Work Text:
It is exactly 6.25 in the evening when Andrea is hit with a horrifying feeling that she’s forgotten something important.
She remembers the exact time because she had stared at the figure on the top right corner of her laptop screen for a full five seconds before her brain finally caught up to the reality before her.
6.25.
She was supposed to have picked Bronwyn and Roark up from school three hours ago.
“Oh my god,” Andrea gasps softly, feeling like someone had doused ice cold water all over her entire body. The conference room blurs around her even though the voices keep talking — something about numbers and deadlines and her role as a features editor in all of these campaigns they’re planning — but Andrea couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar of dismay ringing in her ears. Her eyes go straight to her phone beside her laptop, and when she realises it isn’t responding despite her tappings, she almost lets out a scream.
She’d plugged her dying phone in face down during the sudden emergency meeting and stupidly forgot to turn the outlet on. After three hours, her phone is definitely dead.
“Andrea?” Miranda’s voice interrupts her thoughts, “Where do you think you’re going?”
But Andrea is already shoving her laptop and her documents into her bag, not really looking at anyone in the room when she answers, “I’m sorry but I really have to go.”
She doesn’t quite remember Miranda's response to her statement. She reckons it is probably something disapproving considering she did not even ask for her permission to leave the room, but Andrea doesn’t quite care when her thoughts are filled with nothing but horror at the thought of the kids waiting for her at school since 3 in the afternoon.
All Andrea remembers is her hastily grabbing the nearest powerbank she sees lying on one of the desks, and connecting the wire to her phone. She is in the elevator when her phone finally powers on with just 1% of battery freshly charged — and that is when the flood of notification comes flooding in.
She is filled with dread as she does a quick scroll on the screen and sees that she has 13 missed calls; nine were from Emily, three from the school and one from Mrs. Danbury, who lives in the apartment next door, who was supposed to have looked after the kids if Andrea had done her damn duty of picking them up and dropping them off at her doorstep after they were released from school.
Andrea nearly stops breathing when she presses the call button, and the line connects immediately after she steps out of the elevator. Emily picks up almost immediately, as though she had been waiting anxiously with her phone in her hand.
“Jesus Christ, Andy,” Emily’s voice is a pitch higher than usual, signifying distress that Andrea could just imagine vividly as she starts to make a dash for the basement parking lot. “Why haven't you been picking up your phone?! Are you alright???”
“Emily, oh gosh, I’m so so sorry,” Andrea is breathless as she apologises, the guilt in her voice evident as she continues, “my phone died, and I had a work emergency and completely lost track of time. I’m on my way right now—”
She hears the sharp inhale from the other end of the line, and Andrea knows at once that there is an immediate shift in Emily’s disposition. Instead of sounding frantic and anxious, Emily sounds rather cold when she tells her, “They’re not at school anymore.”
Andrea freezes halfway to her car, her heart sinking to the bottom of her stomach. “What?”
“They waited for you over an hour, then decided to try walking home.” Emily starts to explain, her voice void of any emotions — which to Andrea is much worse than anger, because when she uses a tone like that it is usually because she is disappointed. “Wyn fell down because a bicycle nearly clipped her when they were crossing the street,”
Andrea’s knees nearly buckle, “Oh, god. Is she alright? Where are they now?”
There is a long pause which feels torturous more than anything, as if Emily is debating with herself on what she should say next. She finally settles for a curt reply, and hangs up immediately after. “Just get home, will you?”
Bronwyn is sitting upright on the couch when Andrea arrives, practically bursting through the front door in sheer panic, and only exhaling a huge sigh of relief when she sees the kids’ faces lighting up at the sight of her.
“Andy!” Roark calls out at once while Andrea rushes to the kids, her eyes catching sight of Bronwyn's wrapped wrist, and her knee with a Barbie themed bandaid. The little girl must have sprained her wrist and scraped a knee when she fell earlier; Andrea feels horrible, because all of this could have been avoidable.
Bronwyn asks, “Andy, are you alright?”
The relief in her tone could not be more obvious, and Andrea instantly feels significantly worse than before. The kids have been worried about her.
“Oh, sweetie,” Andrea cups her face carefully, as if inspecting to see if she has any other surface wound on her, “I’m so, so, so sorry. Does it hurt? Roark, you okay buddy?”
The boy simply nods, while Bronwyn leans into her touch without hesitation. That gesture nearly makes Andrea cry as Bronwyn replies, “It’s okay, and I’m fine. It stung a little earlier but I feel fine now. Where were you, Andy?”
She heaves a huge sigh of relief, and that’s when Andrea catches Emily standing beside the window across the living room, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She’s already dressed down in her home attire, makeup all removed, and Andrea’s throat constricts as she sees the redness of her eyes. She’s known her long enough to recognise the signs of crying Emily normally wouldn’t let anyone see. The existing guilt presses heavily against her ribs so hard Andrea thinks she might suffocate from it.
Their eyes meet then, and Emily is the first to look away.
Andrea swallows the lump in her throat, “Emily, I—”
But Emily shakes her head once, firmly. “Not now.” The words are clipped cleanly equal and all parts controlled, said in a tone which is more of a warning for Andrea not to say anything in front of the two children.
So Andrea turns back to Bronwyn and Roark, and tries to put on a smile for them. “It’s not an excuse but I had a work emergency. I’m really sorry, you two.”
Bronwyn, oblivious to the tension between the two adults, tug on Andrea’s sleeve and tells her brightly. “That’s okay. We told mummy you wouldn’t have forgotten us on purpose.”
The words sting, a thousand knives through her heart, even though Andrea knows Bronwyn didn’t mean for it to. “Anyway,” The little girl continues brightly, “what matters is you came in the end!”
“Of course, sweetheart.” She caresses Bronwyn’s cheek and then reaches out to pat Roark’s knee. “Of course I would,”
“We told mummy you would,” Roark says confidently, and something cracks in Emily’s expression, only for a second. By the time Andrea looks into her direction, her expression has hardened once again.
No one speaks for a few seconds until Emily takes her phone out and quietly mutters that she is going to get doordash for dinner. Roark immediately jumps at that opportunity, yelling his preference for that evening — pizza, mummy, can we please get pizza — while Bronwyn protests loudly — we just had pizza the other night, mummy can we have noodles instead?
On the surface, it seems as though everything is fine; the kids are bickering with each other as they always would when it comes to the subject of food, and Emily is trying her best to keep the peace in the household by suggesting a middle ground that works for the two children.
Yet, Andrea knows deep down, that something has shifted that evening. Something between them.
She is almost afraid to find out what, and decides to remain quiet in this dinner debacle, only answering when Emily asks her what she wants from the menu.
“Whatever you’re having,” Andrea says carefully, and Emily nods in acknowledgement.
She does not look at Andrea once.
Emily knows there is no use in delaying the conversation any further, especially after the kids have gone to bed. She finds Andrea in the living room, staring at nothing in particular, only looking up to meet her gaze when she hears her emerging from Bronwyn and Roark’s room.
They look at each other, neither saying anything for the longest time until Andrea opens her mouth to say something, and Emily decides to interject.
“You gave us quite a scare, you know that?”
“I know,” Andrea says softly, regretfully, watching how Emily moves across the space so that she could sit at the couch opposite her. Not beside her. Opposite her. “What…what happened?”
“Mrs. Danbury called me. She said she couldn’t reach you and was wondering where you were. And I…” Emily sighs, hand clasped against her chest, “for a moment I thought the worst, that something had happened to you and the kids after you picked them up,”
Andrea listens without interrupting, knowing she doesn’t have a say in this situation except the thousand apologies she’s already said earlier.
“Then I got a call from an unknown number. It was a kind gentleman who had found them by the street, said Roark remembered my number and that they didn't know how to get home. Andy,” Emily exhales shakily, “whatever it is that has happened at work better be worth it because what could possibly have been so important you forgot to pick the kids up from school?”
“I…” She knows her excuse isn’t one that is enough to justify what had happened, but Andrea wants to be honest. “Miranda called for an emergency meeting. I’m really sorry—”
“What bollocks!” Emily raises her voice, then lowers it immediately, not wanting to wake the kids up. “The least you could do was answer your bloody phone, but you were unreachable for hours!”
Andrea leans forward, sitting at the edge of the couch with her hands pressed together, “That was entirely my fault, my phone died and I couldn’t get it charged.”
“Just one text, Andy. One text would have been enough. You’re telling me you couldn’t get away for a minute to send that text?”
“You know I can’t, I would have done that if I could.” In one feeble attempt to make Emily understand, Andrea adds, “You should know, you’ve worked with Miranda before!”
“I do! I do, Andy,” Emily’s voice is strained, her face crumpling with agony, “but not Bronwyn, not Roark. They shouldn’t be the victims of this when they know nothing about your impossible demands at work.”
Andrea nods hastily in agreement. “I know, and I’m terribly sorry, but it’s because of the international offices and the Board coming at us—”
“What I am hearing is that,” Emily goes very still, “the kids were less important to you today.”
“No,” Andrea’s voice cracks in surprise, “No, that’s not true. Absolutely not! Emily, I made a mistake…”
“You forgot my children!”
Andrea flinches at Emily’s tone, from the way she had emphasised that Bronwyn and Roark are hers and not theirs.
“I would probably have understood you better if you had an actual emergency. But you simply forgot.”
Andrea could hear it, the disappointment in Emily’s voice. That in itself is enough to fracture the composure she is trying hard to put on in front of her. “I didn’t mean to, you have to believe me. I love them,”
“That’s why this hurts so much.” Emily exhales sharply, looking away as if not wanting Andrea to see her expression of controlled anger. “You used to fight for us hard, Andy. Whatever happened to that?”
“I am still fighting for us!”
“Are you, really? Because what I've been seeing the past few weeks is that you’re fighting for your job, and we…we just happen to be what you apologise to afterwards.”
“That’s not fair,”
Emily faces Andrea again, her eyes hardening. “Isn’t it? Did you know Roark stopped asking if you’ll be home for dinner a month ago?”
She doesn’t, of course, and hearing that revelation makes something inside her cave in.
“Do you have any idea how heartbreaking it is,” Emily’s voice quivers, “when a child lowers their expectations because they’ve already decided that it is inevitable to be disappointed?”
“I’m…I’m just trying my best here, Emily,”
“And I am doing all of this alone again.”
Andrea knows exactly what Emily means; it hits her like tidal waves all at once, and her heart lurches to her throat. The school pickups, the lunches, all the homework — Emily has resumed carrying all of that by herself in the same way she had done years ago when Frank left, while Andrea disappeared into nights of overtime and missed calls and exhausted apologies over and over again.
Somehow, she hadn’t realised how bad all of this had gotten until now, until Bronwyn had gotten hurt because of Andrea’s negligence.
Emily doesn’t look at her when her voice comes off as a whisper, “Funnily, Frank stopped putting on a front with me after our second anniversary as well.”
As well. That statement catches Andrea completely off guard, the implication so strong that it hits her harshly in the chest. “What are you insinuating? That I'm like Frank?”
Emily is oddly calm when she explains, “I'm just saying that the spark of relationships fizzles out after a while of being together.” She pauses, then continues, “A year ago you would never have forgotten to pick the kids up from school because you promised me you were different. That you actually cared,”
“I still care!” Andrea is starting to feel completely exasperated, “Emily, it was one mistake that will not happen again.”
She scoffs. “That’s what Frank said too.”
Andrea grimaces, frustration surging through her entire body that she nearly shakes in anger when she hisses, “Stop comparing me to him. I'm nothing like him!”
But Emily ignores the other woman, her tone monotonous when she continues, “It started out as one mistake too with Frank. Then it became a second, a fifth, and then gradually I just lost count…”
“I messed up,” Andrea is pleading now, “what else do you want me to say? I’ve apologised, I am sorry—”
Emily’s voice is raised when she snaps back harshly, “Do you have any idea how sick I am hearing you apologise over and over again for the past couple of weeks?”
Andrea knows it isn’t just about today’s incident anymore — every missed dinner with the kids, every missed school event and football matches she had promised to attend only to have something cropped up at the last minute. The sudden international flights she had to get on at the last minute which led to foiled plans with Emily and her kids; Bronwyn leaving her voicemails asking when she would be back, and if their Saturday plan to go shopping together is still happening.
She knows there is no justification to all that has happened recently, but Andrea tries anyway, to stammer an explanation she hopes would get to Emily. “You know how busy it can get around this season, and you know how important it is for me to get things right this year because of my possible promotion,”
Emily’s gaze changes at the mention of that one word. They’ve talked about this before, Andrea’s almost shoe-in ascend to heading the Features Department of Runway’s International offices. While she had been happy for her partner getting the recognition she rightly deserves, there was a part of Emily who had been doubtful if this would be a good decision in the long run.
It seems now that her gut instinct had been right after all.
“I know you are ambitious, and there is nothing wrong with that. Good grief, I can be really ambitious too!” Emily starts, her tone turning into desperation, “But lately, it just feels like you’re not there for us anymore, Andy. All of this to chase after what, exactly? Miranda’s validation? For your megastar promotion?”
“Emily, I am doing this for our future,”
“Not knowing you are destroying our present while doing exactly that, Andrea.”
Andrea does a double take, and all words at the tip of her tongue just fade away in an instant. She considers what Emily just said, and feels a sinking feeling of remorse in her stomach.
Emily draws a slow breath before continuing, “I know what it is like to be in your position and to want the same thing. To have that level of ambition. But I’ve learned the hard way that that isn’t the way to live, at least not at the expense of your loved ones.” She sighs, “I thought you would know better, Andy. You are supposed to be the smarter one between us.”
Andrea shakes her head stubbornly in a weak attempt to justify her actions, “The Emily I knew 23 years ago would understand there are things one has to sacrifice in order to achieve their dreams.”
Emily’s gaze turns cold once again. “That Emily has changed considerably because she has other things that are more important than her job now. While the Andy she has always known just keeps wanting more, keeps wanting to prove herself.”
At Andrea’s silence, Emily continues, “You know what is the most ironic thing about this situation? Is that you've escaped all of this once. You escaped this world, Andy, but now…you are willingly choosing to be a part of it again and again.”
Andrea takes a step forward, her eyes blown wide with disbelief, “Are you…are you implying I am turning into Miranda?”
“No,” Emily, more exhausted than anything else, tells her quietly, “At least Miranda doesn’t pretend she can give people more than she actually could. When Miranda says something, she actually means it.”
What Emily said hits Andrea hard, with such great force that it feels like her soul had just been crushed by the weight of her words. “I’m not…”
“I can tolerate many things, Andy,” Emily rubs a hand over her face and heaves a sigh of dejection, suddenly looking older than she is. “but I cannot let my children become collateral damage to someone else’s ambition.”
It’s the finality in her tone that scares Andrea; the way Emily wouldn’t look at her, as if she couldn’t bear the sight of her, sends a shiver of fear cascading down her spine as a sharp ache splinters beneath her ribs.
“Em, please, what are you saying?” Her voice is strained with a plea, “You’re not…you’re not breaking up with me, are you?”
Emily’s eyes well with tears because she clearly doesn’t want to. Every fibre of her being would tell anyone looking in that breaking up with Andrea is the last thing she would even think of doing. She stands then, feeling the need to just walk around, to get rid of the anxiety rising in her chest. She hugs herself, feeling entirely small, and looks to the ground, avoiding Andrea's gaze when she whispers,
“Honestly, Andy, I don’t even know what we have with each other recently.”
Andrea shakes her head a few times, as if in denial, or refusing to accept that the outcome of their argument could escalate into one as severe as breaking up. “But I don’t want to break up with you,”
I don’t either, Emily thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. Overwhelmed and mostly tired from the events of the day, she simply tells her, “Go home, Andy.”
“Em—” Andrea takes a few steps forward towards her, reaching out wanting to touch her arm, but Emily takes a step back at once, angling her body away from her.
Andrea’s chest tightens painfully, and she freezes in her spot. Nobody moves for several long seconds, the silence of the night pretty darn loud in their ears as Emily picks something up from the dining table before walking towards the front door.
The tears start to well up in her eyes when Andrea realises what Emily wants to do.
“I can’t bear to look at you right now so please, just leave.”
“Emily,”
The redhead doesn’t look at Andrea, not when she opens the door an inch and waits for her to move from her position. Not when Andrea reluctantly makes her way to the door and Emily swings it wider for her to step out of the apartment. There’s no use in trying to persuade Emily to rethink what she’d just say, Andrea knows this, so she does what is expected of her and turns around to face her partner. “I—”
“Here,” Ignoring her, Emily slaps a piece of paper against Andrea’s chest, “Wyn wants you to read this.”
She slams the door in her face after that.
Andrea peers down at the paper and feels her heart breaking further; it is an essay Bronwyn had written in school to which she scored an A for, but the grade isn't what made Andrea sob, it is the title of the essay being someone I want to be when I grow up, and Bronwyn had chosen to write about her.
She stares at the door for a good minute, thinking about Emily and replaying their entire conversation in her head over and over again like a broken record. If she could only turn back time, she would do it in a heartbeat. Andrea wipes the tears from her eyes and after a moment of waiting to see if Emily might open the door back for her (she wouldn’t), she walks away slowly, leaving her heart in tatters behind.
The second Emily sees the retreating shadow from the cracks between her door and the floor, she starts to sink to the floor, the dam of her heart breaking in an instant. She presses a hand against her mouth to prevent the sobs from escaping her throat, burying her face between her knees as she curls into a tight ball. A single thought flits into her mind, so damning and hurtful that Emily allows herself to cry silently into her hands.
She is all alone again.
Andrea sleeps in her own apartment for the first time in nearly a year, and everything feels abysmally wrong; it is too empty, too quiet, and when she sits on the couch at three in the morning, unable to fall asleep, she is staring at Bronwyn’s essays and Roark’s drawings that Emily let her keep, most of which mention her steady and constant involvement in their lives that she’s practically family. There’s even an artwork by Roark of her with the words Happy Mother’s Day! which the boy had drawn for her just a few months ago. The words blur and Andrea covers her face with both hands, in utter regret.
She knows Emily wouldn't forgive her quickly — and maybe that’s for the best, Andrea thinks, because Emily shouldn’t have to when she had royally fucked up this badly in the two years they’ve been dating.
There is a strong urge for her to pick up her phone and text Emily, let her know how sorry she is, maybe even beg her to understand that she didn’t mean to forget. But Andrea knows her well enough to know that doing so would only make Emily more frustrated, so she doesn’t. But as she stares at her phone, which lays idle on the coffee table, Andrea is sure that like her, Emily probably isn't getting any sleep tonight.
It is one evening, after four days of not talking to Andrea at all, that Bronwyn asks Emily a question while she is tucking her into bed.
“Are you mad at Andy because of us, mummy?”
The silence in the apartment could not be any more deafening, and Emily sucks in her breath slowly, trying to gather her composure before answering her daughter. “Oh, no. Mummy isn't mad at Andy, love. Mummy is simply…”
She cycles through a string of vocabulary in her mind, trying to settle for something that makes the most sense without revealing all of her feelings. Frustrated? Upset? Truthfully, Emily doesn’t want to use those words, not wanting to villainise Andrea any further in front of her daughter, so she says instead, “Well, I suppose I was expecting too much from Andy.”
Unfortunately, Bronwyn seems to have inherited empathy from someone — Emily hardly thinks it is from her nor Frank — and she asks, “Does that make you disappointed?”
Emily forces a slight smile, twirling a finger around the soft tresses of her daughter's hair. “I suppose it does, a little.”
“But Andy said she was sorry,” The little girl says softly without missing a beat. “She kept apologising, mummy.”
“It's not just about that, Wyn,” Emily says slowly, wanting to elaborate more but couldn't find it in her to continue, not when her throat is starting to clamp up.
“Is that why Andy hasn't been around lately?” Bronwyn asks, wide-eyed and with the sort of innocence that makes Emily's heart split into two, makes her feel guilty for leaving Andrea's messages on read, or replying in curt sentences that clearly showed she isn't ready to forgive her yet.
Rather than answering her question, Emily decides to ask instead. “Do you want to see Andy that much?”
Bronwyn nods a few times. “I really miss Andy. Roark misses her too.” She continues, staring wistfully at her mother. “Don't you, mummy?”
“I—” The word catches in her throat and Emily is forced to look away, blinking back tears. If she is braver, if she is more transparent about her feelings, Emily would have answered her daughter truthfully and tell her that she does, in fact, misses Andy with her entire heart.
But she doesn’t think she is, or doesn’t want to, so she keeps mum instead.
Unfazed by her lack of response, Bronwyn takes that as a sign to continue, “Mummy, can you please ask Andy to come back?”
“Oh darling,” Emily sighs, patting her daughter's cheek. “I know you mean well but this isn’t your problem to fix.”
Bronwyn sighs. “I just don't like seeing you sad,”
Stunned, Emily could only stare at her daughter as she wonders if she has, in fact, been too transparent with her feelings without intending to. She offers Bronwyn a smile and leans down to kiss her forehead, wishing her sweet dreams.
When she is alone in her room, Emily wonders if she should call Andrea. Ask her to come home. Tell her they can talk things out like the mature adults they are. Maybe if she isn’t so upset with her anymore, she could give her a hug, kiss her and assure that everything is fine between them. She’s so tempted; it would be so easy — just one text, and she is sure Andrea would come running.
But for some reason, she just could not muster the courage to do that.
Andrea moves on autopilot most of the time these days.
She wakes up, goes to work, and comes back to an empty and quiet apartment with a takeout that has gone cold due to the long commute home. It’s been nearly two weeks since the incident, and while Emily is still mostly not talking to her, there has been some improvement in that she has, at least, been sending her texts about and pictures of the kids.
Roark made a new drawing today at school. Thought you should see it. — And it’s a drawing of four stick figures about his family, conveniently leaving his father out of it but including two female stick figures instead; one with red hair and another with dark brown hair. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the boy was drawing.
Bronwyn won first place. — And it’s a one-minute video of Bronwyn in her school’s spelling bee competition, spelling words like glacier, barbeque, lavender and phobia. Andrea chuckles seeing the video, knowing Bronwyn could do way better than that junior category they put her in. She knows because she’d been practicing with Bronwyn for weeks leading up to this competition, and shame starts to burn hot beneath her skin knowing she had missed it.
They made a mess trying to make pancakes. — And it’s a candid picture of the kids laughing while flour is everywhere on the counter top, on their cheeks, in their hair. Andrea could only imagine the horror in Emily’s face seeing her usually pristine kitchen in this state of mess, considering Andrea had always been the one in charge of breakfast.
All the texts from Emily, and seeing candid pictures of Bronwyn and Roark only makes her heart ache in fondness. Her replies had been per her usual self, but Emily did not keep the conversation going. She didn’t text her beyond updating her about the kids, and Andrea takes that as an indicator of where she stands now, and does not dare to visit them unannounced. Frankly, she wouldn’t be able to take it if Emily refuses to let her in. It scares her to even think of the way Emily might react seeing her, if she would be disappointed, or still upset, leading Andrea to creating multiple scenarios in her head that do not quite end in her favour.
But it does make her more sure of her feelings, more convinced of the decision she is about to make.
“Are you planning to hover there indefinitely?”
Her thoughts snap back into reality, and Andrea shuffles forward into Miranda’s office, stopping right beside her chair. Miranda doesn’t look up at the proofs spread across her desk. “You’re late.”
“You asked me to see you at 6.30.” She frowns slightly, “It is exactly 6.30.”
“Yes,” Miranda states dryly, “Late.”
In normal circumstances, Andrea would have humoured her with a light chuckle. Or at least give Miranda a smile. Amari used to tease her about how she's the type who thinks being punctual is early, and she'd laugh it off with a simple wave of her hand. But tonight, there is none of that. Tonight, she simply sits across Miranda and waits for her to say something.
“The Board has approved the expansion,” Miranda simply says a beat after, “Congratulations. Head of International Features. Impressive, even by your standards.”
Three months ago, Andrea would have cried from happiness hearing those words. Now, her stomach twists in a way that makes her want to projectile vomit all over the marble floors. Of course, she already had a hunch earlier when Charlie told her Miranda wanted to see her, and she had braced herself on what she would say in response. But now, she just feels sick.
Seeing her lack of reaction makes Miranda raise an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
Andrea stares long and hard at her hands, but looks up eventually to meet Miranda’s hard gaze. It is now or never. She has rehearsed this over and over again earlier. She inhales shakily, then states in a firm tone —
“I don’t want it.”
Silence. An incredibly long one that stretches for as long as it takes Miranda to digest what she’d just said. She blinks slowly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’d like to withdraw my name from that role.” Andrea says with a certain conviction in her tone before adding as an afterthought, “please,” that makes Miranda’s expression go blank and completely unreadable.
“That is not amusing enough to qualify as a joke, Andrea.” She says eventually, in a tone of blatant disbelief.
Andrea sighs. “That’s because it’s not a joke.”
Miranda leans back into her chair slightly, suddenly studying her and noticing just how exhausted Andrea looks; her eyes are void of any emotion but sorrow, and her disposition is tense with stress she suspects isn't work-related. “Why?”
The older woman is surprised when Andrea chuckles under her breath, one that anyone could tell isn’t of joy, but rather of grief. “Where do I even begin, Miranda? Maybe it all started when you said you wanted to put me up for this promotion.”
Miranda says nothing as she continues.
“Maybe it’s all the dinners and school events I had to miss, all the promises I had to break,” Andrea says, “or maybe it’s the fact that I forgot to pick the kids up from school two weeks ago, and Bronwyn injured herself trying to walk home with her brother because of my negligence—”
Miranda frowns, ever so slightly, a reaction anyone not familiar in her body language would have missed.
Andrea swallows the lump in her throat and her voice cracks a little, “--and Emily isn't really talking to me.”
Nothing fazes Miranda usually, nothing that would warrant a large reaction that is, but Andrea sees the way she looks taken aback, even if it was only briefly. Miranda removes her glasses with precise movement and sets it down. “And your solution,” She exhales carefully, “is to sabotage your own career?”
Andy shakes her head, looking down for a moment before she speaks again. “You of all people should know that I’ve wanted this job for so long, that I wanted to prove that I could do it.”
“You speak of this as if it’s in the past,”
“I think that’s because…maybe I’ve already proven it, Miranda.”
Andrea meets Miranda’s stoic expression, and at her silence, decides to elaborate.
“Maybe I don’t need an official title to prove that I have what it takes in this industry. I knew the long hours this promotion would entail when I started fighting for it. I kept telling myself that I could balance everything if I worked harder. I could do it if I just managed my time more efficiently. And then one day I looked at Emily,” Andrea whispers, “and realised she was starting to look lonely standing next to me.”
Miranda’s expression changes; it softens in a way that shows she understands exactly what Andrea was trying to say. It strikes a nerve in her unexpectedly, because no one has articulated her previous failed marriages more perfectly than that.
“She’s probably still thinking if she should leave me,” Andrea jokes bitterly, with a laugh that comes off as awkward and self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t blame her if she does, honestly.”
“Ah,” Miranda murmurs without thinking, “that does tend to happen.”
“But I don’t want that to happen,” Andrea says desperately, “I love Emily, and I love her kids. They make me so, so happy.”
Miranda, of course, knows exactly what her features editor means. For an entire year, she had to tolerate the sickening look of happiness that would light up on Andrea’s face every time she received a text from them. Even the blind could see the extent of the Emilys’ love for each other.
Andrea says in finality, “Miranda, I really appreciate you putting my name up for the promotion. But I’m going to have to decline the offer this time.”
“You are aware,” Miranda starts after a long pause, “that an opportunity of this magnitude does not usually present itself twice?”
Andrea nods. “I know.”
“And you are prepared to live with that,”
Andrea thinks about laughter in Emily’s kitchen as they cook a meal together, thinks of the way Bronwyn would reach out to hold her hand when they walk together, or how Roark would fall asleep on Andrea’s shoulder.
She nods again, with barely any hesitation. “Yes.”
“Hm,” Miranda reaches for her glasses again to look at the spreads on her desk. “How disappointing.”
There’s two ways one could interpret what Miranda had meant; disappointment that Andrea turned down the offer, or disappointment that the role isn’t going to someone as competent as her. But Andrea doesn’t want to dwell on that sort of meaningless interpretation. She knows it is the cue for her to leave, and starts to stand slowly. “Miranda, I’m really sorry for wasting your time,”
Miranda’s eyes sharpen immediately as she glances at her. “There’s no need to insult me.”
She starts to leave, knowing it would be best not to say anything in response to that. But as Andrea turns around, Miranda speaks again.
“Andrea.” For some reason, her voice seems quieter, more mellow. Andrea glances behind her shoulder, but Miranda isn’t looking at her anymore. “You have indeed proven you can survive this industry. Ergo, there is very little point in allowing it to consume you entirely.”
The conversation between them is over, but she understands what Miranda had meant anyway.
When Nigel receives a call from the receptionist, he would never have expected the sight before his eyes; two children who couldn’t possibly be more than twelve years old dressed in considerable fashion standing hand in hand with an older woman beside them.
“I’m confused,” is the first thing Nigel says, obviously addressing the receptionist with a raised eyebrow because who are these kids and why are they looking for him? He would have known if he’d accidentally fathered someone’s children, but clearly that wouldn’t be possible when he’s never slept with a woman before.
“You’re not Andy,” The boy says in an accusing tone and a frown so deep that has Nigel’s jaw dropping.
Oh. They are looking for Andy?
“Sorry, Nigel, since Andy isn’t back yet from her meeting outside, I thought it would be best to call you.” Rebecca the receptionist says with a slightly apologetic tone, gesturing at the lady beside the two children politely. “Miss Parker said it is imperative that they see Andy today.”
“Thanks, Rebecca,” Nigel nods and takes it from there by extending a hand out for the woman to shake. He observes that she is most likely their nanny, which makes this entire situation all the more confusing. “Nigel Kipling, I am Andy’s colleague. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nigel,” She shakes his hand firmly, “I’m Sally and these are Bronwyn and Roark.”
The names seem to click immediately in his mind — because who else would name their children with such impossibly unique names if not Emily Charlton — and recognition causes him to widen his eyes. That makes perfect sense, since they’re here for Andrea.
“The kids insisted that I brought them to Runway instead of going home because they had to see Ms. Sachs urgently.” The nanny seems a little tired, if anything, and somehow Nigel has a feeling that she didn’t have much say in saying yes to the children’s request. “I actually need to leave real soon because I have another appointment, and I really was only supposed to pick the kids up and send them home to Mrs. Danbury but…”
“We love Mrs. Danbury, but we want to hang out with Andy instead.” Bronwyn pipes up with her eyes blown wide that Nigel does not have the heart to tell them they should go home instead.
“Can we please wait here until Andy is back?” Roark asks next.
“That depends,” Nigel coos softly, “does your mother know that you two are here?”
“Oh, I would think so,” Sally nods, “Bronwyn said Ms. Charlton has given her approval for me to bring them here after school today. Anyway, I do know Ms. Sachs is working here so I’m not worried,”
Nigel glances at the two children again, and from the way they had secretly exchanged mischievous looks with each other, part of him is inclined to find that statement hard to believe. But before he could make a decision about this, Sally lets out a gasp while looking at the time on her phone, and immediately takes a step back.
“I’m going to be really late if I don’t leave now.” She exclaims, and starts to turn around. “Nigel, thank you very much. And you two better behave!”
“Don’t worry about us, Sally!”
“See you tomorrow!”
“Wait—” Nigel starts, but is dumbfounded when Sally leaves without looking back, and suddenly, Bronwyn and Roark are looking at him all wide-eyed with hope and plea.
He lets out an inward groan.
Ten minutes later, the two children are seated in Nigel’s office and surprisingly being on their best behaviour. Roark has acquired a hot chocolate for himself, while Bronwyn is quietly browsing some old copies of Runway with the deepest frown on her face. Definitely Emily’s daughter.
Nigel looks up at them every few seconds just to see what they are doing, and he is marvelled by how quiet they are. Though he would have expected no less, given that they’re Emily’s offspring.
“So,” He starts casually, getting their attention with just one word. “Why exactly do you need to see Andy today?”
Bronwyn looks genuinely confused by his question. “Because we miss her?” She answers simply, in a matter of fact tone while Roark nods in agreement.
Nigel is now the one who is confused, his smile fades slightly. “Don’t you see her every day at home?”
Bronwyn makes a face then and Roark answers instead, “We actually haven’t seen Andy in a while.”
Before Nigel could inquire why, Bronwyn adds to her brother’s answer, kicking her feet sadly, “Sixteen days to be exact.”
Nigel blinks, surprised at both the number and the fact that the girl has been keeping track. “That’s a very specific number.”
“We still text her sometimes,” Roark says. “Mummy does too, but only to talk about us.”
Nigel tries his best not to allow his reaction to show in his expression, merely nodding calmly. “Is that so?”
Just then, Bronwyn sighs dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “They are fighting!”
Confirming his suspicions, Nigel wonders for a brief second why Andrea did not share any of this with him. Feeling slightly betrayed by her sudden decision to be so secretive about her personal life, Nigel huffs once in disbelief.
“They only talk if they really have to,” Roark says, and Nigel’s stomach sinks in realisation knowing this would be something Emily would do; withdrawing herself from the situation until it festers into something akin to a malignant tumour. Too late to mend, too late to change anything.
“Mummy cries sometimes,” Bronwyn says next and Roark whips his head towards her sister in a speed of lightning. “Wyn! Mummy wouldn’t want people to know that!”
Nigel softens his expression immediately. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I keep secrets very well, you know? And I’m a trusted old friend of both your mother and Andy.”
“Mummy doesn’t really talk about her time here,” Bronwyn states, “but she’s mentioned you a few times, yes.”
“Andy always talks about you though.” Roark says and Nigel isn’t sure if he should feel touched or alarmed that the two children know more about him than him about them. “Mr. Nigel, since you are close with Andy, could you please tell her that we miss her very much?”
“Oh,” Nigel smiles, “I can do that, yes, but I don’t really have to because I’m sure she already knows.”
“Mummy wouldn’t admit it but she misses Andy very much too.”
“Bronwyn!” Roark groans, “Stop telling strangers everything.”
The girl protests immediately, “But Mr. Nigel is a friend!”
“If Mr. Nigel is a friend, do you think he knows why mummy and Andy aren’t making up yet?”
Nigel feels a headache settling onto the base of his skull, his mind already thinking of ways to get back at Andy for making him go through this. But he meets their curious gaze anyway, and lets out a soft sigh of acceptance. “Sometimes…well, people hurt each other. Even when they love each other,”
He still has no idea what had happened between Emily and Andy, but Nigel is confident their argument could not have been done with intention to hurt.
“If they love each other then shouldn’t they try to fix it?”
Children and their impossible questions.
Nigel knows he couldn’t possibly answer something crude like because adults can be real idiots sometimes, so he tells them gently, “Sometimes fixing things takes a longer time than breaking them, sweethearts.”
Bronwyn and Roark absorb that quietly, and Nigel takes that opportunity to send a text to Andrea.
So, Andy. Funny story…
Andrea is almost reaching Runway when she reads the text from Nigel, and the gasp she lets out causes Miranda to look at her in surprise.
“Uh, Roy?” Andrea calls out politely, “Any chance we can step on it?”
“Sure, Andy.”
And she makes the mistake of meeting Miranda’s curious gaze, one that is already demanding an explanation from her.
“I have visitors.” is all Andrea tells her, because she has a feeling that her boss would not be too pleased knowing there are two children possibly ransacking the fashion closet of Runway. Not that she doesn’t trust Nigel to take care of them, but…
Miranda doesn’t press on, seemingly uninterested to know more, and as soon as Roy drops them off, Andrea is already rushing into the building. Whoever these visitors are, Miranda thinks, must be someone extremely important to her.
While Miranda isn’t imitating Andrea’s speed of walking, the latter still holds the elevator for her on the ground floor, her eyebrows knitted together as though she is in deep thoughts. She is grateful that Miranda does not ask any questions, and Andrea sends one last prayer to God that she wouldn’t end up in trouble, when they arrive on their floor.
“Uh, so apparently—”
But Miranda is out of the elevator before she could even warn her, and Andrea smacks her forehead before following her out as Miranda makes a beeline for Nigel’s office, clearly wanting to discuss something with him.
“Miranda, interestingly—”
Andrea nearly knocks into her back when Miranda comes to an abrupt halt one step into Nigel’s office, and Andrea closes her eyes in reflex.
“Can somebody please explain to me,” Miranda asks stoically, “why are there two tiny people in my office? Did we start operating a nursery that no one told me about?”
Before Nigel could say anything, Bronwyn and Roark jump to their feet and start running past Miranda, practically launching themselves into Andrea’s embrace, “Andy, you’re finally back!!!”
“Guys, oh my god,” Andrea laughs in second nature, feeling the wind in her being knocked out entirely by the force of Roark and Bronwyn's hugs. “what are you doing here? How did you even get here?”
“We were nearby so Sally decided to drop us here instead!” Bronwyn says, and Nigel snorts in amusement.
“I believe the term she meant is manipulation,”
Andrea groans. “Guys…”
The two children start chattering at the same time loudly, over each other, and Miranda blinks in utter disbelief, connecting the dots faster than one could imagine; the children’s faces, the hint of slight British accent mixed with their Americanised accents, their affinity and closeness to Andrea —
She turns her body slightly towards Nigel. “Are they…Emily's little people?”
He nods smugly. “Andy's too, apparently.”
Miranda whirls around to look at Andrea again, now surrounded by the two children who are still talking animatedly, as though they haven’t seen her in days. Andrea is crouched so that she is on eye-level with the kids, her face beaming with ardent happiness. Miranda pauses with a raised eyebrow, suddenly remembering two evenings ago when Andrea had turned down the promotion offer. As she observes them; seeing the way the girl is still holding Andrea’s hand tightly, refusing to let go, and the boy is almost glued to her side as they start telling her about school that day, and Andrea looking at them with great tenderness, like she’s about to burst into tears even though she is grinning so widely…
Just like that, Miranda Priestly understands.
“Hm,” She simply says, and starts to turn in her heels. She tells Nigel softly, “Come see me later when you can,”
Nigel nods, a little taken aback, but right before Miranda leaves her room, she glances behind her shoulder.
“Andrea?”
Andrea stands straighter immediately, turning to look at her boss. “Yes, Miranda?”
“You are dismissed for the day.” Miranda says with a wave of her hand, and walks out of the room.
The rapid vibrations of her phone in succession is what makes Emily stop listening to her junior executive ramble on and on about her marketing pitch.
She glances down and immediately frowns as she sees the messages Andrea and Nigel (Nigel???) had just sent her, and her blood instantly runs cold.
“Bloody hell,” She curses, picking up her phone and standing abruptly. Her subordinates look at her in surprise, and Emily tells them to give her five minutes before rushing out of the meeting room.
Andrea answers at the first ring, much to her relief.
“The kids did what?”
Okay, maybe she should have opened the conversation with a greeting at least, considering Emily has not spoken to Andrea verbally in days, but her mind is clearly clouded with embarrassment at the thought of her children being fugitives at Runway, of all places for god’s sake!
“Emily,” Andrea starts patiently, “the kids are fine. They’re currently in the fashion closet with Nigel—”
Emily groans immediately. Andrea ignores her disapproval. “--and they’re having so much fun. It’s all so harmless, really.”
Her hand is on her forehead as Emily paces back and forth. “Where’s Sally? She’s supposed to bring them home, I gave her one instruction, one!”
Andrea answers, “She’s off duty by now, and you should also know that your children can be…pretty persuasive if they wanted to be.”
“Those manipulative little gremlins!”
Andrea couldn’t help but laugh; she misses this. Just having a conversation with Emily who is capable of making her laugh without even trying. “Everything is fine, Em.”
Emily pauses in her tracks, and contemplates if she should even ask the one question lingering in her head ever since she got Andrea’s text. “They didn’t make any ruckus there now, did they?”
“None, whatsoever. They were and are in their best behaviours.” Andrea pauses. “If you’re wondering, Miranda knows.”
There it is, the one thing that Emily fears. “Oh, good lord. You’re not going to get into trouble, I hope?”
A pause, as Andrea registers the words Emily had just said. A question of concern meant for her. It makes her heart leap into her throat. “No, no. She understands.”
Emily blinks, and another pause ensues. Trying to reconcile the fact that Miranda Priestly isn’t running the office like the military is extremely fascinating to her. She decides not to dwell on that topic, “I can come and get them, just give me half an hour and I’ll be there—”
“Wait, Em, no,” Andrea quickly interjects, “there’s no need for you to come here. I can…I can bring them home later, if…” Oh gosh her heart is drumming so loudly in her ears, “...if you don’t mind.”
Andrea feels her knees turning weak just waiting for Emily to say something. But thankfully, Emily’s reply comes just a few seconds after.
“Yes, of course.” Her tone is soft and steady. “I don’t mind.”
Andrea exhales the breath she doesn’t even know she had been holding. “I should be able to leave soon, after they’re done exploring the closet. Nigel seems to be enjoying covering them in accessories.”
Emily chuckles, shaking her head. “I am rather unsurprised to hear that. Anyway, I’m really sorry the kids decided to crash your office. I need to wrap up a meeting so…”
“No need to apologise nor explain,” Andrea quickly says, “I, uh, will see you at home later.”
Emily hums, and ends the call. She places the phone against her chest and lets her thoughts wander for a few seconds, just to gain her composure. Another buzz reminds her that she has yet to open Nigel’s texts to her earlier.
She does, and sees that Nigel has sent her a couple of photos; Bronwyn in a bright pink feather boa hat, Roark in a coat that absolutely drowns him. The kids are laughing, wearing sunglasses that are too big on their tiny faces. Emily groans again, unable to resist the urge to smile.
If her kids weren't this adorable, Emily swears they would have been in soooo much trouble.
Andrea finds Emily in the kitchen, her back against her as she prepares overnight oats for breakfast tomorrow.
When she brought the children home earlier, Emily hadn’t been back yet. It gave Andrea the time to take in the apartment all over again, after a little over two weeks of not being home. Nothing much has changed in her absence, of course, and the house is still spotless and tidy as it always is. She spotted the framed photograph of the four of them in Disneyland together sitting on its usual spot on the shelf, and Andrea was grateful that it was still there, not an inch moved.
Then Emily came home with takeouts for everyone including her, which Andrea wasn’t surprised to discover that she’d gotten her something she knew she would like. Without even having to ask her. They exchanged polite pleasantries and got the children ready for dinner. The air wasn’t filled with impenetrable tension anymore, thankfully, but it hasn’t gone back to normal either. Still, Andrea was just really happy to be eating dinner with them again, and something told her that the feeling was mutual across the table.
Emily left her be with the children, knowing there was much to catch up on with them since Andrea hasn’t seen them in two weeks. She didn’t have the heart to scold them either for the stunt they had pulled off earlier, only telling them sternly not to do it again.
“We only did that because we missed Andy,” Bronwyn had said haughtily, “we wouldn’t do it again if you let Andy come home, mummy.”
Emily had stared long and hard at her daughter with a tongue in her cheek and the inability to ask her mini-me to stop trying to be a smart alec. Thankfully, Andrea came to her rescue and whisked the little girl off for bath time, and Emily had locked herself in her study under the guise of having to send out some emails. Until it was past the kids’ bedtime, and Emily finally went out to the kitchen, fully expecting Andrea to sneak up on her.
Which, to her prediction, the brunette does exactly that.
Andrea walks across the space as softly as she could, even though she is well aware that Emily could still hear her — that woman could somehow hear her footsteps from a mile away and recognises it as hers, something about the way she would walk that makes the sound distinct. She stops right at the island near her and clears her throat lightly.
“Hey,” She starts softly, eyes trained at nothing in particular. “they are finally asleep.”
Emily doesn’t say anything, just hums in acknowledgement of her words. The earlier tension is replaced with something that threads on an awkward yet strangely comfortable silence stretching between them for what feels like eternity. Andrea plays with her fingers, wringing them together as she tries to think of something to say.
It is Emily who says something first, with a soft sigh akin to releasing a lingering tension. “Thank you for today.”
Andrea is quick to shake her head. “Oh, there’s no need to thank me for something I should be doing,”
“No it’s just,” Emily’s voice is mellow, “I’m a terrible mother. It’s clear that the kids still adore you very much despite everything, yet I prevented them from seeing you.”
“You’re not a terrible mother.” Andrea states firmly, “And I really did mess up. I don’t…I don’t blame you for reacting that way, Emily.”
She stops fidgeting with the jars and the yogurt on the island. Emily turns her body to face Andrea, and the latter could see the way her eyes tremble in vulnerability. “I hated doing that to you, Andy. Truthfully. But…it’s difficult to shake off my defense mechanism sometimes.”
Emily need not explain for Andrea to know what she’s talking about — the defense mechanism she has developed over time because of her pathological narcissistic ex husband.
“Em,” Andrea reaches a hand over the countertop, placing it over Emily’s. “I can assure you that I am not like Frank. I would never leave you or the kids. I was simply an idiot, and I really am so sorry,”
“You’re not an idiot,” Emily shakes her head, “I suppose I’m sorry too. I’ve had days to think about it and I don’t think it was entirely fair for me to put all the blame on you.” She meets Andrea’s gaze and continues, “You are right, in that you're not Frank. It was an insult to even think you’re like him. The kids would never have lied to their nanny just to go see him at work, that’s for sure.”
That elicits a small smile from Andrea, her heartbeat steadying at the thought of Emily forgiving her. The latter looks as if she’s not done with speaking though, so Andrea remains quiet, which prompts Emily to say, “I’m not a perfect parent, but I thought I could be, with you beside me. I rely on you a lot, Andy, more than you would ever know.”
The magnitude of those words weigh on Andrea almost immediately, moving her to near tears. She takes two steps towards Emily, to which the latter react by giving her a welcoming smile — and Andrea immediately sees her blue eyes glistening with tears. By pure instinct, she reaches a hand out to brush the tears away, letting her hand linger on Emily’s cheek for a few seconds before pulling away.
“Andy,” Emily exhales slowly, her voice a whisper. “I’ve missed you.”
Andrea feels her breath being taken away as her eyes widen in surprise at the sudden admittance.
“These past two weeks felt like hell without you by my side. And I—”
Andrea closes in on the small distance between them, and pulls Emily into a tight embrace. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you too. And the kids.” She whispers fiercely, “I was completely wrecked in the past two weeks too. Oh, Em,” Andrea tightens her grasp around Emily’s petite body, nestling her face into the crook of her neck. “I promise I will make it up to you and the kids for the rest of my life—”
Emily chuckles, leaning into her embrace by curling her arms around her waist, “That’s clearly an exaggeration,”
Andrea shakes her head furiously, “I know I probably don't deserve a second chance, but I will earn it again, Emily. Yours and the kids’ trust…”
Emily is quick to interject, “Nonsense. We've always trusted you, we still do. I had been disappointed, but that doesn't mean I don’t trust you anymore. Besides, you gave me a second chance. We wouldn't have even gotten together if you hadn't,”
Andrea leans back without breaking their hug, just so she can look at Emily. Oh, to be able to look into her pretty eyes again, to hold her in her arms and be reminded about how lucky she is. “That was a no-brainer, Em. Still one of the best days of my life, honestly.”
Emily raises an eyebrow. “When we met up for lunch at that restaurant?”
Andrea laughs. “Yes, but also, when we got together. The most magical night ever.”
It is the tone she had used, filled with heavy implication that makes Emily blush. She clears her throat, ignoring the rush of heat to her cheeks as memories from that night invade her mind. “Goodness, Andrea,” She mutters under her breath, “you’re never going to let me live that night down, aren’t you?”
“You wouldn’t as well,” Andrea whispers into her ear, “if Emily Charlton is the one who kissed you first and—”
“Okay, stop,” Flustered, Emily tries to wriggle free from her grasp, but fails miserably, “no need to remind me please.”
Andrea grins. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, did I ever tell you that?”
“Plenty of times.” Emily states, and finally manages to break out of Andrea’s hold. She resumes prepping her remaining ingredients for her overnight oats before Andrea had interrupted her earlier. “Anyway. Are there any updates with your promotion?”
The swift change in the topic almost wipes the smile from Andrea’s face. She takes a deep breath and replies sheepishly, “Oh. That. I turned it down actually,”
Emily’s hands pause at the jar as she looks up to meet Andrea’s gaze again. She heaves a shaky sigh of concern, “Andy…”
“That doesn't matter anymore, honestly.” The brunette states quickly and with confidence. “I guess I was too busy chasing after something that probably doesn't mean much in a bigger picture, that I had an oversight of what matters to me most.”
But Emily doesn’t seem all that convinced. “God, Andy, now I feel like an unreasonable partner who doesn't support your dreams,”
“No, there is nothing of that sort, I can assure you. Dreams change, but feelings don't. You're the one I love, not my job.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you love your job,”
“Not as much as you or the children.”
“You're not going to regret it? I would hate to be someone who dims your light,”
“You would never dim my light, you brighten it if any.” Andrea assures her firmly, “I don't know if I will regret it, but something else is just worth fighting for more. And I would never regret that.”
Emily is rendered speechless, silently observing Andrea and learning that she is telling the truth in the way her eyes are looking at her. With such…unadulterated and unwavering affection, one that makes her throat constrict with more tears welling in her eyelids.
“You…always have a way with words.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m a writer.”
Emily sighs, reaching for Andrea’s hands, caressing her thumbs over her knuckles. “Better opportunities will come for you, Andy. I just know it. You're brilliant and smart and resourceful. Miranda knows that.”
“I won’t count on that,” Andrea shrugs, then smiles, “I am happy where I am.”
With you. With Bronwyn and Roark.
Emily nods, knowing that to be true.