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It’s hot and humid. Andy smells rain on the wind. She sees the dark thunderhead of the oncoming storm forming on the horizon and she knows it won’t be long until the storm reaches them. Her fingers absently twist the rings she’s put on a necklace around her neck.
“It’s been two and a half months. Maybe it’s time you talked to her.”
The words startle Andy. She didn’t hear the door to the porch open and close.
She tries to ignore her mother’s weighty gaze as she accepts a glass of lemonade. She drinks long and deep before turning to look at eyes so like her own. She feels one eyebrow arch as she stares pointedly back simultaneously questioning and defensive and completely unsure why she’s either.
Margaret Sachs’ mouth turns up at the corners and she shakes her head. “You’re just like her sometimes.”
Andy frowns. That isn’t something she finds particularly flattering. She makes a displeased noise in the back of her throat and looks out at the redheads chasing a soccer ball around with her father. “I still don’t know what I should do,” she says slowly, her fingers playing with the condensation on the glass. “Some days I wake up and I know this, right now, isn’t how I wanted things to go and I’m certain I could live without her…without them…” Her voice hitches and her heart aches. “…if I had to. If I chose to.” She puts the glass down on the railing and wipes angrily at her eyes. It shouldn’t still hurt this much. “And most days I just miss her, miss them,” she waves in the direction of the girls, “miss us…so much.”
Margaret turns to lean on the railing, her gaze on her husband and then further off at the forming of the thunderstorm. Silence stretches between them, not uncomfortably but full of all the things yet to be said.
“When you were little,” she starts, her voice soft, her mind far away in the past, “we hit hard times financially. We still lived close enough to mom that she offered to take care of you and I went to work.” She pauses but doesn't look at Andy. Her body is rigid and her gaze is unfocused and far away.
Andy shifts her gaze between her father and mother and wonders at the feeling of dread that grips her as her mother speaks. Something is off in the way her mother won’t look at her and the way her normally relaxed and calm demeanor is rigid and closed off.
“Richard was working as much overtime as he could. And when we were home together, there was you and the house and the bills and life.” She sighs and shakes her head trying to dispel the memories. “Somewhere along the line we were too tired to do it all. And, we stopped talking. Stopped communicating. Stopped being intimate.”
Andy snorts in amused disgust, “Mom!”
Margaret half turns to Andy and smiles. But it’s strained and pained. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Andy sobers immediately, her heart trembles in her chest at the guilt in her mother’s eyes.
“I don’t mean sex,” she sighs again, her eyes not able to keep contact with Andy’s, “though that did sort of fall by the wayside, too. I mean emotional intimacy, non-sexual physical intimacy. We just stopped being a couple and became two strangers living together that shared a child.”
Andy doesn’t comment, doesn’t interrupt. She feels the words deep in her bones, their accuracy piercing through her skin. She grips the railing and tries not to let what she’s hearing change her perception of the world.
Margaret takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “It feels like it all happened to different people. That it wasn’t us.” She shakes her head. “The days turned into weeks, which turned into months. And I was lonely. And Richard wasn’t there, even when he was present.” Her eyes stay fixed on the horizon. The storm is moving quickly and growing larger with each mile. “I was lonely,” she repeats, her voice cracking on the words. “James was always around at work, always complimentary, flirtatious even. Kind. And there. Simply present with me.”
Andy’s eyes are on her father. Anger and disappointment wash through her so quickly, so strongly, she sways where she stands. “Mom,” Andy shakes her head, the words barely escaping her mouth through the tightness of her throat, “I don’t think I want to know this.”
“And I don’t want to tell you,” Margaret says so softly Andy almost misses it, “but I think it’s something you need to hear.”
Andy closes her eyes and holds the railing in a white-knuckled grip.
“I knew it was a mistake before we did anything. But it felt like the worst mistake of my life after…”
The words punch Andy in the gut, leaving her breathless. And, inexplicably, she feels Miranda’s betrayal keenly slicing through her again. She sees clearly in her mind Miranda’s lips on that model—even if there was nothing afterwards, Miranda still touched someone else—still meant to hurt her with that knowledge. And, she feels her mother’s betrayal of her father in the same way—sharp and hot and devastating.
“How long?” Andy’s voice is emotionless, brittle as it leaves her mouth.
There’s such a pregnant pause that Andy thinks her mother won’t answer. And, maybe that’s better. Not knowing is better. But a shamed, guilty whisper reaches her ears and it makes a painful jolt run through her being.
Three months.
The knowledge makes Andy sick. She turns away. She can’t look at her mother.
“Mom,” it comes out like an accusation, a plea, a pained exclamation, “how could you do that to Dad?” She forces herself turn back to look at her mother. Margaret looks as devastated as Andy feels. “Why?” The question is sharp and wounded.
Margaret wants to close the distance between them and erase the pain this is causing Andy, but she closes her eyes and doesn’t move. “No reason is good enough to satisfy those questions.”
“Why tell me now?”
Margaret reaches to touch Andy’s shoulder, and tries not to let hurt consume her when Andy shrugs out of the touch. “Because, whatever choice, whatever mistake Miranda made is hers alone.”
The storm is upon them.
It darkens the whole sky.
Richard and the twins run toward them as the first drops of water begin to fall. They bound up the steps with loud feet and excited, happy chatter. Margaret and Andy automatically turn to face them, trying to pretend there isn’t a sudden rift between them.
Richard’s smile is wide and happy as he comes over and kisses Andy's head affectionately and then Margaret’s cheek. He looks between his wife and daughter and his brow furrows, his smile dimming. “How about some ice cream and movies?” He exclaims, already trying to usher the twins inside, trying to let whatever is happening on the porch play out.
“God, Richard, we’re practically grownups,” Caroline grouses playfully, sticking her tongue out at him, “we don’t do that kid stuff anymore.”
“Hey,” he stops in the middle of the porch, hands over his heart, “grownups like ice cream and movies, thank you very much.” He turns his face back to Andy and Margaret, smile still spread widely across his face, more for pretense now than anything else. “Right, honey?”
Margaret nods and tries to smile back. “Of course we do.”
“See,” he sticks his tongue out at the girls. Their laughter follows them inside. He stops at the door and looks back at them, smile gone, eyes searching Margaret’s. But, she shakes her head slightly and he follows the girls inside without argument.
Silence fills the porch again, fills every crevice in the space between them.
“You are not responsible for her actions,” Margaret eventually breaks the silence. She picks up the glass on the railing. She doesn’t reach for Andy again. At the door she stops but doesn’t turn to face Andy. “Whatever she did, that’s hers to carry. Those consequences, those memories, that guilt are hers to bear. But, you do have a choice to make…and that’s yours alone.”
The door closes behind her mother with a quiet click. Thunder rolls in the distance and the smell of wet earth is heavy in the air around her. And Andy’s heart aches and aches and aches.
Caroline and Cassidy carry dinner conversation almost entirely. Richard interjects where necessary, but mostly he looks between his wife and daughter trying to find a way to bridge this new and unsettling distance between them.
Andy can sense his discomfort and reaches out to pat his hand. She smiles at him, trying to make it reach her eyes, mouthing it’s fine, Dad.
A loud knock at the door causes quiet to fall over the table. When it comes again, everyone at the table looks down at their plates except Andy.
“Okay,” she’s already standing from her untouched dinner to answer the door, “I guess I’ll get that.”
At the start of a third knock, Andy opens the door wide without looking through the peephole. She stares for several seconds, not finding any words. Blood rushes in her ears and the hard thud of her heart against her ribs is painful.
“Miranda…” Andy stares at her and Miranda stares back.
“Hello Andrea,” Miranda says softly, each syllable filled with longing. Her eyes soft as they regard Andy.
“What are you doing here?” Andy is trying to process the fact that Miranda is in front of her.
Miranda clears her throat and averts her gaze just past Andy’s shoulder. “You weren’t expecting me?” At Andy’s confused no, her eyes close and she shakes her head, seems to shake her thoughts. “I thought I was invited.”
Andy’s mind races to piece an explanation together. “The girls?”
Miranda hums in agreement. “Since I am not expected tonight, after all, I’ll be back to collect the girls in the morning.”
“Hey,” Andy reaches out and clasps Miranda’s hand, stopping her from turning and walking away. There are two things Andy notices immediately: Miranda’s hands are cold and she still wears her wedding ring. They both look down and stare at their clasped hands between the threshold of the door. Andy finally looks up into Miranda’s face. “You shouldn’t be out in this downpour. Come inside.”
Miranda doesn’t say anything but walks in and takes off her raincoat and boots at the door.
Andy watches Miranda move into the living room. She fidgets. Her eyes looking and not looking at Miranda.
She’s inexplicably nervous and off balance, discomfort swirls in her belly and she wipes her hands on her jeans to help lessen the clammy feeling of them. She almost jumps at the clap of thunder and the bright shock of lightning flashing across the windows of the living room. Andy shakes herself and tries to focus on something other than Miranda.
But in her frantic search for something to look at beside the woman that has occupied so much of her conscious thought, Andy notices Miranda’s socks. It’s such a small, simple thing to see Miranda wearing the gag gift she’d given her months ago. Miranda had told her she should wear them when she wore normal-people shoes. Andy didn’t really think she ever would. When Miranda isn’t in heels, she likes her feet bare. She likes the feeling of the wood floors of their home under her feet. But, here she is in her parents’ home, feet in green socks with white cats all over them. Intense homesickness unexpectedly grips Andy. She turns away from Miranda.
Andy takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Her mind whirls in dizzying circles. She forces it to slow down and latch onto a single thing. “I thought the girls were staying for another week,” the lift of her voice at the end makes it a question.
When Andy turns back to Miranda, she finds blue eyes staring at her intently. Not measuring, exactly, just looking. Appreciating, maybe. A flush crawls up the back of Andy’s neck. How did she forget how flattering Miranda’s singular regard is?
And those eyes—so blue they seem to glow in the low light surrounding them. Memories flicker in quick succession across Andy’s mind, each of blue, blue eyes burning into her. But the moment that her mind stops on, gets stuck on, is the one where Miranda is kneeled in front of another woman, her blue eyes boring into hers intensely over another woman’s naked thigh…
Every emotion of that moment comes back to Andy. She feels it all viscerally. Every cell in her body relives the anguish of that sliver of time. All the acrid taste of betrayal. All the devastation of heartbreak. All the shame of the arousal that swirled low in her abdomen. Because Miranda had been on her knees, her hand gripped tightly around a thigh, and her blue eyes blown black practically screaming sex across the space between them.
“…if they want to.”
Andy misses most of what Miranda has said. She turns away again and pinches the bridge of her nose. “What?” Her voice is too sharp, too pointed.
“Caroline and Cassidy,” Miranda repeats slowly, voice low and placating, “have several things to do before their senior year starts.” Miranda’s sudden proximity makes Andy turn in surprise. “But, if they want, they’re allowed to stay until the beginning of the school year.”
Andy nods but still doesn’t understand. Her breathing is too fast. Miranda is too close. The room is too small.
“Andrea, are you alright?” The question is a soft puff of words on Andy’s face. Miranda’s hand on her shoulder breaks her out of her stupor.
“Don’t touch me.” Andy flinches out of the touch.
Miranda’s features crease in displeasure but quickly smooth out to impassivity. She nods, sharp and short, her eyes hidden. She takes a step back.
“The girls,” Andy ignores everything they aren’t saying, “didn’t say they had prior responsibilities.”
“Yes, well,” Miranda sniffs, not looking at Andy, “it seems they wanted to get us together in the same room.”
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Miranda sighs. Andy can feel the sharpness of her displeasure but doesn’t know how to do anything but prickle in response.
“Girls,” Miranda doesn’t raise her voice but it carries across the room.
Caroline and Cassidy appear with sheepish smiles. “Hi, Mom.” They wave in their perfect synchronicity.
“I’ll give you guys a moment,” Andy says, already halfway across the room.
Her parents stand at the edge of the dining room, faces drawn and guilty.
“What the hell?” Andy looks at her dad; she can’t look at her mom. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
“We thought it might be a good idea for you both to talk,” Margaret says, stepping closer.
Andy raises a hand to stop her mother. “You don’t get to make that decision for me,” her voice is low, angry. “You’re not even a very good decision maker for yourself.” The words are jagged and raw as they leave her mouth. Too much. She shouldn’t have said them. She doesn’t look at her mother.
Her father’s eyes widen and his jaw sets angrily, in defense of his wife. “Andrea,” his tone is full of warning.
Andy cringes. That inflection of her name is all wrong coming out of his mouth. It’s time to leave before she loses everyone she loves.
Raised voices pull the three of them from their unspoken argument to the living room.
“Hey, hey,” Andy placates, her hands reaching for each girl. “What’s going on?” They allow the touch, calming slightly, before moving away from both Andy and Miranda.
“Nothing,” Caroline’s voice has a hard edge, modulated but cutting, “just our world going up in flames.” She crosses her arms and stares hard at her mother. “Again.”
“Young lady,” Miranda seems in no mood to indulge whatever her daughters are doing.
“What, Mom?” Now Caroline’s voice is loud, her eyes angry, the tilt of her head defiant. “Andy’s not coming back if you don’t talk to each other.” Desperate eyes turn to Andy. They are so young and so lost. “Just be adults.” She hesitates and takes a deep breath. “Just fucking talk to each other.”
Miranda’s whole demeanor hardens and she seems to grow larger in the room even though she doesn’t move beyond the narrowing of her eyes. Caroline unconsciously takes a step back.
Andy’s head pounds and her heart aches. This isn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Not so messy and so angry and so full of unretractable words.
“That isn’t your decision to make,” Miranda’s voice is loud in the quiet of the room.
Stubbornness and defiance make Caroline regain her footing. She points angrily at herself and then Cassidy. “Why don’t we get a say in what happens to our family?” Her voice is high and shaky. Tears pool at the edges of her eyes. “What about us?”
Miranda deflates, her heart crumbling in the face of her daughters’ pain.
“Sweethearts,” Miranda’s voice trembles, “of course what you think matters. What you want matters.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Cassidy's voice joins the conversation. She isn’t shouting, her words are soft and clipped, so much worse than shouting. Anger is better than defeat. Defeat from a child’s mouth sounds like hopelessness. “If it did, you’d be better, Mom.” Miranda blanches and Andy almost reaches out to try and lessen the blow Cassidy landed squarely on Miranda’s chest. But, she doesn’t know how to lessen Miranda’s pain anymore. “And Andy…” Blue eyes, so like her mother’s, stare unblinkingly at her. “Andy, you’d care enough to stay.” Caroline clasps Cassidy’s hand. “We’re tired of people coming in and out of our lives. We need someone who knows how to stay.”
The words twist a knife in Andy’s heart. Her eyes sting and her throat is painfully tight. She swallows down the urge to cry.
Tense silence fills the room. It’s suffocating.
“Come home with us. Or don’t,” Cassidy’s voice cracks. “But, decide. It’s torture to be in limbo.” Tears are running down Cassidy’s cheeks and her eyes plead with her. Please come home.
Andy's broken heart cracks even further.
“Come on, Cas.” Caroline tugs on Cassidy’s hand.
The rain pelting against the windows and the boom of thunder are the only things that disturb the absolute silence that descends on them when the twins leave the room.
Andy presses the heel of her hands harshly against her eyes. Tears leak out around them anyway.
“What a long, shitty day,” her voice wavers on every word. She scrubs her palms over her face. She won’t let herself fall apart. “Where are you going?” Her words stop Miranda halfway to the door. “You’ve never run from a damn thing in your life.” Andy watches her with red rimmed, angry eyes. “Except me.” There’s a bite to each word. “We’re still married. I think we can figure out how to sleep in the same room without much difficulty.” Andy looks at Miranda to see how deeply her words are managing to dig. “You might even get a little more action than sleep.” Andy clicks her tongue. “But only if you don’t run away like a coward.”
Miranda’s eyes flash with fury, and hurt. She hates to be mocked. “Fuck you.”
“That’s where Caroline got that language from.” Andy tsks. “And it’s not me you’ve been fucking,” she continues without inflection, almost casually. It isn’t entirely true. Andy knows that; she believes Miranda. But it’s where it hurts Miranda the most. So it’s where she presses the hardest. “You and Mom could start a club,” she huffs out a half hysterical laugh, “Wives Who Fuck Other People.”
Miranda’s jaw clenches tightly and a vein pulses violently across her temple. Margaret grips the edge of the couch hard enough the leather squeaks under her fingers, but she says nothing.
“That’s enough, Andy,” Richard’s voice bounces off the walls of the room. He pulls her into the kitchen. He grips her shoulders firmly.
Andy knows she’s reacting badly. But her chest is cracked open and she doesn’t know how to keep all the pain and resentment from pouring out. She looks up into her father’s blue eyes expecting anger and disappointment. The empathy, the understanding, shreds through Andy’s anger. She feels the sob start deep in her belly before it escapes her mouth in silent agony.
He wraps his arms around her, and she clings to him. “That’s enough, sweetheart.”
Andy closes the door quietly behind her. The muted light from the lamp on the nightstand casts the room in soft shadow.
“You stayed.” Andy’s chest tightens when her eyes land on Miranda.
“It seemed inadvisable to leave,” Miranda replies, her voice soft, all the anger seeped out of it. Her eyes watch every step as Andy approaches. Andy sits next to Miranda at the foot of the bed. They sit thigh to thigh, touching for the first time in almost three months. “Or as Dr. Weaver would say a really bad fucking idea.”
The name is immediately familiar to Andy; she had been the one to give her the name years ago when Miranda suffered from nightmares. Andy has so many conflicting emotions about so much between them, but in this moment, hearing Miranda speak as openly as she knew how about seeing a psychiatrist, all Andy feels is pride. She is so proud of Miranda for going to seek help. For trying.
Andy even ignores the insistent sadness of why she waited until after Andy left to start trying. That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that Miranda is taking care of herself. And, that is good, regardless of the reason that drove her there.
In recent conversations, Nigel mentioned Miranda has been taking time off. That’s a shock in and of itself. That Miranda has also been trying to mend bridges, leaves Andy speechless. By the warmth in his voice during those conversations, Andy knows that Miranda has definitely mended some things with Nigel. And, despite her anger at Miranda, Andy feels warmth spread through her at the fact that Miranda isn’t isolating herself from the people that love her anymore. It is good…it is good…it doesn’t matter if that warmth turns cold at the edges and twists painfully when she remembers Miranda hasn’t reached for her.
“I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay,” Miranda interrupts gently. “From what I gather, today had been a trying day, even before my appearance further complicated the situation.”
“A surprise, but…” despite everything I’m happy to see you Andy wants to say but doesn’t. This space is new and strange, it is and isn’t them. They haven’t spoken openly about much of anything in a lot longer than three months. Instead of speaking the words aloud, Andy places her hand just above Miranda’s knee and squeezes lightly.
Miranda looks down at the hand. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers, her eyes not quite meeting Andy’s.
Andy moves her hand an inch higher. The hitched breath that escapes Miranda’s mouth is as thrilling as the admission of being missed. Andy wants Miranda to keep making little surprised sounds. She wants to forget how broken they all are. She wants to forget all the pain and heartache.
She wants to feel good and not think beyond the moment. And Miranda can make her feel good. Andy moves her hand up another inch and feels a shudder go through Miranda.
“Is this follow through to what you said earlier?” Miranda mouths against Andy’s cheek, half-serious in her question.
“Maybe.” Andy turns her head, facing Miranda fully. They’re so close that when they breathe their lips brush and then not, and back and forth. Their mouths are open and ready to turn the almost kisses to actual ones. With the hand not holding Miranda’s thigh, Andy trances her fingers up Miranda’s arm. She stops at the back of Miranda’s neck, her nails pressing in just like Miranda likes into the soft tissue. Her lips curve up and her smile keeps bumping onto Miranda’s parted lips. The soft breaths against her lips start coming faster. She licks her lips, too close to Miranda’s face not to lick her lips too, and yes that is definitely a moan caught in the back of Miranda’s throat. Heat settles low in Andy’s belly, sharp and sweet and wet.
Miranda’s hands grip where they land on Andy, one hand firmly squeezing her waist and other her forearm. She trembles in Andy’s arms but doesn’t make any moves to press them closer. She just holds on.
Andy finally moves her hand up to cradle the back of Miranda’s head, her fingers carding through the thick, white hair. She holds them both there, suspended a few millimeters away from each other, before she pulls and that distance disappears.
The low moan that escapes between them is Andy’s. Their lips press and press and press until Andy feels the pressure of them on every nerve ending on her body. She feels alive and wanted. She pulls them closer, the fingers in Miranda’s hair tightening.
She straddles Miranda, pressing them back into the mattress. She kisses the surprise off Miranda’s face. Her hips grinding into her abdomen seeking any sort of friction.
“Fuck me.” Andy’s lips kiss across Miranda’s jaw to where her bone stops. She sucks on the spot below her ear just hard enough to cause Miranda to shiver.
Andy pulls back and sits up, straddling Miranda again. She doesn’t look down into Miranda’s eyes. She can’t. She doesn’t want to see what she might find in them. Instead, her eyes follow her hands as they tug Miranda’s shirt out of her pants.
“No,” Miranda stops her hands, “no, we shouldn’t.” Her breathing is short and quick, she’s trying to regain her composure. “Not when you’re still so angry and so hurt,” she pauses and searches Andy’s eyes, “and so sad.”
The words wash over Andy like ice water. She wants to be angry that Miranda is leaving her wanting, that she’s rejecting her. But, mostly Andy is embarrassed she started this. Mostly, she’s grateful she won’t have one more regret in the morning.
She climbs off Miranda and sits on the edge of the bed, her back to the other woman. “Please don’t touch me,” she says when Miranda’s hand lands on her shoulder, “it’s too much or not enough.” She takes in a stuttering breath. “I don’t know. But, it makes something in my chest break.” She touches her sternum and says very softly, “I think it’s my heart.” The touch disappears. “I feel too much or nothing at all.” She sighs, she has nothing else left. “I’m just tired. So, so tired.”
Miranda doesn’t respond. She doesn’t follow Andy as she stands up and walks out of the room.
“Andy,” Richard calls softly.
“Five more minutes, Dad,” Andy mumbles, automatically turning away from the sound of his voice and pulling the blanket over her head.
He smiles. He wishes they could all go back to a simpler time when five extra minutes is all it took to make the day start better. He sits next to Andy, pushing her against the back of the couch. She huffs under the blanket. “Can I entice you with donuts and coffee?”
Andy pushes her head out of the blanket and opens bleary eyes at Richard. Her eyes make a slow sweep of the room. “You lie,” she accuses, grumpy he’s such a morning person, “I don’t see any coffee or donuts.” She starts to slip the blanket back over her head. “The sun isn’t even all the way up yet. Go away, Richard.”
Andy smiles under the blanket at the laugh that pulls from her father. His hand squeezes her shoulder gently. “Come on, beautiful girl, we have to talk.” His words are as gentle as his touch, but they still make an anxious flutter erupt in her chest.
“Dad, it’s too early for serious conversation,” her voice is muffled and petulant from under the blanket. She wants to block out reality for a little while longer.
“We’ve always had our best talks in the morning.” Richard stands and tugs at the blanket.
“Only because I’m too tired to give coherent responses,” she grumbles but sits up, “and you basically talk the whole time.”
He drops a kiss to her forehead. Affection wells up inside Andy’s chest.
“Come on, I’ll take you to that little Polish donut shop.” He folds her blanket and puts it away as Andy gets herself ready.
Rain hits the metal of the car in a symphony of soothing sound. The storm is passing. The rain falling now is a soft, gentle misting more than actual rain. The thunderstorm had passed sometime in the night. The sun is breaking through the clouds. It won’t be long until the rain stops completely.
The little donut shop is full of customers even so early in the morning. But even had there been a place to sit, they wouldn’t have stayed there. Richard drives them up to the place he used to take Andy to watch the stars. It has always been their place.
He stops the truck under a large rock outcropping that shields them from the rain. He unlatches the tailgate, and they sit and eat in companionable silence.
“This coffee is terrible,” Andy smiles into the cup, “definitely not good enough to have gotten out of bed for.”
“We can’t all be up to New York standards,” his words are muffled behind his bite of donut. He stuffs the rest in his mouth before finishing off his coffee. “Though I think maybe your rich lifestyle has ruined your sensibilities.” He winks and smiles at her.
“Dad, this coffee has always been awful. You’re the one who always complains about it,” she bumps his shoulder before finishing her donut.
“But the donut is the best you’ve ever had,” he says with certainty.
“Yeah,” she indulges him anyway.
Richard watches her, his eyes warm and full of love. “Sometimes the best things come coupled with the worst things.”
“Richard Sachs,” she laughs, “you did not drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn, in the rain, simply to make that analogy.”
Richard laughs with her. They sit there chuckling until they both sober. “No,” he looks up into the rainy day, “it just seemed like the perfect segue into what we’re really out here to talk about.”
Andy sighs and looks at the horizon. She isn’t sure she’s ready for any more conversation. Everything is too raw, too exposed.
“The world doesn’t end,” Richard shrugs, “it feels like it should. It feels empty, sucked of warmth, too big and too small at the same time. But, it doesn’t end.”
Neither of them look at each other. His words sound as raw as Andy feels.
“It just ends for you. And you never, ever forget the pain of that moment.” He sighs heavily.
“Dad…” Andy understands.
He shakes his head. “Your mother told you what she did to help you understand that betrayal like that isn’t anyone’s fault but the one doing the betraying.” Richard's warm hand covers Andy’s. “But she’s wrong.”
Andy shakes her head. She doesn’t understand.
“The choice she made was a mistake, yes,” he says, pained even all these years later, “but all the choices up to then, we both made.”
Andy looks over at her father. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t make decisions in a vacuum when you’re in a relationship, sweetheart,” he says, “especially not in a marriage. What one of you does always affects the other.” His eyes move back to the sky. “We stopped talking, stopped communicating, stopped being intimate.”
Andy shakes her head, a sad smile on her face. “You both sound so much alike. How did you forgive her? How did you move on from that?”
“It wasn’t easy, until it was.” He smiles at Andy, his blue eyes sincere. “I left, you know, like you have.”
Andy didn’t know, of course. They never told her, and she would’ve never guessed they’d had such a terrible break. Even knowing now, she almost doesn’t believe it. Her father loves her mother; and she knows, has seen it every day of her life, that her mother loves her father.
“I left with you.” His eyes look faraway, lost in memory. “And with my heart broken, renting a horrible little room, taking care of my daughter while trying to maintain us afloat financially, I realized something. I had forgotten Margaret.” His face scrunches and his eyes mist over. “In all the time after you were born, in all the time after she got a job, in all the moments we were together but I wasn’t present with her. Somehow, this person that I loved with all my heart had become an object to me and not a person.” He wipes his eyes. “And I kept shelving her for things I thought were more important.”
Andy’s stomach tightens in uncomfortable knots. “That doesn’t mean she should’ve cheated on you, Dad.”
“Perhaps not,” he agrees easily, “but the question remains: would she have done so if I’d been present with her?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think she would have. Our succeeding thirty years of marriage are good evidence to the contrary.”
“It doesn’t change what she did,” Andy’s voice is pointed, still angry at the knowledge.
“It doesn’t.” He nods, eyes sad. “I never said it wasn’t complicated. Only that putting things in perspective allowed me to see I was at fault, too. It made me realize I had only two real choices. I could leave and cut all ties with her, barring you, of course. I would’ve never kept you from knowing your mother. Or I could forgive her, go back, start over, and never lord that mistake over her.”
Richard moves closer to Andy and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I agonized over it. And when I finally reached the conclusion that I still loved Margaret, even though she had hurt me so deeply, I made a promise to myself to never throw that betrayal in her face. I would let it go completely or I wouldn’t go back. Our lives would’ve been too miserable otherwise.”
“Have you kept that promise to yourself?”
“Yes,” he squeezes her shoulder. “It’s only your mom that ever brings it up. I think she carries that guilt with her, even though she doesn’t have to.”
“She should,” Andy says without thinking.
Richard kisses her forehead and holds her to his chest. “No, sweetheart, she shouldn’t. It was a mistake. One she would erase if she could.” Andy’s heart aches at the words. “Don’t be so hard on her. And don’t forget she’s your mother.”
Shame burns through Andy, the words from the previous day play loudly in her mind. “I shouldn’t have said those things to her.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Richard’s voice is gentle. “Remember that she opened up a part of herself to your judgment and scrutiny knowing she didn’t have to, knowing it might change your relationship, all to help you.”
“It’s a lot,” Andy confesses into his chest, knowing he understands she means more than just her mother.
“I know, baby,” he says slowly.
Silence stretches between them and Andy feels safe cradled to his chest, hearing his strong, steady heartbeat.
“You know what else you never forget?” He asks, his voice more a rumble than words. “You never forget the good times. You always remember the dizzying feeling of falling in love the first time, and the second time, and the third time when you didn’t know it was possible to fall even more in love. You always remember the shared accomplishments. The mundane moments made sublime simply because you’re doing them together, with each other.”
She smiles against his chest. He reminds her in that moment so much of when she was growing up and he was teaching her the stars with poems and words as much as with science.
“Like I already said,” amusement colors his tone, “good donuts sometimes come coupled with bad coffee.”
Andy snorts out a laugh. “Really, Dad.”
He pulls her back and takes her face in his hands. “Life is a mix of good and bad, Andy,” he smiles but his voice is serious again. “The good doesn’t always take the sting out of the bad, but the bad certainly doesn’t diminish the good. It’s a balancing act. Find your balance.”
She kisses his cheek. “When did you get so smart?”
His eyes twinkle. “I think just this morning.”
They stare up at the sun. It came out when they were looking the other way.
“Whatever choice you make,” Richard says, his face still inclined to the sun, “your life has to keep going. You’ve been here for almost three months. It’s time to go back out into the real world, sweetheart. With or without Miranda. You can’t stop your life here.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replies. She has been thinking about that, too.
“And, you should talk to Miranda. I think it might help with all the things you're struggling to come to grips with.”
“I will.” A promise.
Richard’s warm hand covers hers, helping her to her feet. He closes the tailgate. “I will always, always be here for you. In whatever capacity you need me to be.”
Andy nods. Love swells in her chest.
For the first time in a long, long time, she thinks, perhaps everything will be alright.
I release you.
Andy finds the note and Miranda’s wedding ring on her nightstand.
She reads and rereads the three words in Miranda’s scrawl. Her chest feels caved in and hollow.
She thinks and thinks. Searches herself for the answer. For the balance her father talked about. But, she’s off kilter and unmoored. The rings in her pocket feel too heavy.
“It’s been a long week, hasn’t it?” Margaret asks, placing a glass of lemonade on the table in front of Andy’s chair. It’s hot, but the breeze is cool and carries the scent of fall.
Andy hadn’t heard her mother open the door to the porch, but she’s been expecting her for some time. “Eternal,” her voice is tired but amused.
Margaret turns to go back inside.
“Hey, Mom,” Andy calls her, “come sit with me for a bit.”
Her mother sits, back rigid against the chair.
Andy sighs. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bratty bitch.” Margaret startles at the words, turning to stare at Andy. “The man whose opinion matters on the subject forgave you ages ago. He also reminded me that you’re my mother who is due respect. And mostly, that you love me.” She tilts her head toward her mother. “I think he’s right.”
Margaret shakes her head but she relaxes into the chair.
“I am sorry, Mom,” Andy reaches out across the table and takes her mother’s hand, “I’ve said a lot of things I shouldn’t have said. It’s certainly not my place to judge you. Especially not for something that both you and dad have moved on from.”
“It’s okay,” Margaret’s smile is tremulous but full.
“It’s not, but it won’t happen again,” Andy promises.
They sit in the first comfortable silence since last Saturday afternoon. Andy drinks her lemonade and Margaret watches Richard cut the grass. It’s comforting how easily things can fall back into place if they’re allowed to.
“What, um,” Andy fiddles with the glass, eyes staring at her dad, “what made you go back to him?”
Margaret considers the questions carefully. “Several things,” she begins slowly, “I still loved him. There was you and my desire to have us be a family. But, mostly, I think it was that he came back to me. I don’t think I could’ve ever chased him. Not when I had hurt him so badly. In my mind, if he didn’t come back to me, he certainly wouldn’t want me to go looking for him.”
The simplest answer has been right in front of Andy, but it isn’t until Margaret says it out loud that it presents itself to her so plainly. Miranda is waiting for her to come home. She had come to her parents’ only at the prompting of their daughters who insisted Andy had invited her.
Miranda isn’t going to chase Andy; but she is waiting for her in plain sight, exactly where Andy had left her.
“Of course,” she almost laughs at how absurdly complex she has been making things.
“You’ve made a decision,” Margaret states more than asks.
“Yeah,” Andy nods, “I have.” She looks at her mom. “You guys give me hope, you know,” she gestures toward her dad, “that given enough effort, a break, even a deep one like ours, can be mended and strong, even at the broken place.”
Andy inserts the key in the lock and turns. It gives easily and she closes the door behind her once inside the townhouse. The security code hasn’t changed. She half expected the locks and access codes to all be different.
But nothing has changed in three months. Everything in the house is the same. Everything feels the same. If Andy closes her eyes, she can imagine she has just come home from work, just come back from grocery shopping, or just come in from her usual jog.
Tears sting her eyes and she isn’t entirely sure why. Except maybe the overwhelming fact that the Priestly household has baited its breath for three months waiting for her to come home.
And that’s what Andy feels: at home.
Her fingers trace over everything she passed on her way upstairs. She is acclimating herself to the space. Remembering.
She stops to peek into Caroline’s and Cassidy’s rooms. They are sprawled out on their beds fast asleep. Andy smiles. She will come back and speak to each of them when they wake up.
Anxiety grips her when she stops in front of Miranda’s bedroom door. Their bedroom door, she corrects herself. It flutters like lead butterflies in her stomach and makes her feel sick. She sucks in a breath through her nose and releases it slowly through her mouth. She repeats that twice more.
With shaking hands, Andy turns the doorknob. The door opens quietly and smoothly. She steps into the room, her heart in her throat. She remembers the last time she was in this room. She expects that horrible feeling of defeat to overwhelm her. But the familiar scent, the familiar placement of furniture, the familiar feel of the room calms her. She closes the door quietly behind her.
The bed is empty. Andy’s eyes move slowly through the room. And there, curled in her gray bathrobe, seated on the settee facing the windows, is Miranda, her eyes focused on the sunrise coming into view.
And Andy is suddenly transported to a different room, in a different country, in a different time. There will be no talk of divorce this time around. Andy’s heart beats harshly in her chest, but not out of anger or fear, simply because of the possibility of happiness.
She knows Miranda hears her approach but she doesn’t turn from the window.
“Darling, is everything alright?” Her voice wafts to Andy’s ears.
Andy lets her hand fall on Miranda’s shoulder and traces down until she clasps her hand and kneels in front of her. “The girls are asleep. I suspect they’ll sleep for a few more hours still,” she says softly, looking up into stunned blue eyes. They are dry but red-rimmed. Andy idly wonders how many nights Miranda has cried herself to sleep.
“Andrea,” she shakes her head, in wonder, in shock.
“Hello, Miranda.” Andy smiles at the press of a hand to her face. She turns into it and kisses Miranda’s palm.
“You’re here,” Miranda’s voice cracks, “you came home.”
Andy nods. She swallows around the tightness of her throat. “I came back to you.”
The embrace is unexpected, but Andy stands to balance their tilting equilibrium. She holds on to Miranda as tightly as Miranda is holding on to her. Andy feels the uneven breaths on her neck and the hot pinpricks of tears falling on her skin. She squeezes Miranda tighter.
Miranda pulls back. Andy wipes the tears from her face gently, reverently. She can count on one hand the number of times she has seen Miranda cry. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
“You’ve got a great advocate in my father.” She kisses Miranda’s forehead.
“Remind me to send him a nice car,” she says, her eyes closed and face tilted toward Andy.
Andy smiles widely. “Maybe just a really good coffeemaker. Good donuts sometimes deserve good coffee.”
Miranda looks at Andy cautiously, not sure what is acceptable to say to that.
“Just an analogy he made,” Andy waves it away, smile still firmly in place. “He doesn’t need a car. Just a thank you next time we go see them.”
“Next time, certainly,” Miranda’s voice is soft and her eyes are warm and full of hope.
Andy pulls out her rings from her pocket and places them in Miranda’s palm. She closes Miranda’s fingers around the rings and has her retake her seat. Andy sat next to her.
Miranda looks at her closed hand uncertainly before looking over at Andy.
Andy pulls Miranda’s ring out of her pocket and holds it in her hand before closing her fingers over it.
“I don’t want you to release me,” she says slowly, clearly. Her brown eyes are soft and unguarded. She lets Miranda look and look and look until she is satisfied. Her gaze softens further. And Andy wonders how she ever doubted this woman loves her.
“We do need to talk,” she continues. “I need to explain some things. And, I want you to explain what you meant the night before I left.” She swallows, her heart flutters in her chest. “I want us to go see Dr. Weaver together, at least once a week until we don’t need to anymore. And I want us to be honest with each other. Always.”
Miranda nods. “I can do that.”
“Is there anything you want?” Andy asks trying to not just ask and take and not reciprocate.
“Stay,” Miranda says without hesitation. “Just stay with me.” She reaches for her, tentative and unsure. “Please.”
“I intend to,” Andy takes Miranda’s hand, immediately and automatically answering the need in Miranda’s voice. She entwines their fingers, and that simple touch of reassurance and connection eases and settles her.
They sit staring at each other, unsure where to start. Or who should start. All the things Andy had wanted to say leave her mind and she’s surprised she got as much out as she already has.
Andy takes a deep breath. “I’ve missed you.” Miranda’s smile is small but pleased. “I didn’t say that to you last week. But, I’ve missed you for a long time. Longer than the three months I've been gone.”
Miranda nods. She doesn’t interrupt, she knows Andy is going somewhere.
“You remember that event at MoMA last fall?” Andy looks down and away, the memory still bothers her.
“Yes,” Miranda says slowly, her eyes carefully tracking Andy’s discomfort, “it was the first time you didn’t let me touch you. The first time you didn’t sleep in our bed. It was a pattern that repeated itself with growing frequency afterward.” Miranda can’t help the almost accusatory tone. It has bothered her far more than she let on.
“Yeah, I remember that, too.” Andy’s brown gaze catches Miranda’s. The pain in Andy’s eyes gives Miranda pause.
“It was close to the end of the night, you’d gone to a private room with some of the board members,” Andy licks her lips, a nervous tic that she thought she’d grown out of, “I didn’t realize it was private as in ‘no one but those already in there allowed’ private.” Andy looks away from Miranda. “I was tired and ready to go home and I thought I’d just slip in and tell you I’d be waiting in the car for you.”
Miranda closes her eyes and waits.
“I overheard a conversation that was not meant for my ears, or any of those men’s wives ears,” Andy’s face heats up in anger and indignation all over again. “I remember I thought to myself if Miranda were standing in that group of men they would be terrified to speak those words.” Andy laughs at her own naivety. It’s a harsh and mirthless sound. She clutches the ring in her hand so tightly it presses painfully against her skin. “Because she would never allow words like that to be uttered about other women.”
Miranda breathes out harshly through her nose. She doesn’t interrupt. She has no defense here.
“I was about to charge in there and give those men a piece of my mind and collect my wife and go home.” Andy pulls her hand out of Miranda’s, angry and hurt again at the memory of that night. “Do you know what stopped me?”
Miranda shakes her head. She isn't sure she wants to hear it, she’s certain she already knows the answer.
“My wife’s voice,” Andy looks at Miranda then, eyes so sad they make Miranda’s heart twist painfully, “agreeing with these men. She even went so far as to add a few choice words of her own regarding her wife.”
Miranda pales and she feels sick. Andy was never supposed to hear that exchange.
“Do you remember what you said, Miranda?” Andy’s voice breaks over the words and she wipes angrily at her eyes.
“No,” Miranda shakes her head. She doesn’t meet Andy’s eyes. She can’t. But so much of their interactions during the time before Andy left become clear. And she understands. And she hates the knowledge because it’s painful and it’s her fault.
“Honesty, Miranda,” Andy’s voice is watery, “that’s one of the only things I’m asking of you. Please be honest with me.”
“No,” Miranda still can’t meet Andy’s gaze, “I can’t repeat it.”
“But you remember?”
Shame flushes her cheeks. Miranda’s lips pinch in displeasure. She gives a short nod.
“Something to the effect of me being a particularly expensive but adept sex toy, if I recall correctly,” Andy’s voice is hard and brittle, the memory lancing her heart painfully, “though that might be a questionable recollection since intelligence isn't a strong suit of mine.”
“Andrea,” Miranda’s voice is small, “I am so sorry. None of that was anything I meant. It killed me to say those words. But, I needed those men’s backing. They’re horrible, lecherous human beings that only do business with people just like them. I had to—”
“You could’ve said nothing,” Andy interrupts sharply.
Miranda hangs her head.
Andy stands and paces. “I told myself the same thing. I tried to look at the situation logically. But, it always came back to the way I felt standing on the other side of that curtain and hearing the woman I loved—” her breath hitches “—the woman I love saying such horrible things about me.” Andy swallows the tears harshly, she has cried enough over this already. “I couldn’t let you touch me that night.” She touches her fingers to her lips. “I felt sick every time you came close. I couldn’t sleep in the same bed, in the same room.” She retakes her seat next to Miranda, carefully not touching her. “I thought it would just pass, I knew intellectually that you were playing a part. But the resentment and pain just grew and grew until I started building walls and pulling away from you. Because it hurt to be near you.”
Miranda very carefully closes the distance between them and places a hand on Andy’s thigh. Andy almost brushes it off but allows Miranda’s touch. She won’t stay if they can’t start over. And they can’t start over, start fresh, if she doesn’t try.
Miranda lays her head on Andy’s shoulder and trembles against her. “If I could go back and swallow those words and slap all those men, I would. I would ruin every good thing that came from that moment, if it could erase the pain it caused you. I’m so sorry, Andrea.”
They sit there for minutes, hours maybe, breathing harsh, stuttered breaths filled with the tears their eyes have cried a thousand times over. They cling to each other.
“I forgive you,” Andy says, voice roughened with the strain of all the bottled up emotion. She turns and wraps her arms around her wife. “I forgive you, Miranda.” And the tears do come then. Hot and quick. But her heart hurts less, like it isn’t stopped up too full of feeling.
They rock each other, the rising sun witness to their new effort.
“I tried to get us to see Dr. Weaver,” Miranda whispers roughly against Andy’s shoulder, “but I think I didn’t ask the right way.” She sighs. “And then I did another foolish thing in trying to get a reaction out of you.”
Andy is too tired to interject; she simply listens as Miranda speaks.
“I hope you believe me when I say I didn’t sleep with that girl,” Miranda’s voice trembles. Andy nods against her shoulder. “And I didn’t plan on doing such a stupid thing beforehand. I would hope I would’ve made a better decision with some time to think it through.” She rubs unconscious circles on Andy’s back. “I was desperate at that point. I don’t think we had had an actual conversation for weeks. And every time we were intimate felt wrong,” her voice wavers, “like a tedious task that you wanted done as quickly as possible.”
“I’m sorry, Miranda,” Andy’s voice is raw.
Miranda shushes her. “In light of new information, I don’t think there’s anything to forgive.”
“No,” Andy insists, “this new us. This new try. It has to go both ways. We own up to mistakes and forgive each other if we have to. But, we have to know when we’re wrong. I was wrong in pulling away so hard and not explaining why. So, I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Miranda kisses her temple. “Though I forgave any imagined slights months ago. And I’m just happy to have you here with me now.”
Andy puts her forehead against Miranda’s cheek.
“But the model incident…”
“Model incident?” Andy can’t help the small laugh that wording causes.
“Yes, well,” Miranda’s voice seems less strained somehow, “that wasn’t planned. I heard you coming down the hall. Everyone had stepped out to a different set and that girl was changing clothes to follow them. It was an unfortunate coincidence of timing. The only thing remotely real was the kiss, and it was just a press of lips that she didn’t even acknowledge.”
Jealousy burns through Andy. She pulls Miranda closer to her, more tightly against her, as if claiming her in some rudimentary way. Miranda presses a kiss to her temple. I’m yours, she mouths against her skin.
“The other part was just the angle of your vantage point and our position. I didn’t get anywhere near her…parts.”
“You can say pussy, Miranda,” Andy says without thinking, “I’ve certainly heard you say worse.”
Miranda stiffens in her arms.
Andy pulls back. “I’m sorry.” She kisses Miranda’s cheek softly. “I won’t do that again.”
Miranda nods. Believes her.
They rearrange themselves on the settee and sit pressed against each other, holding on to each other, as a new day greets them outside.
“This last year has been pretty fucked up,” Andy says into the quiet that settles around them. “But, I promise that I won’t let things that hurt me fester like I did. I promise to be honest and open. I promise to try. I promise to love you.” Her brown gaze looks longingly, lovingly at Miranda. “I ask the same of you,” she pauses, “also no touching other women to get my attention,” Andy’s breath hitches on the words, much too soon to be joking about Miranda’s mistake.
Miranda’s eyes widen and then sober. “No more touching other women to get your attention.” Deadpan. And, though it hurts, it makes Andy smile. “I promise,” she whispers fiercely, a solemn assurance, “and I promise to be honest and open with you, too. To try. To love you. Always.”
Andy opens the palm that holds Miranda’s ring. She slips her wedding ring back on her finger.
Miranda reciprocates and slips Andy’s rings back on her finger.
Miranda brings Andy’s hands to her mouth and presses soft kisses to each. “This has always meant forever to me.”
Andy’s me too is swallowed by the kiss she presses to Miranda’s lips. It’s hard and soft, deep and light, demanding and giving…it’s everything. It’s the sealing of a promise and the renewing of a commitment made years ago.
Andy’s world—that has been tilted off its axis for almost a year and darkened and washed of color and happiness—rights itself. And she can see the future spreading out in front of her, in front of them, year upon year upon year. With every day, with every choice, they will make it so. Together and whole.
“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.” -Maya Angelou