you here?”
The stroking on her knee pauses, but Miranda doesn’t move her hand.
“I’ve been wondering how to put this into words. I don’t know if I know how. I just know that I miss you. I miss seeing you. I miss your voice, your smile, and your laugh. I miss how you seemed to know what I wanted or needed before I even did. I miss having you around. I miss how you seemed like…an extension of me.”
“So you’ve missed having a capable assistant?”
“No. I wish I knew how to say what I’m feeling.”
“Just say exactly what you feel.”
“I…can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s…I can’t…I don’t know how to. I’m not good with feelings.”
“Try. You’ve flown to the other side of the country. You’ve taken me out for a ridiculously expensive dinner. You’ve provided me with fancy clothing. You’ve put in a lot of effort. Now just try using your words.”
“I don’t think I can Andréa. I want to, but it’s just…I can’t. Is it not enough for me to tell you that I miss you and I need you? Not as my assistant?”
“As your friend?”
“Yes…and more. That’s up to you. I care about you, Andréa.”
“How am I supposed to line up what you’re saying with what you spent the better part of last year doing to me? You have annihilated my career prospects in journalism. You took away the one thing in life I was passionate about, that I was good at. You expect me to believe that was because…why exactly? Because you care about me?” The anger creeps back into Andy’s voice with every word.
“I can’t excuse my behaviour. It was…immature. It was…schoolyard bullying.”
“You’re trying to compare what you did to me with…what…a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground?”
Miranda jerks her hand away from Andy’s knee, and she immediately misses the warmth on her knee.
“I’m sorry Andréa. I am so, so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am. I wish I hadn’t done any of it. I wish I’d given you the referral you deserved. You deserved so much more from me than what I gave you. You were exceptional, you were loyal, and I was…I was horrid and cruel.”
“Yes, you were, and I don’t think there’s any way to come back from that. I don’t know how to get over that. I don’t know what words you can say, or what you can do to fix that.”
Miranda is stiff and silent beside her, her face closed off and indecipherable. Andy knows she has spoiled what has been a wonderful night, but she needs Miranda to face reality.
Miranda clears her throat, “May I ask you a question?”
Andy nods her agreement, not trusting her voice to speak.
“Why did you walk away in Paris? I have my own theories, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
“I don’t know if you can handle the answer to that question.”
Miranda gave her one of her patented impatient looks, “I am stronger than you give me credit for, Andréa.”
Whether it's the copious quantities of alcohol, or the build up of twelve months of anger, but Andy’s patience with Miranda finally runs out.
“Fine,” she snaps, “You want to know why I left? Then you get to sit here and hear everything. The whole sordid mess. You sure you’re ready for that?”
Miranda purses her lips but says nothing, so Andy, with a shrugging of her hands, dives in.
“The night before I left, you were served divorce papers. I offered my friendship, I offered my company, and I offered my compassion. You rejected all that. You told me to do my job. You didn’t care that I was prepared to put my plans for that night on hold for you. Did you even know I had plans? Were you even interested in my life outside of me being your assistant? No, you were too busy being the Snow Queen to see that there was someone standing in front of you offering warmth and understanding. I had just broken up with my boyfriend of seven years, the man I’d intended on marrying one day. I knew what you were going through. I thought maybe we could comfort each other, be there for each other. You told me to do my job. So I did.”
“Andréa…”
“No, I’m talking. You wanted an answer, this is your answer. When I found out what Christian and Jacqueline were planning, did you know that he offered me a job? No? I could have been a staff writer for an Elias-Clarke imprint. I could have had my choice of jobs. If I’d betrayed you. Instead I ran out of Christian’s room, not even fully dressed. I ran through the streets of Paris, in my corset, trying to call you. You hung up on me, you wouldn’t even let me speak. You didn’t even have enough respect for me to let me tell you what was happening. When I turned up at Irv’s room to warn you, you were rude to me and disrespectful. Yet still I stood by your side.”
Andy takes a deep breath, knowing the next things she has to say will spell the end of any possible future interactions she may have had with Miranda.
“I then sat in that luncheon and watched you trample over your best friend. A man who had stood by you for 20 years. You crushed his dream. I looked at everything I had done for you - stood by you, protected you, kept your secrets, run your errands, tolerated your abuse - and I saw that you would treat me the same way you had Nigel if it suited you. In fact you’d probably have less compunctions about it because I was just an assistant, not your best friend, or a talented Art Director. I was, in your words, a silly girl. You then had the gall to compare me to yourself, and throw in my face that I had treated Emily the same way you had treated Nigel. You didn’t see that you’d forced me into that position. You’d threatened my job. You’d threatened my future career prospects. If I wanted to have a chance of being a journalist, I had to bend to your will.”
Andy down the last of her drink, steeling her nerves for what’s coming next.
“I sat in that car, looking back over my time with you, over everything I had seen of you, thinking on your words, and realised that I would let you treat me worse than you had Nigel. I would let you walk over me, abuse me, use me, insult me, degrade me, humiliate me, force me to be someone I knew I wasn’t, someone I didn’t want to be. I knew I would stand by you as your assistant until the day when you decided I had served out my usefulness to you, and then you would deign to promote me or give a recommendation for me elsewhere. But how much of my life would I have spent tailing after you, how much of my humanity and morality would I have lost, would I even be the same person anymore? I knew I would let you do it…,” Andy’s words run out, the words she wants to stay stuck in her throat.
“Why?” Miranda croaks, “Why would you let me do that to you?”
Andy looks at her in amazement, turning to face her straight on, “You really don’t know? You, who sees everything, can’t see what's right in front of you? And you call me the silly girl. You infuriating, oblivious woman. I would have let you chew me up and spit me out, Miranda, because I love you. I have loved you for so long. I would have let you do anything to me, just to spend one more minute near you. That’s why I had to leave. That’s why I’m leaving now.”
And with those words, Andy flees the booth and disappears out the front door of the restaurant.
Miranda sits there in stunned silence, Andréa’s words crashing around her like shards of broken glass. It had been right in front of her the whole time. She’d become so accustomed to the mindless devotion and hero worship of Emily and other staff around her, that she’d completely missed the genuine care, concern, and love of Andréa. She should have seen it, and probably would have if she hadn’t been distracted by Irv’s attempted coup. Looking back, all the signs were there. The late nights delivering the book, when Andréa would take the time to sit with Miranda going over the layout, always asking her if there was anything she needed that night or would need first thing in the morning before she left. The attention to her eating habits, ensuring she always had a hot coffee at one hand, a cold Pellegrino at the other, having breakfast and lunch ready for her before she even asked, ordering dinner to the office when it was clear Miranda wasn’t going to make it home in time. The night in her hotel room in Paris, and the genuine concern Andréa showed for her wellbeing. The misguided attempt to warn her about the imminent coup. It was all there for her to see.
And her reaction had been to burn and pillage Andréa’s career, salting the ground as she went. Miranda drops her head into her hand and groans, tears pricking the back of her eyes. She can’t believe she has thrown away something so precious. She wonders if there’s anything she can do to make it right.
Pulling her phone from her purse, she calls the one person that may be able to help her.