Picking and Choosing
Feb. 3rd, 2009 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chainofcloversThis is my fic for the 2008 Secret Santa exchange. I was delighted when I found out my giftee was ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hawkbehere because her good humor, vocabulary, and creativity are some of the best parts of this fandom. I also loved her prompt. The following is the part of the prompt I chose:
Fanfic, truly preferably M/A but S/E are a second pairing I'm not averse to, as you might have guessed. NO ANGST that does not end well. Life is like that enough without reading it. :-)
Preferably something holiday-related.
I, too, would like to see the first Sachs parents/Priestly get together after the great reveal. Nothing like a May/December lesbian romance with two children attached to liven up a Christmas dinner! Again, I'd prefer it to end happily. But turkey or cranberry sauce can be thrown if need be.
Christmas is my favorite holiday and the Midwest is my favorite region of the United States so I was very excited to write a Christmas piece about a Midwestern homecoming. Christmas makes me joyful, but I tend to appreciate the melancholy "Charlie Brown Christmas Special" sort of Christmas story to any sort of schmaltz. Keeping HbH's "no angst that doesn't end well" request in mind led this story to turn into a constant battle between sappy ideas and Miranda's extremely pervasive depressive tendencies.
HbH, I truly hope you enjoy the story--and think it ends well enough. I hope you have had a wonderful holiday season!
xoxo,
chainofclovers
------
Title: Picking and Choosing
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R, borderline M
Disclaimer: "The Devil Wears Prada" does not belong to me, nor would I desire such a thing.
Andy Sachs was absolutely sick of compartmentalizing love. She started doing it to appease her loved ones of all people, but something had to give. She had plenty of love, and reveled in it, yet there wasn’t a single room in which she could feel love in completeness. Love was scattered across a dozen rooms, in various houses and streets and cities and states, and she wanted a little cohesion more than anything else.
She had the love of her parents, Maureen and Richard, two people who nourished her and cared for her unconditionally. She had them to thank for her weird sense of humor, ability to trust people, and commitment to maintaining her own trustworthiness.
She had the love of her friends, most notably Lily Wilson and Doug Hamilton. She had them to thank for her thick skin and social confidence, ability to laugh at herself, and for helping her through the messiness of forgiving and being forgiven.
As importantly, as vitally, she had the love of Miranda Priestly, and the tentative but growing love of Miranda’s eleven-year-old daughters, Caroline and Cassidy. Before this love arrived, Andy had Miranda to thank for her dogged persistence, ambition beyond reason, and an interest in clothes too abiding to be considered shallow. By the time she left Runway she was obsessed with finding and eradicating those parts of herself, and eradicating Miranda in the process.
She’d been trying and failing at that mission for nearly a year when her boss at The Mirror sent her to interview a wealthy dog breeder for a fluff piece—pun barely intended—on “the ethics of pedigree.” At the request of the interviewee, the meeting took place in the Patron’s Lounge at the Met. Andy had arrived a few minutes early and headed to the ladies’ room to check her appearance after a ride on the crowded subway, glanced up at the mirror, and found herself staring at Miranda Priestly. Andy whirled around, unable to stop the “oh!” that slipped from her throat. Miranda glared at the sound, cold and smooth and quiet. They looked each other up and down, and Andy noticed that Miranda carried herself with perfect stillness except a trembling in her hands.
“Why,” Miranda said flatly, although it was a question. Andy understood Miranda’s unspoken specifics; they hadn’t spoken since the day she left Paris.
“Not now—I have an interview.” When she left the room Miranda remained frozen, staring at herself in the mirror.
They’d lingered an unnaturally long time at separate tables after Miranda’s lunch meeting and Andy’s interview were over. Miranda ordered tea even though she knew she wouldn’t like the taste any more than she ever did; Andy shuffled through papers and pretended to organize her interview notes even though every word the breeder spoke had been almost laughably inane. Then, as if on a timer, they both rose from their seats and headed back to the ladies’ room, where they proceeded to kiss each other viciously and thoroughly, pressed against the door of the corner stall. It was exactly as they had each been imagining frequently for months—neither initiating, neither forcing the other, neither submitting. Andy realized as she mouthed her way from Miranda’s jaw line to shoulder that for her, difficult as it was to admit in conscious thought, there had never been a question of whether or not this was going to happen. It was only a matter of where, when, and just how good it was going to feel.
“I asked you why,” Miranda gasped. The question wasn’t as scary when Miranda could hardly breathe, when tears were pricking her eyes.
Andy took a step backward and held Miranda’s hands in her own. Miranda didn’t pull away.
“You already know the answer,” Andy said quietly. “Look, I…I have to go back to work. I’m going to call you, um, tonight, all right?” Miranda nodded weakly. Andy’s heart was racing, but she believed herself for the first time in months when she added, “Everything is going to be okay.” Miranda nodded again, and didn’t let go of her hands.
Andy grinned. “Did you notice that the lady I was interviewing looked exactly like a cocker spaniel? She breeds them, actually.”
The tension snapped in two, and Miranda sniffed with reserved laughter. “I did.”
They let go of each other’s hands, and as Andy left the stall she repeated, almost prayerfully, “It’ll be okay.”
And it was okay. Better than okay. Over time their kisses lost their harshness, and although their start was shaky they could hardly keep their hands to themselves when they were in the same room. They managed to be honest with each other in bed and out of it, and decided quickly that the relationship was worth being honest with their friends, families, and a couple of reputable newspapers for good measure. They both continued to prioritize work a little too highly, Miranda worried a little too deeply that Andy was going to leave, and Andy was a little too skeptical every time Miranda said something kind, but they were wrapped—tangled, really—deeply in love, and escape was not an option.
For the first time in her life, good things were lined up for Andy in all directions: her friendships were regaining strength after the strain they suffered during her time at Runway; she felt genuine affection for and from her family; newsprint bearing her words was pumped into the city on a daily basis; two intelligent, curious children were beginning to invite her into their lives; and from Miranda she had care and warmth and plenty of sex to boot. So much passion made Andy feel ecstatic a great deal of the time, which was part of why it was frustrating that everyone she loved was so blandly cool and polite in regard to each other.
After getting over the initial shock of their daughter’s unconventional relationship, Richard and Maureen regularly asked after Miranda over the phone, but it was with the blasé yet uncomfortably formal tone one would use to ask after a particularly doted-upon pet hamster, or at most an unessential friend. “Oh, and how is Miranda Priestly doing?” “I assume Miranda Priestly is having a busy month?”
Lily and Doug were even worse. They never brought Miranda up, and if Andy mentioned her in casual conversation, they went quiet and wide-eyed, like well-behaved kindergarteners on a field trip, and the conversation suddenly wasn’t casual anymore. She suspected Doug’s response was partially reverence and that Lily’s was partially skepticism, but knew that both her friends were genuinely weirded out. She resented having to go out of her way to represent her relationship with Miranda as something mundane when it wasn’t mundane at all, just so her friends wouldn’t act like she had joined a freak show.
Miranda accepted without complaint Andy’s wishes to go out with her friends on a regular basis, but never expressed more than a superficial interest in their lives. “Stop worrying, just go to the bar with Lily—the girls and I will have a quiet night here.” “Sweetheart, of course the lunch with Douglas should be at your apartment. Although, come to think of it, I have a morning meeting that’s going to run long, so I’ll be eating at the office. You two will have more fun without me.”
For a few months, Andy made due, letting her friends and family and lover have as much of her as they could without having to truly acknowledge each other. It was better than being shunned or isolated, but exhausting nonetheless. She told herself she’d be acting like a spoiled child if she demanded more. Wasn’t it enough to have so many lovely people populating her world? It wasn’t, and it was wearing on her, but she tried to pretend otherwise.
Everything changed on a single evening about a month before Christmas, when Lily, Miranda, and Maureen communicated with Andy with such perfect timing that they unknowingly communicated with each other in the process. Lily left Andy a stressed-out voicemail bemoaning her difficulties in making plans to return home for the holidays, as there was no way she could afford a plane ticket to Cincinnati. Miranda nonchalantly mentioned over dinner that she was going to take a few days off around Christmas for the first time in years, despite the fact that Christmas was rather embarrassing, despite the fact that she was the most secular Jew imaginable, despite the fact that her children had stopped believing in Santa Claus when they were six years old, because she sensed such a thing might be important to Andy. Maureen sent an email demanding that Andy decide right away if she was coming home for Christmas, since she missed her daughter terribly and hadn’t seen her since the summer. Clearly, Andy needed to exercise extreme care in putting the rest of the puzzle together, but the pieces had been handed to her and she would have been a fool to ignore the chance.
She tackled Miranda first. Miranda who had said the other night, apropos of nothing, that being with Andy made her feel like a fish who had developed gills after a lifetime without proper breathing. Yes, she froze up after she said it and would hardly speak or make eye contact for the remainder of the night, but Andy cherished the words. Tonight, Andy took a few deep breaths of her own and began, “You know what would make me happier than anything? A car trip…”
Bolstered by her initial success, which had required only a few minutes of serious talking interspersed with a few of even more serious kissing, Andy phoned her mother next, playing to Maureen’s ideals of duty and hospitality and unconditional love: “I want to bring Miranda and the girls for Christmas. I just want them to see how amazing you are, and to show you how amazing they are, and I’ve already talked to her about it so it would be really awkward if you said ‘no’…”
With Lily, presentation was everything, and Andy was determined to see her plan through to fruition. She dialed Lily’s cell and barely got past the helloes before delivering the news: “Guess what? You’re going to Cinci for Christmas after all. Miranda and I are driving in her car, with her kids, and you can catch a ride! It’ll only be a few days so you’ll be able to get right back to work, and it’ll be really fun, I promise…”
***
“I’m so glad we’re all on this trip together,” Andy said for what had to be the fourth or fifth time since the start of the journey. It was barely mid-morning on Christmas Eve, but they’d been on the road for several hours. Despite seldom having driven since moving to New York, Andy looked and felt comfortable behind the wheel of Miranda’s silver Mercedes. Miranda rode shotgun, and Lily, who had been very quiet all morning, was crammed in the backseat with Caroline and Cassidy. The girls had books with them—books Andy had purchased for them in a regular store with regular money, books that had been in print for years—but had been oddly content to stare out the window thus far. Andy continued, “I mean, it’s just really exciting to have you all heading back to Cincinnati with me.”
“Yeah, we’re excited too, Andy,” Caroline said, although her response carried less energy than the first few had.
Miranda turned her attention to the backseat, and was surprised but pleased when she and Lily made amused eye contact with each other. It was obvious that Andy was trying hard to make the trip pleasant for everyone—Miranda had nearly died of shock upon realizing it would take about eleven hours of driving to reach their destination—but her expressions of excitement were starting to feel like overkill.
Miranda pulled a stack of contact sheets from a recent photo shoot out of her bag and spread them out across her lap.
“Mom! You promised! No work on this vacation,” exclaimed Cassidy the instant the photos came into view.
“This isn’t the vacation, this is just travel time,” Miranda feebly protested.
“This is a car trip, so the travel time is an extremely important part of the vacation. We’re going to be in the car almost as long as we’ll be in Cincinnati,” complained Caroline.
Andy added, “You did promise, Miranda.”
Only Lily remained quiet on the subject. Inwardly, she grimaced. She wasn’t surprised that Miranda would try to sneak in some work, and although she was glad to have an ally in her against Andy’s excessive cheeriness, she wished she would honor Andy’s wishes and pay attention to the family dynamic Andy seemed so desperate to construct.
Miranda sighed, stacked up her work, and put it back in the bag. They rode in a silence that the travelers experienced with varying levels of discomfort until Andy pulled off the road to get gasoline. Lily practically bolted from the car, ready to find the bathroom and a few moments to herself. Andy had certainly fallen in with a high-strung family, she thought to herself. When Andy headed into the convenience shop after pumping the gas, Miranda seized the moment to impart some last-minute pleas to her daughters.
“I’m sure it isn’t necessary for me to say any of this, but you must be on your absolute best behavior for the next three days, all right?” Two small nods. “Even if everything about Andrea’s house is different than you’re used to, or if you don’t like the food her parents cook or people you meet or anything, you are going to be perfectly polite and appreciative. No mischief. No rudeness. Is that clear?” The girls’ nodding grew more emphatic.
“We get it, Mom. You want us all to look good for Andy’s parents,” Caroline said.
“That’s part of it, yes. Just remember that it is imperative that this visit is a success. I want you to enjoy yourselves, just not at the expense of anyone else. Ah, Lily and Andy are coming back. Let’s see about the facilities in this place.”
As Miranda and the kids got out of the car, Andy worried that she was going to hear complaints about the filthiness of gas station bathrooms, for the children’s comfort if not Miranda’s own. Miranda glanced curiously at the bulging plastic bag in Andy’s hands, but didn’t say a word about the dinginess of the circumstances as they crossed paths.
When everyone was back in the car, Miranda held up the bag of kettle-cooked chips that had been placed on the seat in her absence. “What is this?”
As she replied, Andy grinned at Caroline in the rearview mirror. “This is a car trip, sweetie. It’s common knowledge that calories consumed in the car don’t count, so eating junk food is another extremely important part of being on the road.”
“It isn’t even noon.”
“Well, I know for a fact you like those. Remember watching the movie last week? You kept sneaking them.” Miranda had rolled her eyes when Andy showed up at the townhouse at a planned date and time but with an entirely unplanned DVD of An Affair to Remember, an enormous bag of chips, and a hopeful smile. She refused Andy’s offer to share the snack, but as the film went on seemed to develop an appetite. Too proud to officially reconsider, she opted for a covert mission, and she saw Andy’s eyes glazing with tears as the perfect opportunity to grab a chip or two. “I was crying my eyes out, and you were just happy about the chance to eat my potato chips.”
“Oh,” Miranda said loftily. “You noticed.”
Caroline and Cassidy shrieked with laughter, and Lily couldn’t hold back a grin. Miranda sniffed, but a few minutes later the bag of chips opened with a loud pop, and it was Andy’s turn to smile with her eyes in secret.
The hours passed slowly, but the girls kept insisting on seating changes that worked in Andy’s favor. When seated next to Miranda in the back seat, Lily was shocked to field a string of educated questions her gallery work. She managed to eke out a few brief but apparently interesting answers, which provoked more questions, which prompted answers of increasing naturalness and depth. Soon the five of them were alternately conversing and napping and choosing radio stations with a normalcy that gave Andy hope.
Andy’s heart thrilled as the ground gradually flattened and the hills and forests gave way to fields and endless sky. She glanced into the mirror to look at Miranda, who at this point was sitting between two sleeping girls, her own eyes wide open and her lips pressed tightly together. It was almost surreal to see Miranda’s head against the Midwestern landscape, the farmland punctuated by tufts of trees. Everything about their life in New York, except for some of the larger rooms in the townhouse, was cramped and bright and chaotic. Ohio could be bright, but recognizing it took a sharper eye. Andy realized with a start that she was going to be incredibly hurt if Miranda said anything—anything—dismissive about her home state. She turned to Lily. “Back in Ohio. Beautiful, huh?”
Lily shrugged. She loved her family but wished she had space to host them in the city this year. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure I miss my mom a whole lot more than the Midwest, but whatever.”
It wasn’t long before they pulled into the city limits. Traffic was a little congested, but once inside the city it was easy to navigate Lily’s drop-off, Miranda’s return to the front seat, and the relatively short drive to the Sachs’ house. Andy slowed into a halt in the driveway and let out a quick sigh as she eyed the familiar, two-story brick house with dark green shutters. She grabbed Miranda’s hand. “This is it.”
“Mmm.” Miranda’s eyes were even wider than earlier; Andy had never seen her quite like this. Andy wondered if she was nervous, and realized she probably was. Miranda glared her way through board meetings, influenced a season’s worth of creativity with the tilt of her head, demanded excellence but assumed the worst, and cultivated a reputation that got immediate results. She couldn’t rely on any of that here, not if she wanted the Sachs to understand that their only child was in a relationship with a human being rather than some supernatural force of evil and destruction. Openly assuming the worst certainly wouldn’t motivate Richard and Maureen to give her a pleasant surprise, though she could assume in secret all she wanted.
Nothing could have prepared Andy for her parents’ expressions as they opened the front door and stood shivering on the front porch to greet their guests. Smiles were pasted on their faces, but their eyes darted from Miranda to Andy to Caroline to Cassidy as if unable to believe these people were actually standing in front of them. Andy glanced at Miranda and the girls and saw similar glints of distrustful awe—the only difference was that smiles, even smiles strictly relegated to the mouth, hadn’t made it to any of their faces. Andy snapped to action, making quick work of the introductions and joking weakly that it was freezing outside, and they should really head into the house before catching their death of colds. Never mind that Andy had always scoffed at the idea that merely standing outdoors in the wintertime could make one sick—she had no control over what was coming out of her mouth, and would have to be forgiven for sounding so quaint and banal.
Before letting everyone in the house, Maureen stepped forward and held Andy in a tight embrace. Her arms went to the girls next, who seemed taken aback but willing to participate simultaneously in an awkward hug. Andy winced as her mother headed for Miranda, who proceeded to turn the intended hug into the world’s shortest embrace or longest arm pat, depending on the angle.
As the group made their way inside, Richard started grabbing at luggage while Maureen launched into a chattering speech that taught Miranda a great deal about the origins of Andy’s nervous vocal tendencies. “I do hope the drive wasn’t too unpleasant, I’m sure you’re used to planes…Andy’s always been very romantic about the car, though, haven’t you, sweetie? Caroline, Cassidy, you’ll stay on the pull-out sofa in the den. My sister always says it’s quite comfortable.” The girls squealed in excitement, which prompted a genuine grin to spread across Richard’s face. These kids might be the offspring of his daughter’s weird, rich, kind-of-old girlfriend, but they were clearly real children. “My goodness, you each have a suitcase—here, Richard, just stick them right beside the sofa for now. Let’s see, Miranda, you’ll be staying in Andy’s room, I mean, obviously, everyone’s grown up here. Obviously.” She glanced at Miranda, who was maybe five or six years younger than she was, and glanced at the girls, who weren’t very grown up at all, and broke into nervous laughter.
“Mom!” Andy cried, and heard in her voice the sound of herself as an embarrassed teenager. She forced herself to calm down, but before she could trust that she’d banished shrillness from her tone, her father managed to transcend the awkwardness and derail Maureen’s speech by doing something extremely cool.
“Miranda,” he said, eyebrows raised slightly. “Let me fix you a drink and show you and the girls around the house.”
***
“If your parents don’t approve of our relationship, why are they being so nice to me?” Miranda asked bluntly. She and Andy were alone in Andy’s room at last, having stayed up late decorating cookies with the family, losing stamina for the project, and watching the girls finish decorating the batch. Miranda perched on the edge of Andy’s bed, wearing conservatively cut silk pajamas in a deep shade of evergreen. She turned her head to face Andy, making no move to join her under the covers.
Andy didn’t respond right away, wondering where to start when there were so many reasons. “I can’t believe you would ask me that question when you’re famous for doing the same thing.”
“Doing what?” Miranda’s voice was sharp.
“Maybe nice isn’t the right word. But you can be very cordial to people when you don’t quite approve of them, or if you’re not sure if you do yet. Calm. It’s kind of scary.”
“You’re absolutely right that it’s scary. It’s also completely different. When I do it I have every intention of communicating my disapproval. With your parents…the disapproval is there but it’s malleable, as if they’re suggesting I could change their minds. And an outsider might not even sense it.”
“Well,” Andy said, resigned to the discussion. “They’re good people—that’s not to say you aren’t, I mean, it’s just—they’re, you know, really gentle people. And they’re Midwesterners, so they’re wary of bullshit but nice about their wariness. Not that us being together is bullshit, of course—I’ve made sure they’re clear on that much—but I know they’re concerned about everything that could go wrong. Still, it’s Christmas, and they want everyone to feel happy. Right now, ‘everyone’ includes you and it certainly includes me.”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not they like me.”
“Yes it does,” Andy narrowed her eyes a little, staring into Miranda’s. “It matters to me—a lot. And it matters to them, because they worry about me.” She paused, measuring the worth of continuing. “I think it matters to you, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
Miranda sighed. “It’s been a long day. I’m very tired.”
“Me too. We should get some sleep. The girls will probably want to start Christmas about as early as I always did.” Andy pulled back the covers and Miranda scooted into the open spot. “Why are you wearing such buttoned-up pajamas?” Andy asked in mock-complaint. “You’re completely covered.”
“If you must know, I consider myself lucky I’m not on a sofa bed in the middle of the living room. I couldn’t really visualize this trip when I was packing.”
Andy laughed, and Miranda chuckled with her. “This room is technically the guest room, but it’s pretty well-preserved. My mom says I’ll always have a space here—I mean, you heard her refer to it as my room even though I haven’t lived here for over seven years. And honestly, we’ve all been too lazy to really clean it out.” She reached for the nightstand and turned off the lamp.
They laid in the dark for a few minutes, positioned awkwardly far apart, before Miranda said suddenly, “I’m not used to any of this. Even the notion of returning somewhere over and over, preserving a space. When I left my parents house I’m sure it wasn’t a week before my room was turned into something unrecognizable. Part of it was that they needed the space I’d been taking up because my sister’s children were moving in, but everything I left behind was thrown out or put in the attic by the time of my first visit back. It was like—like vacating a bathtub or something, and watching the water just close up behind you as if you hadn’t been there at all.” Andy took her hand. Gill confession aside, she’d never heard Miranda speak in this way. “This house is full of paintings from your art classes and your photographs on the walls and row after row of photo albums. There are signs of you everywhere. I remember being a little younger than you are now, back in that house for one of the last times, and feeling so appalled at my family’s lack of physical memory.”
“Just because your family didn’t know what you needed doesn’t mean they didn’t love you.”
“I know they loved me. But it wasn’t enough.”
Andy gripped her hand more tightly. “I love you very much.”
“I know. I love you too.”
***
There was no luxury quite like time in abundance, and the hours that made up Christmas Day stretched endlessly before them. Everyone was gathered in the living room by half-past eight for presents, coffee, and hot chocolate for the twins. A light snow gained momentum outside, the stuff of Lifetime movies and, sometimes, actual happy Christmases.
In the weeks leading up to their trip, Caroline and Cassidy had refused to tell Andy what they were bringing her family for Christmas. Andy worried that their presents would be unintentionally overly extravagant, and breathed a nearly silent sigh of relief when she watched her parents open a lovely, charcoal grey tea set the girls had glazed themselves during a ceramics unit at school. Andy brought a biography of Zelda Fitzgerald for her mother, the latest John Grisham for her father, and Miranda gave Richard a Movado wristwatch and Maureen a cashmere sweater. “Thank you so much,” Maureen said, brevity having been restored to her senses after a good night’s sleep. “We love everything.”
Richard strode over to the Christmas tree and retrieved four nearly identical packages wrapped in shiny red paper. “Andy, Miranda, girls, you should open them at the same time,” he said. As they ripped into the paper, Miranda and Andy turned to each other, slightly gape-mouthed but trying to hide it. Photo albums—black leather-bound for the adults, soft pink suede-bound for the twins. It was as if Andy’s parents had been listening in the night before.
Maureen smiled. “We thought about getting one for all of you to share, but it occurred to us that everyone likes to remember things a little differently.”
“Thank you!” said Cassidy, and the others nodded, clearly moved. “Maybe I can take a few pictures of everybody before we leave.”
“There are a couple more things under the tree,” Miranda pointed out. “Caroline, you’re closest.”
Caroline pulled out two small packages and handed one to her sister. She read the tag out loud and grinned, even though she didn’t know what was inside. “‘Merry Christmas! Love, Mom and Andy.’ Mom, this is your handwriting.”
Miranda grimaced at the thought that seeing her own handwriting on a gift tag was a novelty to her daughters. “Just open it, darling.”
The girls tore into their package and were delighted to find Wii games—Mario Kart and Super Smash Brothers. “We packed the Wii system in our luggage, so you can hook it up later,” said Andy.
“How about now?” Cassidy asked, and everyone laughed.
Maureen had never played a video game before. For the rest of the day, whenever she wasn’t occupied with cooking, she could be found in front of the TV, waving the Wii exuberantly as she lost game after game.
The day passed slowly but the hours didn’t drag. At four in the afternoon, it could have been two p.m. or eight o’clock at night. Maureen delegated cooking tasks to everyone in the house, and the crowded kitchen felt sloppy and comfortable. Andy wanted to laugh when she saw Miranda hunched over a cutting board piled with vegetables, frowning in concentration as she chopped carrots into tiny, uniform cubes.
The holiday was spent in such deliberate, almost studied calm that it was nearly a surprise when everyone realized it was late at night and started getting ready for bed. They moved slowly to separate rooms, hazy with the mixed sensation of games and snow and comfort food. Miranda kissed the twins’ foreheads after they had pulled on pajamas and settled into the pull-out bed. “Merry Christmas, girls.”
“Merry Christmas,” they replied in unison.
“Do any of our sofas do this?” asked Cassidy.
“Tragically enough, no,” Miranda said as she turned out the light. “Goodnight.”
She made her way through the darkened house toward the kitchen, eager for a glass of water followed by some time alone with Andy. Richard stood at the kitchen counter with his back turned, drying dishes, and he jumped when she entered.
“I’m sorry,” she said demurely. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Richard set down his dish towel and turned to face her head on. “That’s all right,” he said. After a pause, he continued. “Miranda—I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something.”
“Yes?”
He took an audible breath. “I suppose I might as well jump right in. Being a parent, I’m sure you know the feeling of loving your children so much that you would quite literally rather die than see them hurt. When Andy was younger, I hated to see her ill or injured or damaged in any way. But I’d guess you and I both understand that there are a lot of different ways of getting hurt. And I’m certain you understand what I mean when I tell you that I do not want to see her disappointed.”
Here was the malleability, the thing Richard’s eyes had been promising her. She wanted to say, desperate but truthful, that she would die for his daughter too, that the only people in the world she would definitely, without a doubt die for were her daughters and his, but she was scared he would refuse to believe it. Miranda swallowed. “I understand you perfectly. And I think you should know—I imagine you already do know—that Andrea and I have disappointed each other deeply in the past, and will very likely continue to do so from time to time into the future. That being said, I don’t think I’m capable of hurting her in the way you suggest. From the beginning I have known that if either of us were going to leave this relationship, it would be her.”
Richard stared at Miranda. “If you could hear the way she talks about you…I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that anytime soon.”
“I see.”
“Andy’s had a lot of disappointment in her life. She’d say she’s fine…she always says she’s a very lucky person. And she is. But certain events in the past two years”—and here he paused to stare even more intently—“have taken their toll on her. You’ve played a part in that stress and pain.”
She wanted to admonish him for confusing the professional with the personal, for presuming to know how his daughter felt about the past, but stopped herself from taking the conversation in that direction. She knew how ridiculous it would sound to imply that their private lives and working lives hadn’t been muddled from the beginning of their acquaintance. They had been muddled beyond recognition. Besides, Richard had seen and heard his daughter acting out of distress. Miranda might have been able to kiss and hug and soothe that distress out of Andy’s most vivid memories, but she couldn’t do the same for Andy’s father. Miranda could remember in great detail problems and illnesses and arguments that had long since faded from Caroline and Cassidy’s conscious minds, and she imagined Richard was in a similar position. Except in his case, Miranda was part of the problem. “Yes. I have. And I have no intention of hurting her again. I appreciate very much that you have welcomed me into your home in spite of our history.”
A grin softened Richard’s face very slightly. “I think we understand each other, Miranda. Perhaps better than before.”
“I imagine so.” Miranda plucked two glasses from the counter and filled them with water.
“You should go in to Andy now, I think. She’s probably wondering what kind of torture I’ve been carrying out down here.”
“Not at all, Richard. Goodnight.” She walked to the doorway, and on impulse turned back to him before she rounded the corner to the hallway. It was her turn to stare. “I’d do anything for her.”
***
Miranda’s cheeks were pink and her lips were quirked into a smile as she rushed into the bedroom. The smile widened when she discovered that Andy was already in bed with all the lights off except a small lamp on the nightstand. “Are you okay?” Andy asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Miranda set the water glasses next to the lamp. “What’s that in your hand?”
“Oh, this?” Andy feigned nonchalance. “Oh gosh. This is actually, um, a mix CD I made when I was sixteen. I was just poking around in my closet and it happened to be near the top of one of the boxes, and…”
“What’s the significance?”
Andy laughed the particular laugh she saved for self-deprecation. “It’s a make out mix. Lily and I made them at the same time, and hers was all boy bands and shit she’d never in a million years listen to now, and mine was mostly Riot Grrl stuff and it’s still awesome. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s still awesome. Anyway, the CD itself is already in the boom box. This is just the CD case.”
Miranda rushed across the room, hit the play button on a clunky stereo system embellished with glittery decals of hibiscus flowers, and stretched out on the bed just as Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein’s voices began to fill the room.
Miranda raised her eyebrows, and Andy sighed. “One of the great tragedies of my existence is that I was a little too young for Riot Grrl. As an active movement, that is. Musically, Sleater-Kinney is timeless.”
“I can assure you, I missed it completely.”
“Never too late,” Andy mumbled, just before Miranda’s lips covered hers and their fingers locked together and they pressed tightly against each other’s bodies. Miranda disengaged the fingers of her right hand moments later, needing to run her hand over Andy’s hip and waistline and breasts. She stroked through Andy’s shirt and felt Andy moan against her mouth, softly but not so soft as to be perfectly prudent. “Ssh,” Miranda said, grinning so Andy knew she didn’t intend to embarrass her.
“Sorry. It’s just—I’ve never actually made out to my make out mix before.” Perhaps the confession should not have turned Miranda on as much as it did, but her head was still reeling from the conversation in the kitchen, and now there was all this noisy music and the precious knowledge that this moment wasn’t an altered duplicate of anything in Andy’s past. All this was theirs, early and late and messy.
Andy clutched at Miranda’s hair and shoulders, unable to focus on one attribute for more than a second or two. Miranda pulled her head back, gulping for air. She grabbed Andy’s hand and brought it to the waistband of her trousers. “It wouldn’t take much at this point—” she managed, eyes pleading, and that was all Andy needed to work the zipper and run her fingers over the silk of Miranda’s underwear. She rubbed through the cloth, feeling the material moisten, amazed at how little time it took for Miranda’s gasps and whimpers to collect into one unified cry. She was a bit too loud, but Corin Tucker was conveniently louder, and Miranda wasn’t over her orgasm before she had her hand shoved down Andy’s pants. “I need you,” she whispered raggedly. “Andy. I need you.”
***
The sunlight was bright and sharp on the day after Christmas. Snow clung sloppily to the bushes that outlined the front of the Sachs’ house, and large, greenish-brown patches of lawn were starting to show through the white that had accumulated just one day prior. It was the last full day in Cincinnati, and Andy began to get the feeling she got every single “last day in Cincinnati” since Thanksgiving vacation during her first semester of college. It was equal parts melancholy and relief: the sadness of leaving the comfort of so much loving familiarity, and the gladness of returning to a life that was exactly hers.
The Sachs family rarely gathered for breakfast on ordinary days, but as if to commemorate the visit or to make some gesture of closeness, Richard threw together omelettes, hash browns, and coffee on the morning of the 26th. He cooked the eggs quickly on high heat so as to prevent discrepancies in time and temperature from splintering the breakfast into factions.
Part way through the meal, which had been enjoyed in companionable quiet, Miranda suddenly spoke. “Caroline, Cassidy—the Cincinnati Art Museum is open today. I’d like to take you if we have a free afternoon. There’s a Tissot I want you to see.”
The girls looked less than enthused at the thought. They enjoyed their art classes at Dalton and had been to the Met plenty of times, but playing on the Wii and sampling more of Maureen’s cookies sounded far more appealing than Tissot on the day after Christmas.
“I’ll go too—it’s been a couple years,” Richard said, seeming to surprise himself. Andy and Maureen shared a grin.
“Cool! We’d love to go!” Caroline said, and Cassidy nodded along with her. The burst of uncharacteristic enthusiasm surprised no one: Richard might have been suspicious of Miranda, but had not been cautious about her daughters in the slightest. They were drawn to his easy, generous warmth, the likes of which had never quite been present in their own grandfather’s manner during the rare visits he made to Manhattan before his death.
Andy didn’t go to the museum. She’d been a million times on field trips and with her family, and before leaving New York, Andy and Lily had made plans to meet for a Boxing Day coffee at their favorite place on Ludlow. It didn’t feel like a visit home without going there at least once. Andy drove to pick Lily up in her parents’ car and headed immediately to the café. They sat down with their steaming mugs of coffee on a couch at the back of the establishment, and had hardly settled into the cushions before Andy said with a smirk, “So, my father’s at the Cinci Art Museum with my girlfriend and her kids.”
Lily laughed. “Does that seem weird to you?”
“Yeah—weird, but not bad. Not as bad as it could be. Not nearly as bad.”
Lily nodded slowly. “Good. Your dad’s a cool guy. I bet the kids like him.” She didn’t wager a guess as to Miranda’s thoughts on the matter.
“They do, I think. I’m pretty sure they really like it here.”
They talked about each other’s Christmases for awhile: the awkwardness and wondrousness of family, how it felt to be in Cincinnati after having been so wrapped up in New York for months, and how early they should leave in the morning, considering Miranda’s first ex-husband wanted the children dropped off at his house that evening. Suddenly Lily stopped chattering about gas prices and wondering aloud whether or not it would be rude to offer to pay Miranda for gasoline. Her face grew serious. “I knew when you asked me to come on this drive that you genuinely wanted me to get home for Christmas, but I also knew there was more to it. This trip has been what you wanted, right? You feel good? It’s been okay having us all sort of mushed together like this—some kind of casserole of your life?”
“Of course! I feel really good about it.”
Lily took a deep breath, and stared into her half-full mug of coffee. “I should have been better about all this sooner. I think I assumed the ‘you’ of ‘you and Miranda’ was somehow fundamentally different from the ‘you’ I’ve known since seventh grade. I was really worried about the trip down here. But it was okay. My assumptions turned out to be pretty off base. I should have bothered to find out more from the instant I knew you two were together.”
Andy cut in. “It’s okay, Lily, it’s a lot to get used to, and I can’t blame you for—”
“No. You’re right that was a lot to get used to, but it shouldn’t necessarily have been, you know? I should’ve been excited for you, and, like, protective of you but not seriously protective…she does make you happy, right?”
“Yes. She really does.”
“And it isn’t just that you’re making her happy—that making her happy makes you happy?”
If she and Miranda had run into each other even a month or two sooner, it might have been true. It was Andy’s turn to take a deep breath. “Honestly?”
“I’d accept nothing less.”
“Honestly…I don’t think she’s happy very often. I know she’s glad to be with me and loves me and everything—which does make me feel happy, of course—and I think our relationship is a good thing. I know she thinks that too. She says so. But—” her voice dropped to a very quiet murmur. “Miranda is a pretty fucked-up person. I know other people see that all the time, in all sorts of ways—but I see it too. She makes things hard for other people, but what I recognize and they don’t is that she also makes things very hard for herself. And I know she’s been fucked-up for a long time. Like, since she was a kid.”
Lily didn’t know what to say, but her face was open and Andy realized she could continue, that maybe she was sitting with the only person who could really listen about something like this.
“I guess what I mean is—she actively, intentionally shares her life with me and does things that make me happy. And I actively, intentionally do things that make her feel okay, and sometimes happy, as often as I possibly can. And that works for us. It’s definitely the kind of thing where we both have to give a lot and sacrifice a lot to keep going. It took me awhile to realize that I’m not a huge failure if she doesn’t magically start feeling great all the time. Her loving me makes me hugely, enormously happy. And my loving her is something she needs to be marginally all right, although I think she does feel happy a lot more often than she used to. So it’s basically experienced really differently for each of us, but it's somehow reciprocal. Does that sound totally crazy?”
“Honestly?” Lily asks.
“I’d accept nothing less.”
“Yeah. It does sound a little crazy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t approve, okay? I’m sorry she isn’t a happier person. That”—she stumbled over her words a little bit. “—it must be hard for you.”
Andy sighed. “It is. I mean, I obviously wish she was happier—all the time. She’d probably be a lot more diplomatic in the workplace. But she’s all right. And she’s really great to me. Really giving and warm and, well, gorgeous, and—” She blushed.
“What? Go on!”
“Never mind,” Andy said quickly, embarrassed.
“No, what?” Lily grinned. “Tell me tell me tell me tell me…”
“Last night…I don’t know what it was, but she seemed a lot more relaxed than she’d been during basically the whole visit, and after the girls went to bed we fooled around and, um—” She covered her face with her hands.
“So she’s…good at what she does?”
“Oh my God. Ridiculously good. The best.” Andy blushed even deeper, glad their couch was in a relatively secluded part of the café.
They laughed together, and for a little while words passed between them the way they had in high school and college, when almost everything about their lives was new except for each other. They talked until late in the afternoon, when they both realized they should get home for one last dinner with their families.
***
Due to grogginess and goodbye embraces that were far warmer and lengthier than the rather stilted welcome, the drive the next morning didn’t begin quite as early as expected. It had been dark for hours by the time the New York skyline glittered in the far distance. “Thank the Lord,” Lily said with a snort. “Home!”
“I thought Cincinnati was your home,” said Cassidy.
“It is. But it’s the home I didn’t pick. New York is the home I chose. When you pick a new home for the first time, you’ll understand.”
“I’ll choose New York, I think,” Cassidy replied.
“Not me,” countered Caroline. “Everything happens in LA.”
In the front seat, Miranda rolled her eyes and muttered, “They adore your parents so much, they’ll probably end up in Cincinnati.” As the city veered closer, she began to murmur relatively gentle advice as to how best maneuver the car, but Andy clammed up at the prospect of city driving. Even on Christmas Eve, traffic entering Cincinnati had been nothing compared to this. By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of the girls’ father’s house, everyone’s nerves were raw. Nevertheless, as the twins gathered their belongings, they smiled at Lily and said, very politely, “It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Lily replied. “Really.” The ‘really’ was for Miranda. “Maybe your mom and Andy can take you by the gallery sometime. I’d love to show you around.”
Andy and Miranda got out of the car to hug the girls goodbye, and when they returned the interior of the vehicle felt eerily quiet. Miranda sank heavily into her seat. “He knew they’d be tired out. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see them?”
Lily cleared her throat. “That really sucks, Miranda. I’m sorry.”
Miranda nodded once, sharply. “It does. Thank you.”
Andy brought Miranda’s hand to her lips and kissed it before she pulled back onto the road. “I miss them too,” she said in a hushed voice. “They were wonderful.”
It was past midnight by the time Lily returned to her apartment and the car was happily relinquished to the able hands at Miranda’s parking service. They were nearly at the door of the townhouse when Miranda stopped suddenly, staring up at the massive building. “Could we stay at your place tonight?”
Andy grinned, “Yeah, sure.”
“We’d have to catch a cab—it’ll take awhile to get there—I’m sure you’re exhausted—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Andy assured her. She often wondered what prompted Miranda to do that—to present a request or state a desire, then follow it up with a list of reasons Andy might not go for it. It certainly wasn’t a habit she’d developed professionally; at the office, her wishes carried with them not a single alternative. Perhaps with Andy she needed to steel herself for possible rejection, compulsively providing her with options and ways out.
Andy did understand why Miranda wanted to go to the apartment. Aside from some photographs Cassidy had taken in Central Park, there were no real reminders of the girls there, which would make this first night of separation after the trip easier to bear. The apartment was a tiny studio she’d found after Nate moved out for good, and although the neighborhood wasn’t as safe as Miranda’s, the apartment itself was incredibly snug. They both loved Miranda’s house, but voices having a conversation in one room formed a stark contrast to the emptiness of the rest of the space. After growing used to more company, it would be difficult to make the house feel occupied. At Andy’s, whether they were making love or making dinner or making up after an argument, the feeling of whatever they were doing filled the entire apartment.
Climbing up four flights of stairs in heavy coats warmed them up from the brief but cold walk from the cab to the building, but the interior of the apartment felt freezing. “Oh God, I turned the thermostat way down before we left!” Andy rushed for the temperature control knob. “Apparently, this thing listens to my instructions every once in awhile,” she said ruefully, giving the knob an admonishing slap after she readjusted the temperature. “Let’s deal with suitcases later. Come on, I’ll run us a bath.”
The porcelain tub resting on cat feet was, hands down, the apartment’s best feature. It was much too large for the tiny bathroom, and the whole building may have been somewhat shabby, but excellent water pressure and temperature more than made up for the fine cracks in the ceiling and the outdated carpet. Andy and Miranda didn’t bathe together often, but when they did, Andy almost always sat with her back to Miranda, so Miranda could kiss her neck and play with her hair until she was calmed down after a long day. Tonight, however, Andy shed her clothes quickly and got in first, pressing her back against the end of the tub so there would only be one place for Miranda to fit. “C’mere,” she said softly, and Miranda stepped out of the last of her garments and settled into the water, her back pressed against Andy’s breasts, allowing herself to be cradled.
Andy leaned forward and kissed Miranda’s shoulder. “I’m so, so glad tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Me too,” Miranda said. “I’m going to make love to you all day.”
Andy laughed. “Lucky me.”
“You think I’m speaking figuratively, don’t you? I mean it. I’m going to wear you out.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Good. It’s settled.”
They were silent a few minutes, enjoying the heat of the water and the safety of being alone with each other. Miranda shifted in Andy’s arms, trying to work the tension out of her body. “I wish—” she started, and cut herself off.
Maybe Miranda wished she could have her daughters under her roof at all times. Maybe she wished she had relatives to visit at the holidays, a place to take Andy where she was proud of the people and was willing to withstand even the most extreme awkwardness. Maybe she wished she didn’t feel jealous when she thought about how much love Andy received from her parents, or when she remembered the way her own daughters had paid more attention to Richard than to her or the paintings at the museum the day before. Maybe she wished she wasn’t crazy enough to feel jealous on behalf of works of art. Maybe she wished she was younger, or less addicted to work, or less afraid of this—the bath, the night, the entire relationship—burning out and refusing to light up again.
Then Andy’s arms held her more tightly, fingers dancing lightly over Miranda’s abdomen and ribs and the undersides of her breasts. “Wish what, honey?”
“I—nothing.” Miranda closed her eyes. “You’re enough.”
She was.
And with that, Andy knew that she had no more use for compartments, at least not for categorizing relationships, for balancing demands on her time, for keeping track of how to be a daughter and a partner and several different types of friend. Compartments were for separating her costume jewelry from Miranda’s designer pieces, or keeping mashed potatoes from cranberry sauce since Caroline didn’t like them to touch, or for newspaper columns and file folders and date books. This small room, and really, any room of any size, was for loving.
hawkbehere because her good humor, vocabulary, and creativity are some of the best parts of this fandom. I also loved her prompt. The following is the part of the prompt I chose:Fanfic, truly preferably M/A but S/E are a second pairing I'm not averse to, as you might have guessed. NO ANGST that does not end well. Life is like that enough without reading it. :-)
Preferably something holiday-related.
I, too, would like to see the first Sachs parents/Priestly get together after the great reveal. Nothing like a May/December lesbian romance with two children attached to liven up a Christmas dinner! Again, I'd prefer it to end happily. But turkey or cranberry sauce can be thrown if need be.
Christmas is my favorite holiday and the Midwest is my favorite region of the United States so I was very excited to write a Christmas piece about a Midwestern homecoming. Christmas makes me joyful, but I tend to appreciate the melancholy "Charlie Brown Christmas Special" sort of Christmas story to any sort of schmaltz. Keeping HbH's "no angst that doesn't end well" request in mind led this story to turn into a constant battle between sappy ideas and Miranda's extremely pervasive depressive tendencies.
HbH, I truly hope you enjoy the story--and think it ends well enough. I hope you have had a wonderful holiday season!
xoxo,
chainofclovers
------
Title: Picking and Choosing
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: R, borderline M
Disclaimer: "The Devil Wears Prada" does not belong to me, nor would I desire such a thing.
Andy Sachs was absolutely sick of compartmentalizing love. She started doing it to appease her loved ones of all people, but something had to give. She had plenty of love, and reveled in it, yet there wasn’t a single room in which she could feel love in completeness. Love was scattered across a dozen rooms, in various houses and streets and cities and states, and she wanted a little cohesion more than anything else.
She had the love of her parents, Maureen and Richard, two people who nourished her and cared for her unconditionally. She had them to thank for her weird sense of humor, ability to trust people, and commitment to maintaining her own trustworthiness.
She had the love of her friends, most notably Lily Wilson and Doug Hamilton. She had them to thank for her thick skin and social confidence, ability to laugh at herself, and for helping her through the messiness of forgiving and being forgiven.
As importantly, as vitally, she had the love of Miranda Priestly, and the tentative but growing love of Miranda’s eleven-year-old daughters, Caroline and Cassidy. Before this love arrived, Andy had Miranda to thank for her dogged persistence, ambition beyond reason, and an interest in clothes too abiding to be considered shallow. By the time she left Runway she was obsessed with finding and eradicating those parts of herself, and eradicating Miranda in the process.
She’d been trying and failing at that mission for nearly a year when her boss at The Mirror sent her to interview a wealthy dog breeder for a fluff piece—pun barely intended—on “the ethics of pedigree.” At the request of the interviewee, the meeting took place in the Patron’s Lounge at the Met. Andy had arrived a few minutes early and headed to the ladies’ room to check her appearance after a ride on the crowded subway, glanced up at the mirror, and found herself staring at Miranda Priestly. Andy whirled around, unable to stop the “oh!” that slipped from her throat. Miranda glared at the sound, cold and smooth and quiet. They looked each other up and down, and Andy noticed that Miranda carried herself with perfect stillness except a trembling in her hands.
“Why,” Miranda said flatly, although it was a question. Andy understood Miranda’s unspoken specifics; they hadn’t spoken since the day she left Paris.
“Not now—I have an interview.” When she left the room Miranda remained frozen, staring at herself in the mirror.
They’d lingered an unnaturally long time at separate tables after Miranda’s lunch meeting and Andy’s interview were over. Miranda ordered tea even though she knew she wouldn’t like the taste any more than she ever did; Andy shuffled through papers and pretended to organize her interview notes even though every word the breeder spoke had been almost laughably inane. Then, as if on a timer, they both rose from their seats and headed back to the ladies’ room, where they proceeded to kiss each other viciously and thoroughly, pressed against the door of the corner stall. It was exactly as they had each been imagining frequently for months—neither initiating, neither forcing the other, neither submitting. Andy realized as she mouthed her way from Miranda’s jaw line to shoulder that for her, difficult as it was to admit in conscious thought, there had never been a question of whether or not this was going to happen. It was only a matter of where, when, and just how good it was going to feel.
“I asked you why,” Miranda gasped. The question wasn’t as scary when Miranda could hardly breathe, when tears were pricking her eyes.
Andy took a step backward and held Miranda’s hands in her own. Miranda didn’t pull away.
“You already know the answer,” Andy said quietly. “Look, I…I have to go back to work. I’m going to call you, um, tonight, all right?” Miranda nodded weakly. Andy’s heart was racing, but she believed herself for the first time in months when she added, “Everything is going to be okay.” Miranda nodded again, and didn’t let go of her hands.
Andy grinned. “Did you notice that the lady I was interviewing looked exactly like a cocker spaniel? She breeds them, actually.”
The tension snapped in two, and Miranda sniffed with reserved laughter. “I did.”
They let go of each other’s hands, and as Andy left the stall she repeated, almost prayerfully, “It’ll be okay.”
And it was okay. Better than okay. Over time their kisses lost their harshness, and although their start was shaky they could hardly keep their hands to themselves when they were in the same room. They managed to be honest with each other in bed and out of it, and decided quickly that the relationship was worth being honest with their friends, families, and a couple of reputable newspapers for good measure. They both continued to prioritize work a little too highly, Miranda worried a little too deeply that Andy was going to leave, and Andy was a little too skeptical every time Miranda said something kind, but they were wrapped—tangled, really—deeply in love, and escape was not an option.
For the first time in her life, good things were lined up for Andy in all directions: her friendships were regaining strength after the strain they suffered during her time at Runway; she felt genuine affection for and from her family; newsprint bearing her words was pumped into the city on a daily basis; two intelligent, curious children were beginning to invite her into their lives; and from Miranda she had care and warmth and plenty of sex to boot. So much passion made Andy feel ecstatic a great deal of the time, which was part of why it was frustrating that everyone she loved was so blandly cool and polite in regard to each other.
After getting over the initial shock of their daughter’s unconventional relationship, Richard and Maureen regularly asked after Miranda over the phone, but it was with the blasé yet uncomfortably formal tone one would use to ask after a particularly doted-upon pet hamster, or at most an unessential friend. “Oh, and how is Miranda Priestly doing?” “I assume Miranda Priestly is having a busy month?”
Lily and Doug were even worse. They never brought Miranda up, and if Andy mentioned her in casual conversation, they went quiet and wide-eyed, like well-behaved kindergarteners on a field trip, and the conversation suddenly wasn’t casual anymore. She suspected Doug’s response was partially reverence and that Lily’s was partially skepticism, but knew that both her friends were genuinely weirded out. She resented having to go out of her way to represent her relationship with Miranda as something mundane when it wasn’t mundane at all, just so her friends wouldn’t act like she had joined a freak show.
Miranda accepted without complaint Andy’s wishes to go out with her friends on a regular basis, but never expressed more than a superficial interest in their lives. “Stop worrying, just go to the bar with Lily—the girls and I will have a quiet night here.” “Sweetheart, of course the lunch with Douglas should be at your apartment. Although, come to think of it, I have a morning meeting that’s going to run long, so I’ll be eating at the office. You two will have more fun without me.”
For a few months, Andy made due, letting her friends and family and lover have as much of her as they could without having to truly acknowledge each other. It was better than being shunned or isolated, but exhausting nonetheless. She told herself she’d be acting like a spoiled child if she demanded more. Wasn’t it enough to have so many lovely people populating her world? It wasn’t, and it was wearing on her, but she tried to pretend otherwise.
Everything changed on a single evening about a month before Christmas, when Lily, Miranda, and Maureen communicated with Andy with such perfect timing that they unknowingly communicated with each other in the process. Lily left Andy a stressed-out voicemail bemoaning her difficulties in making plans to return home for the holidays, as there was no way she could afford a plane ticket to Cincinnati. Miranda nonchalantly mentioned over dinner that she was going to take a few days off around Christmas for the first time in years, despite the fact that Christmas was rather embarrassing, despite the fact that she was the most secular Jew imaginable, despite the fact that her children had stopped believing in Santa Claus when they were six years old, because she sensed such a thing might be important to Andy. Maureen sent an email demanding that Andy decide right away if she was coming home for Christmas, since she missed her daughter terribly and hadn’t seen her since the summer. Clearly, Andy needed to exercise extreme care in putting the rest of the puzzle together, but the pieces had been handed to her and she would have been a fool to ignore the chance.
She tackled Miranda first. Miranda who had said the other night, apropos of nothing, that being with Andy made her feel like a fish who had developed gills after a lifetime without proper breathing. Yes, she froze up after she said it and would hardly speak or make eye contact for the remainder of the night, but Andy cherished the words. Tonight, Andy took a few deep breaths of her own and began, “You know what would make me happier than anything? A car trip…”
Bolstered by her initial success, which had required only a few minutes of serious talking interspersed with a few of even more serious kissing, Andy phoned her mother next, playing to Maureen’s ideals of duty and hospitality and unconditional love: “I want to bring Miranda and the girls for Christmas. I just want them to see how amazing you are, and to show you how amazing they are, and I’ve already talked to her about it so it would be really awkward if you said ‘no’…”
With Lily, presentation was everything, and Andy was determined to see her plan through to fruition. She dialed Lily’s cell and barely got past the helloes before delivering the news: “Guess what? You’re going to Cinci for Christmas after all. Miranda and I are driving in her car, with her kids, and you can catch a ride! It’ll only be a few days so you’ll be able to get right back to work, and it’ll be really fun, I promise…”
***
“I’m so glad we’re all on this trip together,” Andy said for what had to be the fourth or fifth time since the start of the journey. It was barely mid-morning on Christmas Eve, but they’d been on the road for several hours. Despite seldom having driven since moving to New York, Andy looked and felt comfortable behind the wheel of Miranda’s silver Mercedes. Miranda rode shotgun, and Lily, who had been very quiet all morning, was crammed in the backseat with Caroline and Cassidy. The girls had books with them—books Andy had purchased for them in a regular store with regular money, books that had been in print for years—but had been oddly content to stare out the window thus far. Andy continued, “I mean, it’s just really exciting to have you all heading back to Cincinnati with me.”
“Yeah, we’re excited too, Andy,” Caroline said, although her response carried less energy than the first few had.
Miranda turned her attention to the backseat, and was surprised but pleased when she and Lily made amused eye contact with each other. It was obvious that Andy was trying hard to make the trip pleasant for everyone—Miranda had nearly died of shock upon realizing it would take about eleven hours of driving to reach their destination—but her expressions of excitement were starting to feel like overkill.
Miranda pulled a stack of contact sheets from a recent photo shoot out of her bag and spread them out across her lap.
“Mom! You promised! No work on this vacation,” exclaimed Cassidy the instant the photos came into view.
“This isn’t the vacation, this is just travel time,” Miranda feebly protested.
“This is a car trip, so the travel time is an extremely important part of the vacation. We’re going to be in the car almost as long as we’ll be in Cincinnati,” complained Caroline.
Andy added, “You did promise, Miranda.”
Only Lily remained quiet on the subject. Inwardly, she grimaced. She wasn’t surprised that Miranda would try to sneak in some work, and although she was glad to have an ally in her against Andy’s excessive cheeriness, she wished she would honor Andy’s wishes and pay attention to the family dynamic Andy seemed so desperate to construct.
Miranda sighed, stacked up her work, and put it back in the bag. They rode in a silence that the travelers experienced with varying levels of discomfort until Andy pulled off the road to get gasoline. Lily practically bolted from the car, ready to find the bathroom and a few moments to herself. Andy had certainly fallen in with a high-strung family, she thought to herself. When Andy headed into the convenience shop after pumping the gas, Miranda seized the moment to impart some last-minute pleas to her daughters.
“I’m sure it isn’t necessary for me to say any of this, but you must be on your absolute best behavior for the next three days, all right?” Two small nods. “Even if everything about Andrea’s house is different than you’re used to, or if you don’t like the food her parents cook or people you meet or anything, you are going to be perfectly polite and appreciative. No mischief. No rudeness. Is that clear?” The girls’ nodding grew more emphatic.
“We get it, Mom. You want us all to look good for Andy’s parents,” Caroline said.
“That’s part of it, yes. Just remember that it is imperative that this visit is a success. I want you to enjoy yourselves, just not at the expense of anyone else. Ah, Lily and Andy are coming back. Let’s see about the facilities in this place.”
As Miranda and the kids got out of the car, Andy worried that she was going to hear complaints about the filthiness of gas station bathrooms, for the children’s comfort if not Miranda’s own. Miranda glanced curiously at the bulging plastic bag in Andy’s hands, but didn’t say a word about the dinginess of the circumstances as they crossed paths.
When everyone was back in the car, Miranda held up the bag of kettle-cooked chips that had been placed on the seat in her absence. “What is this?”
As she replied, Andy grinned at Caroline in the rearview mirror. “This is a car trip, sweetie. It’s common knowledge that calories consumed in the car don’t count, so eating junk food is another extremely important part of being on the road.”
“It isn’t even noon.”
“Well, I know for a fact you like those. Remember watching the movie last week? You kept sneaking them.” Miranda had rolled her eyes when Andy showed up at the townhouse at a planned date and time but with an entirely unplanned DVD of An Affair to Remember, an enormous bag of chips, and a hopeful smile. She refused Andy’s offer to share the snack, but as the film went on seemed to develop an appetite. Too proud to officially reconsider, she opted for a covert mission, and she saw Andy’s eyes glazing with tears as the perfect opportunity to grab a chip or two. “I was crying my eyes out, and you were just happy about the chance to eat my potato chips.”
“Oh,” Miranda said loftily. “You noticed.”
Caroline and Cassidy shrieked with laughter, and Lily couldn’t hold back a grin. Miranda sniffed, but a few minutes later the bag of chips opened with a loud pop, and it was Andy’s turn to smile with her eyes in secret.
The hours passed slowly, but the girls kept insisting on seating changes that worked in Andy’s favor. When seated next to Miranda in the back seat, Lily was shocked to field a string of educated questions her gallery work. She managed to eke out a few brief but apparently interesting answers, which provoked more questions, which prompted answers of increasing naturalness and depth. Soon the five of them were alternately conversing and napping and choosing radio stations with a normalcy that gave Andy hope.
Andy’s heart thrilled as the ground gradually flattened and the hills and forests gave way to fields and endless sky. She glanced into the mirror to look at Miranda, who at this point was sitting between two sleeping girls, her own eyes wide open and her lips pressed tightly together. It was almost surreal to see Miranda’s head against the Midwestern landscape, the farmland punctuated by tufts of trees. Everything about their life in New York, except for some of the larger rooms in the townhouse, was cramped and bright and chaotic. Ohio could be bright, but recognizing it took a sharper eye. Andy realized with a start that she was going to be incredibly hurt if Miranda said anything—anything—dismissive about her home state. She turned to Lily. “Back in Ohio. Beautiful, huh?”
Lily shrugged. She loved her family but wished she had space to host them in the city this year. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure I miss my mom a whole lot more than the Midwest, but whatever.”
It wasn’t long before they pulled into the city limits. Traffic was a little congested, but once inside the city it was easy to navigate Lily’s drop-off, Miranda’s return to the front seat, and the relatively short drive to the Sachs’ house. Andy slowed into a halt in the driveway and let out a quick sigh as she eyed the familiar, two-story brick house with dark green shutters. She grabbed Miranda’s hand. “This is it.”
“Mmm.” Miranda’s eyes were even wider than earlier; Andy had never seen her quite like this. Andy wondered if she was nervous, and realized she probably was. Miranda glared her way through board meetings, influenced a season’s worth of creativity with the tilt of her head, demanded excellence but assumed the worst, and cultivated a reputation that got immediate results. She couldn’t rely on any of that here, not if she wanted the Sachs to understand that their only child was in a relationship with a human being rather than some supernatural force of evil and destruction. Openly assuming the worst certainly wouldn’t motivate Richard and Maureen to give her a pleasant surprise, though she could assume in secret all she wanted.
Nothing could have prepared Andy for her parents’ expressions as they opened the front door and stood shivering on the front porch to greet their guests. Smiles were pasted on their faces, but their eyes darted from Miranda to Andy to Caroline to Cassidy as if unable to believe these people were actually standing in front of them. Andy glanced at Miranda and the girls and saw similar glints of distrustful awe—the only difference was that smiles, even smiles strictly relegated to the mouth, hadn’t made it to any of their faces. Andy snapped to action, making quick work of the introductions and joking weakly that it was freezing outside, and they should really head into the house before catching their death of colds. Never mind that Andy had always scoffed at the idea that merely standing outdoors in the wintertime could make one sick—she had no control over what was coming out of her mouth, and would have to be forgiven for sounding so quaint and banal.
Before letting everyone in the house, Maureen stepped forward and held Andy in a tight embrace. Her arms went to the girls next, who seemed taken aback but willing to participate simultaneously in an awkward hug. Andy winced as her mother headed for Miranda, who proceeded to turn the intended hug into the world’s shortest embrace or longest arm pat, depending on the angle.
As the group made their way inside, Richard started grabbing at luggage while Maureen launched into a chattering speech that taught Miranda a great deal about the origins of Andy’s nervous vocal tendencies. “I do hope the drive wasn’t too unpleasant, I’m sure you’re used to planes…Andy’s always been very romantic about the car, though, haven’t you, sweetie? Caroline, Cassidy, you’ll stay on the pull-out sofa in the den. My sister always says it’s quite comfortable.” The girls squealed in excitement, which prompted a genuine grin to spread across Richard’s face. These kids might be the offspring of his daughter’s weird, rich, kind-of-old girlfriend, but they were clearly real children. “My goodness, you each have a suitcase—here, Richard, just stick them right beside the sofa for now. Let’s see, Miranda, you’ll be staying in Andy’s room, I mean, obviously, everyone’s grown up here. Obviously.” She glanced at Miranda, who was maybe five or six years younger than she was, and glanced at the girls, who weren’t very grown up at all, and broke into nervous laughter.
“Mom!” Andy cried, and heard in her voice the sound of herself as an embarrassed teenager. She forced herself to calm down, but before she could trust that she’d banished shrillness from her tone, her father managed to transcend the awkwardness and derail Maureen’s speech by doing something extremely cool.
“Miranda,” he said, eyebrows raised slightly. “Let me fix you a drink and show you and the girls around the house.”
***
“If your parents don’t approve of our relationship, why are they being so nice to me?” Miranda asked bluntly. She and Andy were alone in Andy’s room at last, having stayed up late decorating cookies with the family, losing stamina for the project, and watching the girls finish decorating the batch. Miranda perched on the edge of Andy’s bed, wearing conservatively cut silk pajamas in a deep shade of evergreen. She turned her head to face Andy, making no move to join her under the covers.
Andy didn’t respond right away, wondering where to start when there were so many reasons. “I can’t believe you would ask me that question when you’re famous for doing the same thing.”
“Doing what?” Miranda’s voice was sharp.
“Maybe nice isn’t the right word. But you can be very cordial to people when you don’t quite approve of them, or if you’re not sure if you do yet. Calm. It’s kind of scary.”
“You’re absolutely right that it’s scary. It’s also completely different. When I do it I have every intention of communicating my disapproval. With your parents…the disapproval is there but it’s malleable, as if they’re suggesting I could change their minds. And an outsider might not even sense it.”
“Well,” Andy said, resigned to the discussion. “They’re good people—that’s not to say you aren’t, I mean, it’s just—they’re, you know, really gentle people. And they’re Midwesterners, so they’re wary of bullshit but nice about their wariness. Not that us being together is bullshit, of course—I’ve made sure they’re clear on that much—but I know they’re concerned about everything that could go wrong. Still, it’s Christmas, and they want everyone to feel happy. Right now, ‘everyone’ includes you and it certainly includes me.”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not they like me.”
“Yes it does,” Andy narrowed her eyes a little, staring into Miranda’s. “It matters to me—a lot. And it matters to them, because they worry about me.” She paused, measuring the worth of continuing. “I think it matters to you, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
Miranda sighed. “It’s been a long day. I’m very tired.”
“Me too. We should get some sleep. The girls will probably want to start Christmas about as early as I always did.” Andy pulled back the covers and Miranda scooted into the open spot. “Why are you wearing such buttoned-up pajamas?” Andy asked in mock-complaint. “You’re completely covered.”
“If you must know, I consider myself lucky I’m not on a sofa bed in the middle of the living room. I couldn’t really visualize this trip when I was packing.”
Andy laughed, and Miranda chuckled with her. “This room is technically the guest room, but it’s pretty well-preserved. My mom says I’ll always have a space here—I mean, you heard her refer to it as my room even though I haven’t lived here for over seven years. And honestly, we’ve all been too lazy to really clean it out.” She reached for the nightstand and turned off the lamp.
They laid in the dark for a few minutes, positioned awkwardly far apart, before Miranda said suddenly, “I’m not used to any of this. Even the notion of returning somewhere over and over, preserving a space. When I left my parents house I’m sure it wasn’t a week before my room was turned into something unrecognizable. Part of it was that they needed the space I’d been taking up because my sister’s children were moving in, but everything I left behind was thrown out or put in the attic by the time of my first visit back. It was like—like vacating a bathtub or something, and watching the water just close up behind you as if you hadn’t been there at all.” Andy took her hand. Gill confession aside, she’d never heard Miranda speak in this way. “This house is full of paintings from your art classes and your photographs on the walls and row after row of photo albums. There are signs of you everywhere. I remember being a little younger than you are now, back in that house for one of the last times, and feeling so appalled at my family’s lack of physical memory.”
“Just because your family didn’t know what you needed doesn’t mean they didn’t love you.”
“I know they loved me. But it wasn’t enough.”
Andy gripped her hand more tightly. “I love you very much.”
“I know. I love you too.”
***
There was no luxury quite like time in abundance, and the hours that made up Christmas Day stretched endlessly before them. Everyone was gathered in the living room by half-past eight for presents, coffee, and hot chocolate for the twins. A light snow gained momentum outside, the stuff of Lifetime movies and, sometimes, actual happy Christmases.
In the weeks leading up to their trip, Caroline and Cassidy had refused to tell Andy what they were bringing her family for Christmas. Andy worried that their presents would be unintentionally overly extravagant, and breathed a nearly silent sigh of relief when she watched her parents open a lovely, charcoal grey tea set the girls had glazed themselves during a ceramics unit at school. Andy brought a biography of Zelda Fitzgerald for her mother, the latest John Grisham for her father, and Miranda gave Richard a Movado wristwatch and Maureen a cashmere sweater. “Thank you so much,” Maureen said, brevity having been restored to her senses after a good night’s sleep. “We love everything.”
Richard strode over to the Christmas tree and retrieved four nearly identical packages wrapped in shiny red paper. “Andy, Miranda, girls, you should open them at the same time,” he said. As they ripped into the paper, Miranda and Andy turned to each other, slightly gape-mouthed but trying to hide it. Photo albums—black leather-bound for the adults, soft pink suede-bound for the twins. It was as if Andy’s parents had been listening in the night before.
Maureen smiled. “We thought about getting one for all of you to share, but it occurred to us that everyone likes to remember things a little differently.”
“Thank you!” said Cassidy, and the others nodded, clearly moved. “Maybe I can take a few pictures of everybody before we leave.”
“There are a couple more things under the tree,” Miranda pointed out. “Caroline, you’re closest.”
Caroline pulled out two small packages and handed one to her sister. She read the tag out loud and grinned, even though she didn’t know what was inside. “‘Merry Christmas! Love, Mom and Andy.’ Mom, this is your handwriting.”
Miranda grimaced at the thought that seeing her own handwriting on a gift tag was a novelty to her daughters. “Just open it, darling.”
The girls tore into their package and were delighted to find Wii games—Mario Kart and Super Smash Brothers. “We packed the Wii system in our luggage, so you can hook it up later,” said Andy.
“How about now?” Cassidy asked, and everyone laughed.
Maureen had never played a video game before. For the rest of the day, whenever she wasn’t occupied with cooking, she could be found in front of the TV, waving the Wii exuberantly as she lost game after game.
The day passed slowly but the hours didn’t drag. At four in the afternoon, it could have been two p.m. or eight o’clock at night. Maureen delegated cooking tasks to everyone in the house, and the crowded kitchen felt sloppy and comfortable. Andy wanted to laugh when she saw Miranda hunched over a cutting board piled with vegetables, frowning in concentration as she chopped carrots into tiny, uniform cubes.
The holiday was spent in such deliberate, almost studied calm that it was nearly a surprise when everyone realized it was late at night and started getting ready for bed. They moved slowly to separate rooms, hazy with the mixed sensation of games and snow and comfort food. Miranda kissed the twins’ foreheads after they had pulled on pajamas and settled into the pull-out bed. “Merry Christmas, girls.”
“Merry Christmas,” they replied in unison.
“Do any of our sofas do this?” asked Cassidy.
“Tragically enough, no,” Miranda said as she turned out the light. “Goodnight.”
She made her way through the darkened house toward the kitchen, eager for a glass of water followed by some time alone with Andy. Richard stood at the kitchen counter with his back turned, drying dishes, and he jumped when she entered.
“I’m sorry,” she said demurely. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Richard set down his dish towel and turned to face her head on. “That’s all right,” he said. After a pause, he continued. “Miranda—I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something.”
“Yes?”
He took an audible breath. “I suppose I might as well jump right in. Being a parent, I’m sure you know the feeling of loving your children so much that you would quite literally rather die than see them hurt. When Andy was younger, I hated to see her ill or injured or damaged in any way. But I’d guess you and I both understand that there are a lot of different ways of getting hurt. And I’m certain you understand what I mean when I tell you that I do not want to see her disappointed.”
Here was the malleability, the thing Richard’s eyes had been promising her. She wanted to say, desperate but truthful, that she would die for his daughter too, that the only people in the world she would definitely, without a doubt die for were her daughters and his, but she was scared he would refuse to believe it. Miranda swallowed. “I understand you perfectly. And I think you should know—I imagine you already do know—that Andrea and I have disappointed each other deeply in the past, and will very likely continue to do so from time to time into the future. That being said, I don’t think I’m capable of hurting her in the way you suggest. From the beginning I have known that if either of us were going to leave this relationship, it would be her.”
Richard stared at Miranda. “If you could hear the way she talks about you…I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that anytime soon.”
“I see.”
“Andy’s had a lot of disappointment in her life. She’d say she’s fine…she always says she’s a very lucky person. And she is. But certain events in the past two years”—and here he paused to stare even more intently—“have taken their toll on her. You’ve played a part in that stress and pain.”
She wanted to admonish him for confusing the professional with the personal, for presuming to know how his daughter felt about the past, but stopped herself from taking the conversation in that direction. She knew how ridiculous it would sound to imply that their private lives and working lives hadn’t been muddled from the beginning of their acquaintance. They had been muddled beyond recognition. Besides, Richard had seen and heard his daughter acting out of distress. Miranda might have been able to kiss and hug and soothe that distress out of Andy’s most vivid memories, but she couldn’t do the same for Andy’s father. Miranda could remember in great detail problems and illnesses and arguments that had long since faded from Caroline and Cassidy’s conscious minds, and she imagined Richard was in a similar position. Except in his case, Miranda was part of the problem. “Yes. I have. And I have no intention of hurting her again. I appreciate very much that you have welcomed me into your home in spite of our history.”
A grin softened Richard’s face very slightly. “I think we understand each other, Miranda. Perhaps better than before.”
“I imagine so.” Miranda plucked two glasses from the counter and filled them with water.
“You should go in to Andy now, I think. She’s probably wondering what kind of torture I’ve been carrying out down here.”
“Not at all, Richard. Goodnight.” She walked to the doorway, and on impulse turned back to him before she rounded the corner to the hallway. It was her turn to stare. “I’d do anything for her.”
***
Miranda’s cheeks were pink and her lips were quirked into a smile as she rushed into the bedroom. The smile widened when she discovered that Andy was already in bed with all the lights off except a small lamp on the nightstand. “Are you okay?” Andy asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Miranda set the water glasses next to the lamp. “What’s that in your hand?”
“Oh, this?” Andy feigned nonchalance. “Oh gosh. This is actually, um, a mix CD I made when I was sixteen. I was just poking around in my closet and it happened to be near the top of one of the boxes, and…”
“What’s the significance?”
Andy laughed the particular laugh she saved for self-deprecation. “It’s a make out mix. Lily and I made them at the same time, and hers was all boy bands and shit she’d never in a million years listen to now, and mine was mostly Riot Grrl stuff and it’s still awesome. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s still awesome. Anyway, the CD itself is already in the boom box. This is just the CD case.”
Miranda rushed across the room, hit the play button on a clunky stereo system embellished with glittery decals of hibiscus flowers, and stretched out on the bed just as Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein’s voices began to fill the room.
Miranda raised her eyebrows, and Andy sighed. “One of the great tragedies of my existence is that I was a little too young for Riot Grrl. As an active movement, that is. Musically, Sleater-Kinney is timeless.”
“I can assure you, I missed it completely.”
“Never too late,” Andy mumbled, just before Miranda’s lips covered hers and their fingers locked together and they pressed tightly against each other’s bodies. Miranda disengaged the fingers of her right hand moments later, needing to run her hand over Andy’s hip and waistline and breasts. She stroked through Andy’s shirt and felt Andy moan against her mouth, softly but not so soft as to be perfectly prudent. “Ssh,” Miranda said, grinning so Andy knew she didn’t intend to embarrass her.
“Sorry. It’s just—I’ve never actually made out to my make out mix before.” Perhaps the confession should not have turned Miranda on as much as it did, but her head was still reeling from the conversation in the kitchen, and now there was all this noisy music and the precious knowledge that this moment wasn’t an altered duplicate of anything in Andy’s past. All this was theirs, early and late and messy.
Andy clutched at Miranda’s hair and shoulders, unable to focus on one attribute for more than a second or two. Miranda pulled her head back, gulping for air. She grabbed Andy’s hand and brought it to the waistband of her trousers. “It wouldn’t take much at this point—” she managed, eyes pleading, and that was all Andy needed to work the zipper and run her fingers over the silk of Miranda’s underwear. She rubbed through the cloth, feeling the material moisten, amazed at how little time it took for Miranda’s gasps and whimpers to collect into one unified cry. She was a bit too loud, but Corin Tucker was conveniently louder, and Miranda wasn’t over her orgasm before she had her hand shoved down Andy’s pants. “I need you,” she whispered raggedly. “Andy. I need you.”
***
The sunlight was bright and sharp on the day after Christmas. Snow clung sloppily to the bushes that outlined the front of the Sachs’ house, and large, greenish-brown patches of lawn were starting to show through the white that had accumulated just one day prior. It was the last full day in Cincinnati, and Andy began to get the feeling she got every single “last day in Cincinnati” since Thanksgiving vacation during her first semester of college. It was equal parts melancholy and relief: the sadness of leaving the comfort of so much loving familiarity, and the gladness of returning to a life that was exactly hers.
The Sachs family rarely gathered for breakfast on ordinary days, but as if to commemorate the visit or to make some gesture of closeness, Richard threw together omelettes, hash browns, and coffee on the morning of the 26th. He cooked the eggs quickly on high heat so as to prevent discrepancies in time and temperature from splintering the breakfast into factions.
Part way through the meal, which had been enjoyed in companionable quiet, Miranda suddenly spoke. “Caroline, Cassidy—the Cincinnati Art Museum is open today. I’d like to take you if we have a free afternoon. There’s a Tissot I want you to see.”
The girls looked less than enthused at the thought. They enjoyed their art classes at Dalton and had been to the Met plenty of times, but playing on the Wii and sampling more of Maureen’s cookies sounded far more appealing than Tissot on the day after Christmas.
“I’ll go too—it’s been a couple years,” Richard said, seeming to surprise himself. Andy and Maureen shared a grin.
“Cool! We’d love to go!” Caroline said, and Cassidy nodded along with her. The burst of uncharacteristic enthusiasm surprised no one: Richard might have been suspicious of Miranda, but had not been cautious about her daughters in the slightest. They were drawn to his easy, generous warmth, the likes of which had never quite been present in their own grandfather’s manner during the rare visits he made to Manhattan before his death.
Andy didn’t go to the museum. She’d been a million times on field trips and with her family, and before leaving New York, Andy and Lily had made plans to meet for a Boxing Day coffee at their favorite place on Ludlow. It didn’t feel like a visit home without going there at least once. Andy drove to pick Lily up in her parents’ car and headed immediately to the café. They sat down with their steaming mugs of coffee on a couch at the back of the establishment, and had hardly settled into the cushions before Andy said with a smirk, “So, my father’s at the Cinci Art Museum with my girlfriend and her kids.”
Lily laughed. “Does that seem weird to you?”
“Yeah—weird, but not bad. Not as bad as it could be. Not nearly as bad.”
Lily nodded slowly. “Good. Your dad’s a cool guy. I bet the kids like him.” She didn’t wager a guess as to Miranda’s thoughts on the matter.
“They do, I think. I’m pretty sure they really like it here.”
They talked about each other’s Christmases for awhile: the awkwardness and wondrousness of family, how it felt to be in Cincinnati after having been so wrapped up in New York for months, and how early they should leave in the morning, considering Miranda’s first ex-husband wanted the children dropped off at his house that evening. Suddenly Lily stopped chattering about gas prices and wondering aloud whether or not it would be rude to offer to pay Miranda for gasoline. Her face grew serious. “I knew when you asked me to come on this drive that you genuinely wanted me to get home for Christmas, but I also knew there was more to it. This trip has been what you wanted, right? You feel good? It’s been okay having us all sort of mushed together like this—some kind of casserole of your life?”
“Of course! I feel really good about it.”
Lily took a deep breath, and stared into her half-full mug of coffee. “I should have been better about all this sooner. I think I assumed the ‘you’ of ‘you and Miranda’ was somehow fundamentally different from the ‘you’ I’ve known since seventh grade. I was really worried about the trip down here. But it was okay. My assumptions turned out to be pretty off base. I should have bothered to find out more from the instant I knew you two were together.”
Andy cut in. “It’s okay, Lily, it’s a lot to get used to, and I can’t blame you for—”
“No. You’re right that was a lot to get used to, but it shouldn’t necessarily have been, you know? I should’ve been excited for you, and, like, protective of you but not seriously protective…she does make you happy, right?”
“Yes. She really does.”
“And it isn’t just that you’re making her happy—that making her happy makes you happy?”
If she and Miranda had run into each other even a month or two sooner, it might have been true. It was Andy’s turn to take a deep breath. “Honestly?”
“I’d accept nothing less.”
“Honestly…I don’t think she’s happy very often. I know she’s glad to be with me and loves me and everything—which does make me feel happy, of course—and I think our relationship is a good thing. I know she thinks that too. She says so. But—” her voice dropped to a very quiet murmur. “Miranda is a pretty fucked-up person. I know other people see that all the time, in all sorts of ways—but I see it too. She makes things hard for other people, but what I recognize and they don’t is that she also makes things very hard for herself. And I know she’s been fucked-up for a long time. Like, since she was a kid.”
Lily didn’t know what to say, but her face was open and Andy realized she could continue, that maybe she was sitting with the only person who could really listen about something like this.
“I guess what I mean is—she actively, intentionally shares her life with me and does things that make me happy. And I actively, intentionally do things that make her feel okay, and sometimes happy, as often as I possibly can. And that works for us. It’s definitely the kind of thing where we both have to give a lot and sacrifice a lot to keep going. It took me awhile to realize that I’m not a huge failure if she doesn’t magically start feeling great all the time. Her loving me makes me hugely, enormously happy. And my loving her is something she needs to be marginally all right, although I think she does feel happy a lot more often than she used to. So it’s basically experienced really differently for each of us, but it's somehow reciprocal. Does that sound totally crazy?”
“Honestly?” Lily asks.
“I’d accept nothing less.”
“Yeah. It does sound a little crazy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t approve, okay? I’m sorry she isn’t a happier person. That”—she stumbled over her words a little bit. “—it must be hard for you.”
Andy sighed. “It is. I mean, I obviously wish she was happier—all the time. She’d probably be a lot more diplomatic in the workplace. But she’s all right. And she’s really great to me. Really giving and warm and, well, gorgeous, and—” She blushed.
“What? Go on!”
“Never mind,” Andy said quickly, embarrassed.
“No, what?” Lily grinned. “Tell me tell me tell me tell me…”
“Last night…I don’t know what it was, but she seemed a lot more relaxed than she’d been during basically the whole visit, and after the girls went to bed we fooled around and, um—” She covered her face with her hands.
“So she’s…good at what she does?”
“Oh my God. Ridiculously good. The best.” Andy blushed even deeper, glad their couch was in a relatively secluded part of the café.
They laughed together, and for a little while words passed between them the way they had in high school and college, when almost everything about their lives was new except for each other. They talked until late in the afternoon, when they both realized they should get home for one last dinner with their families.
***
Due to grogginess and goodbye embraces that were far warmer and lengthier than the rather stilted welcome, the drive the next morning didn’t begin quite as early as expected. It had been dark for hours by the time the New York skyline glittered in the far distance. “Thank the Lord,” Lily said with a snort. “Home!”
“I thought Cincinnati was your home,” said Cassidy.
“It is. But it’s the home I didn’t pick. New York is the home I chose. When you pick a new home for the first time, you’ll understand.”
“I’ll choose New York, I think,” Cassidy replied.
“Not me,” countered Caroline. “Everything happens in LA.”
In the front seat, Miranda rolled her eyes and muttered, “They adore your parents so much, they’ll probably end up in Cincinnati.” As the city veered closer, she began to murmur relatively gentle advice as to how best maneuver the car, but Andy clammed up at the prospect of city driving. Even on Christmas Eve, traffic entering Cincinnati had been nothing compared to this. By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of the girls’ father’s house, everyone’s nerves were raw. Nevertheless, as the twins gathered their belongings, they smiled at Lily and said, very politely, “It was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Lily replied. “Really.” The ‘really’ was for Miranda. “Maybe your mom and Andy can take you by the gallery sometime. I’d love to show you around.”
Andy and Miranda got out of the car to hug the girls goodbye, and when they returned the interior of the vehicle felt eerily quiet. Miranda sank heavily into her seat. “He knew they’d be tired out. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see them?”
Lily cleared her throat. “That really sucks, Miranda. I’m sorry.”
Miranda nodded once, sharply. “It does. Thank you.”
Andy brought Miranda’s hand to her lips and kissed it before she pulled back onto the road. “I miss them too,” she said in a hushed voice. “They were wonderful.”
It was past midnight by the time Lily returned to her apartment and the car was happily relinquished to the able hands at Miranda’s parking service. They were nearly at the door of the townhouse when Miranda stopped suddenly, staring up at the massive building. “Could we stay at your place tonight?”
Andy grinned, “Yeah, sure.”
“We’d have to catch a cab—it’ll take awhile to get there—I’m sure you’re exhausted—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Andy assured her. She often wondered what prompted Miranda to do that—to present a request or state a desire, then follow it up with a list of reasons Andy might not go for it. It certainly wasn’t a habit she’d developed professionally; at the office, her wishes carried with them not a single alternative. Perhaps with Andy she needed to steel herself for possible rejection, compulsively providing her with options and ways out.
Andy did understand why Miranda wanted to go to the apartment. Aside from some photographs Cassidy had taken in Central Park, there were no real reminders of the girls there, which would make this first night of separation after the trip easier to bear. The apartment was a tiny studio she’d found after Nate moved out for good, and although the neighborhood wasn’t as safe as Miranda’s, the apartment itself was incredibly snug. They both loved Miranda’s house, but voices having a conversation in one room formed a stark contrast to the emptiness of the rest of the space. After growing used to more company, it would be difficult to make the house feel occupied. At Andy’s, whether they were making love or making dinner or making up after an argument, the feeling of whatever they were doing filled the entire apartment.
Climbing up four flights of stairs in heavy coats warmed them up from the brief but cold walk from the cab to the building, but the interior of the apartment felt freezing. “Oh God, I turned the thermostat way down before we left!” Andy rushed for the temperature control knob. “Apparently, this thing listens to my instructions every once in awhile,” she said ruefully, giving the knob an admonishing slap after she readjusted the temperature. “Let’s deal with suitcases later. Come on, I’ll run us a bath.”
The porcelain tub resting on cat feet was, hands down, the apartment’s best feature. It was much too large for the tiny bathroom, and the whole building may have been somewhat shabby, but excellent water pressure and temperature more than made up for the fine cracks in the ceiling and the outdated carpet. Andy and Miranda didn’t bathe together often, but when they did, Andy almost always sat with her back to Miranda, so Miranda could kiss her neck and play with her hair until she was calmed down after a long day. Tonight, however, Andy shed her clothes quickly and got in first, pressing her back against the end of the tub so there would only be one place for Miranda to fit. “C’mere,” she said softly, and Miranda stepped out of the last of her garments and settled into the water, her back pressed against Andy’s breasts, allowing herself to be cradled.
Andy leaned forward and kissed Miranda’s shoulder. “I’m so, so glad tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Me too,” Miranda said. “I’m going to make love to you all day.”
Andy laughed. “Lucky me.”
“You think I’m speaking figuratively, don’t you? I mean it. I’m going to wear you out.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Good. It’s settled.”
They were silent a few minutes, enjoying the heat of the water and the safety of being alone with each other. Miranda shifted in Andy’s arms, trying to work the tension out of her body. “I wish—” she started, and cut herself off.
Maybe Miranda wished she could have her daughters under her roof at all times. Maybe she wished she had relatives to visit at the holidays, a place to take Andy where she was proud of the people and was willing to withstand even the most extreme awkwardness. Maybe she wished she didn’t feel jealous when she thought about how much love Andy received from her parents, or when she remembered the way her own daughters had paid more attention to Richard than to her or the paintings at the museum the day before. Maybe she wished she wasn’t crazy enough to feel jealous on behalf of works of art. Maybe she wished she was younger, or less addicted to work, or less afraid of this—the bath, the night, the entire relationship—burning out and refusing to light up again.
Then Andy’s arms held her more tightly, fingers dancing lightly over Miranda’s abdomen and ribs and the undersides of her breasts. “Wish what, honey?”
“I—nothing.” Miranda closed her eyes. “You’re enough.”
She was.
And with that, Andy knew that she had no more use for compartments, at least not for categorizing relationships, for balancing demands on her time, for keeping track of how to be a daughter and a partner and several different types of friend. Compartments were for separating her costume jewelry from Miranda’s designer pieces, or keeping mashed potatoes from cranberry sauce since Caroline didn’t like them to touch, or for newspaper columns and file folders and date books. This small room, and really, any room of any size, was for loving.
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Date: 2009-02-04 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-04 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-04 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-05 04:48 pm (UTC)I just love Sleater-Kinney. They were one of the first "cool" bands I really got into, early in high school.