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Emily had meant it when she said she wanted them to be pals.
But with the way Andy eased herself into her life, her routine, pals felt too inadequate a word to describe their… relationship.
It started with random hangouts, just whenever they have the time to meet up. Then they started carving time out of their busy week, dedicated to each other. The way they refer to each other slowly changed, from Emily to Em and from Andrea to Andy.
And now…
It started around the time she got an emergency call on a weekend, requiring her to fly to another country to attend to the matters of a new flagship store that’s about to open in Milan–something to do with vendor and construction and it was a miracle that Emily didn’t end up screaming profanities to her team. Yet another matter of incompetency she had to deal with, costing her supposed uninterrupted time with her kids.
And what kind of mother would she be if she left her kids to fend for themselves? But finding a nanny on such short notice in New York turned out to be a headache-inducing matter, and to make matters worse, her loser of an ex would of course be unreachable.
So… she called Andy for a favor. In her defense, it happened in a flurry and Andy just happened to be the only person she trusted around her kids. Though at that point, she had only met them twice.
After a quick rundown of what happened, along with a few curses at her staff’s incompetency, Andy agreed to babysit–well, hardly babysit, Bronwyn is 13 and Roark is 11–and said she would arrive in 10 minutes.
By the time Andy arrived at her apartment, Emily was quick to buzz her in.
“Oh,” Andy said as soon as Emily opened the door. Her eyes scanned Emily from head to toe, and Emily watched her gaze shift from alarm to sympathy. Emily realized she may not look as… put together as she usually was–hair tied hastily, no make up, and slippers instead of her usual stilettos.
So she held her hand up just as Andy started to open her mouth, “Not a word. I don’t need your subpar fashion take of my current physical state.”
“Hey! I’d argue it’s above subpar at this point!”
Emily dismissed her with a simple flick of her wrist, but a smile tugged on her lips at that. Andy’s fashion sense had indeed improved, she at least knew how to find a top that would actually fit her, like the black shirt she was wearing then. And the high waisted dark denim flare jeans to complete her look, hugging her curves just right—
Emily physically stalled at the thought, making Andy bump into her from behind.
“Em!”
“Sorry,” Emily cleared her throat, had to shake her head to will the thought away. She quickly turned to address Andy and launched into her instructions, “Anyway, bedtime at 10. Be sure they eat their veggies and don’t just doomscroll in their rooms. Roark is deathly allergic to peanuts, like you absolutely cannot let him even so much as touch it. And Andy, this is the most important part.”
“The allergy wasn’t the most important part?”
Emily shot her a rather murderous look, as if to say that this was indeed more important than the peanut allergy. Andy held her hand up in surrender then, letting Emily continue. “You absolutely cannot let them convince you to go to Pop Mart.”
Andy gave her an incredulous look, as if she couldn’t believe what just came out of Emily’s mouth. But Emily simply stared at her, with this steely look that she now knows as her serious business face. So she started carefully, “...The blind box place?”
“I’m surprised that you are familiar with it.”
Andy frowned, as if a little offended, “I’m the Features Editor at Runway, Em. I know a thing or two about what’s trendy.”
Emily pursed her lips with a sour expression, “Well trendy or not, they have a serious addiction, Andy.”
“It could just be a collecting hobby.”
“It is overconsumption.”
“You’re one to talk,” Andy said, gesturing to her. Though a mess–by Emily’s own standard–still clad in designer clothes.
“This is not overconsumption,” Emily started saying, though at Andy’s raised eyebrow, she quickly backtracked. “Okay. I can wear my overconsumption and look good in them. Theirs simply sit on a shelf collecting dust.”
Andy hummed, a sign that she remained unconvinced but will gladly move on from the conversation. “So where are these overconsumpting monsters?”
Emily shot her a look, earning an amused chuckle from Andy. “Come on, they’re watching the telly.”
Soon after arriving in the living room, the kids’ attention was immediately averted towards them. Under their curious gaze, Emily couldn’t help but falter a bit. This was the first time her friend—not boyfriend—had ever come over to specifically help her with her kids.
“Hi, Andy!” Roark was the first to break the silence. His tone was light, welcoming. Andy made a little wave beside her.
Emily couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. She then addressed her kids, “My loves, Andy will be staying with both of you for the rest of the weekend while Mummy goes to attend to work, okay? Mummy won’t take long.”
Both kids simply stared at Andy, then came Roark’s curious voice, “Will she be ignoring us like Benji?”
Emily winced at that, and she could hear Andy’s sharp exhale at the question… or rather, accusation?
“Of course not, sweetheart,” Andy moved to get closer to them. Her hand moved to ruffle Roark’s hair, and the sight made Emily's heart burst with something warm. “We’ll have tons of fun this weekend, okay?”
Roark nodded enthusiastically. And only then did Emily realize that Bronwyn–who had been silent the entire time–was gazing at them, her eyes moving quickly between Emily and Andy. From the serious expression on her face, Emily knew she had a thought brewing in that little head of hers.
“Now come on, I’ll go make you some lunch,” Andy said, urging them towards the kitchen. “How does quesadillas sound?”
“Perfect!” Roark exclaimed cheerfully.
After the kids left for the kitchen, Andy turned to Emily with her eyebrows furrowed, a sympathetic look on her face. There’s a squeeze in her chest, Emily wasn’t sure what it meant.
“So, Benji was awful to the kids?”
“Don’t start, Andy,” she sighed. Then quickly changing the topic again, “I’ve made sure the kitchen is stocked before you arrive. But if you need to go get more groceries, I’ve left my credit card with Bronwyn. I’ve left the keys on the bowl in the foyer. The epipen is always stocked in Roark’s room, should it ever be needed. And—”
“Em,” Andy cut her off, hand finding her shoulder. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”
There was something intense in the way Andy said it. Maybe it was the way her eyes were fixed on hers, a look of absolute resolve in them–the way they always are whenever she was focused on something. Or maybe it was the gentle stroke of her thumb on her shoulder.
Whatever it was, it made Emily stutter out a breath.
Then, Andy straightened herself up, seamlessly switching to a teasing tone Emily had grown accustomed to, “Go deal with your look before you leave in 15 minutes.”
That pulled a chuckle out of Emily, but of course not without an eye roll.
Andy was about to turn to the kitchen, but Emily was quick to stop her with a tug of her wrist. Brown eyes met hers—curious, warm, kind. There was a lump in her throat, she swallowed, then said, “Thank you, Andy.”
She wasn’t sure if she was thanking her for staying with her kids, or reassuring her moments ago. But Andy seemed to get it, because she smiled a wide smile that made her eyes crinkle like the moon.
(The warm burst in her chest returned).
Ever since then, Andy’s presence became a constant in her life.
After the weekend, Andy had accidentally brought the copy of her keys with her. Emily never found it in herself to care, let alone ask her to return it.
So when Emily was working late one day, Andy asked if she could come over to make them dinner. When Emily questioned her why, she simply said because Bronwyn adored her pasta. Though sceptical, Emily decided to drop it and simply agreed. Andy let herself in that day, and she got home to the smell of freshly cooked pasta and laughter in her kitchen.
(She remembered the way her heart stuttered at the sight of Andy guiding Bronwyn while she was learning how to stir the sauce. The way her brown eyes sparkled as they met hers, how she looked unfairly gorgeous in a ponytail, with the sleeves of her shirt rolled up.)
Then, some time later, Andy said she had made too much chicken. Which sounded odd, because Emily knew that Andy usually does her meal preps on the weekend–she must be familiar with the portion size at that point.
But before she could even question it, Andy had said that she was trying a new butter chicken recipe and messed up the measurements. She brought up the fact that Roark loved butter chicken, and said it was best she brought it over for him–rather than anyone else. And once again, Emily had agreed.
(She remembered when Andy let herself in, announcing herself at the door. She bought a bouquet of flowers, lillies, and set it down on the kitchen counter. The kids started pestering Andy with questions of what she brought, and there was a familiar warmth in her chest when she saw the comical way Andy presented the chicken to them, and the delighted squeals that followed.)
Then, Andy just made it a habit of letting herself in. Somewhere along the way, Bronwyn had exchanged numbers with Andy and would request help on school projects. One time, Emily came home to them on the living room floor–assembling what looked like a DIY solar system.
(She remembered the way Andy’s tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth, brows furrowed with concentration as she drew details on her Saturn ring. Then, looking up at Emily, offering a pleasant toothy grin and saying feeling a sense of Deja Vu, used to do this for the twins. They shared a knowing laugh, and Emily felt the tension from her long day simply melt away.)
And she just kept coming back. Taking them to see a movie Roark wanted to see, booking a reservation at a restaurant Bronwyn wanted to try, or simply bringing over their favorite snacks.
The way Andy had eased herself into her routine should alarm her. After all, can this even be considered as something pals do? But surprisingly, Emily was just happy to see her children happy.
That is, until this particular dinner, Bronwyn asks her.
“Mom, do you know what Andy is up to? She hasn’t been answering my texts.”
That made Emily pause, food halfway to her mouth. “Why are you texting Andy?”
Bronwyn shrugs, “Just needed help with something.”
The gears in her head started turning, did having Andy around make her kids stop… depending on her?
She tries to will that thought away. Because that can’t be true…
Right?
After clearing her throat, Emily says, “Andy is planning an upcoming event, love. I’m afraid she’s busy. Maybe I can help?”
At that, Bronwyn shifts her gaze away from hers, as if to avoid it. Her answer is curt, “I’ll just wait for Andy to reply.”
That, admittedly, made Emily spiral.
She goes through the motion of the night–finishing dinner, washing the dishes, tucking Roark in, doing her skin care routine. All the while, her mind is busy questioning why Andy had become so involved with her life, with her kids?
She traces it back to that night. The first time she asked Andy to look after her kids. The sympathetic look she had been greeted with at the door, when she looked like a mess after speedrunning everything–making sure everything is stocked for the kids and packing for the trip in record breaking time.
No, that wasn’t sympathy–that was pity. Pity that she was a single mother, who had to take care of everything in the household. Pity that she had to live this life, as if her kids made her miserable.
And there was nothing Emily Charlton hated more than being pitied. Because with it, came the assumption that she is helpless. With it, came the assumption that she doesn't know how to handle single motherhood. With it, came the assumption that she was a bad mother.
So like any other rational adult, she changes her lock.
She expects another week before she gets a call. It has only been three days.
“Did you change the lock to your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s been a robbery in the complex and we found out that they were able to do it after making a copy of the apartment’s key,” a rehearsed lie.
A brief silence, Emily can practically hear Andy processing this on the other side of the line, “That’s deeply alarming.”
“Yes, so you understand.”
“Yeah of course,” Andy sighs, then, “Well, can you let me in? I brought pizza from that place you all like.”
“I’m still at work, Andy.”
A pause, “Okay, I’ll text Winnie.”
Winnie, that feels like another slap to her face. Just proved how close and attached her daughter is to Andy, considering they’re at nickname phase.
“No need, Winnie and Roark are staying at their Father’s,” another lie. “You can just take the pizza, Andy. Thanks so much for thinking of us.”
Another pause, then, “You’re being weird, Em.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I don’t have time for this, Sachs. I’ll go back to work.”
Then she ends the call.
She knows Andy is stubborn. But she never expects her to be this stubborn.
By the time she makes it back to her apartment, she finds Andy sitting just outside her building.
Either she notices her too late, or Andy really has sharp eagle eyes. Because she immediately stands up the moment she spots Emily.
Bollocks, is all she could mutter under her breath.
Andy doesn’t approach her, she simply stands until Emily is close enough. As she approaches, Emily slowly realizes that she looks… hurt. Eyebrows deeply furrowed, mouth twisted in a way she had never seen before.
“You lied to me,” is what she is greeted with. “I texted Bronwyn and she said she was home. I didn’t ask her to let me in because you clearly don’t want me to. Why?”
The way her voice shakes genuinely startled Emily. She really hadn’t thought this through.
“Let’s just go back to meeting up outside, Sachs. We can’t–”
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“Calling me Sachs. That feels like you’re pushing me away.”
“I’m not.”
“You are, Emily,” Andy groans, clearly frustrated. “I’m just– What the hell did I do wrong for you to suddenly pull this shit, Em? I thought we’re past the point of being passive-aggressive. Or do you never truly trust me?”
That really hit a nerve. “Well a trusted friend wouldn’t pity the other and assume they can’t handle their shit.”
There is only confusion on Andy’s face now, “what are you talking about?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? You think I’m a bad mother who couldn’t juggle work and parenting at the same time. You pity me.”
Andy opens her mouth, but Emily continues.
Her eyes are hot now, she feels a single streak of tears runs down her cheek. “Do you see yourself as better than me? Think you could do parenting better than me? I don’t need your pity, Andrea. I’m perfectly capable of being a mother.”
Then, it is as if realization hit Andy. Because then, she scrambles to stop Emily.
But Emily continues, her voice trembles between her tears now, “Do you know how hurt I was when I realized that my own daughter had started to depend more on you? I’m doing all I can to–”
“Em–”
“No, shut up. I’m doing my best at work and I’m doing my best at home and I barely take care of my fucking self–”
“Then let me take care of you!”
That makes Emily stop, blinking her tears away.
“The only reason I’m making up excuses to take care of your children is because it’s the only way I could think of to take care of you,” Andy whispers, so soft that Emily had to strain to hear her. “You’d skip meals, Em. You would order Uber Eats for your kids but you wouldn’t eat while you’re working late.”
Andy takes her hand, Emily lets out a shaky breath.
“At first, I thought that making the kids' dinner at home was the only way I could think of to make sure you eat well too. I was so happy to see you eat dinner with us that day.”
Andy’s hand moves to wipe her tears away.
“Then, after that, it became excuses after excuses. Because there was too much just for the kids, you packed the butter chicken for lunch. You didn’t have to lose sleep to help Bronwyn on a project after a long day of work, because three people make a better team than two,” Andy’s brown eyes glimmer under the streetlight. Emily realizes she is holding back tears, “Fuck, I don’t know, Em. It started with just me wanting to take care of you, but I’ve grown fond of your kids too.”
Emily tries to process everything, tries to understand why Andy would go in such a roundabout way to assure her wellbeing. But she really can’t understand why.
“Why?” Emily asks weakly. “Why make up excuses?”
At that, Andy lets out a bitter laugh. “Em, you’re too prideful. You’d freak out and have a meltdown, you’d think everyone could notice you struggling and you’d shut me out.”
And that is precisely how her response to the entire situation has been. Fuck Andy and her observant journalist mind.
“So… I definitely spiraled.”
“No shit,” but there’s no bite to it, she sounds resigned. “You may have overreacted a little.”
“But you’re not mad?”
Andy heaves out a breath then, this time, it sounds more tired, “I’m hurt that you think I think so low of you.”
Emily had been so in her head, she didn’t realize the implication her words had on Andy. The kind Andy, the one who had given her a second chance, the one who chose to be her friend despite everything. The one who saw through her hard exterior. The one whose presence simply brought comfort for her, spread warmth across her chest and caused her heart to stutter with each smile.
The one who certainly would never think so low of her.
“I’m sorry,” Emily breathes out, taking Andy’s hand to press it closer against her cheek, “You’ve always been a great friend.”
Andy lets a small chuckle then, bitter, pulling her hand away to simply hold hers.
“For a woman so smart, your emotional constipation makes you stupid sometimes.”
Emily blinks, “Pardon?”
“I want to take care of you, Emily. I want to be present for every moment of your life. I want to be with you. I don’t want to simply be a great friend.”
For a long second, Emily can only simply stare and sit with those words. Then, once the realization hits…
“Oh.”
At that, Andy fully laughs. Like, doubling over laughing.
Emily frowns, and as her laughter dies down says, “This isn’t funny!”
“It is a little funny.”
“You agreed to be pals. I’m very particular with everything I do, Andy. I never let myself see any possibility beyond that.”
“Well, let me tell you now that I like you and I want to be more than pals. Could you particularly consider the possibility of going beyond just pals?”
Under the streetlight, Andy looks incredibly soft. Her expression is unguarded, eyes shining with hope that it makes Emily’s chest hurt. She has always been the braver one between them.
Then, Andy’s gaze flickers down to her lips, and it genuinely makes her tummy do a backflip.
Fuck, how did it take her this long to realize she liked Andy?
Something must’ve shown on her face, because Andy, ever the observant, now has that giddy-smug look on her face. It causes heat to crawl up her face.
“Shut up.”
“Does that mean–”
Before Emily can think better of it, she tugs Andy closer for a kiss. She makes a startled sound on the back of her throat, the sound stoking something warm in the pit of Emily’s stomach. Andy recovers quickly enough to return the kiss, hand winding through her hair to pull her closer. A giggle escapes past her lips when Emily pulls her closer by the waist.
When the need for oxygen becomes necessary, they both pull away. Eyes immediately finding each other’s, laughter bubbling up their throat.
“I take it we are beyond pals then?”
Emily presses her forehead against Andy’s–giddy and giggly–for once understanding that the bursting feeling in her chest is her adoration for Andy, after all. “Yeah, we’re beyond just pals.”
Epilogue:
“Winnie asked if we were dating, by the way,” Andy starts, as they make their way up to Emily’s apartment together, their hands entwined with one another.
“She did what?”
Andy hums, pulling Emily along when the elevator door finally opens. “She told me you only usually let your boyfriends stay with them.”
Emily recalls the frantic eye movement during that weekend. Now that makes more sense.
“And what did you say?”
“I told her no,” Andy presses the button that takes her to her floor. Then, she turns to look at Emily. And for once throughout this entire night, she looks unsure, “Do you think she’d be okay with us dating, now? Does she even know you’re into women?”
“Andy, I’ve raised my kids to not be homophobic assholes. And she thinks highly of you and your opinion. Of course she would be okay,” Emily presses a kiss to her cheek, she can feel the tension melt from her shoulder, her face blooming into a smile.
Then, Emily pauses. A nagging thought bubbling up once again, “why was Winnie so adamant on not getting my help then?”
Andy gives her a look, “You’re still on about that.”
“In my defense, it did make me feel like a bad mom.”
Andy sighs, “When is your birthday?”
“A week from now?” then, “Oh.”
“You have to act surprised later.”
“I’m the best at acting surprised.”
“No, baby, I highly doubt that.”
Emily felt that familiar burn on her cheeks again. Approximately 8 minutes into being beyond pals and they are at the petname stage already.
Luckily, the elevator dings just in time to announce their arrival. Andy would never see how much of a blushing mess she has become.