Chapter Text
It is funny how life turns out at times.
For someone who does nothing but put sentences together for a living, explaining how she ended up in an Indie Guitar Shop on 27th Street at 8:15 p.m. on a Wednesday night was a bit difficult.
Actually, it really wasn't. It was quite simple.
It all started last night while Andy was in the Charlton residence for their usual Tuesday dinners. It was Frank's week with the kids, so it was only Emily and her. Andy loved the kids, she really did, but it was nice to have alone time with her friend, especially since she would be in Singapore for two weeks next month.
They ended up with Andy giving the redhead the best puppy eyes possible to have dinner on the couch while watching a film, granted it didn't take as much begging as it needed to a year ago when they had reconnected after the whole Milan Fiasco.
Moments like these were when Andy felt truly at peace.
It was addicting.
It had always been addictive, being in Emily's orbit was like no other drug on the market. There was no point in ever trying anything because nothing could ever compare to the feeling of being on the receiving end of those icy blue eyes. It was like she was in a trance, completely hypnotized.
Which is why it was also great that Emily had a habit of being mean to her, another of Andy's favorite characteristics of the other woman, because her razor-sharp tongue is the only cure she—
"Honestly Andy, it is quite rude to pick a film—beg for it actually—and not have the decency to pay attention to it."
Breaking her focus from the other woman to look at the TV, trying to mask her staring even if she was already caught. The movie was one that she had seen over fifty times—she could probably perform the whole monologue—but it has been her mission lately to show Emily all the 'silly' movies she proclaimed she was too old to watch.
"Nuh uh, I'm paying attention. See right now Lord Farquaad is gonna ask the gingerbread man where Shrek and all the others are."
Just like she had stated, the scene started to play out. Andy turned her head and looked at Emily again, but this time with a shit-eating grin. When Emily turned to look at the brunette, Andy wasted no time in saying, "I told you so."
Before Emily could respond with her own bratty remark, a phone rang. It was Emily's, with the ringtone that Roark had picked for himself, stating that it needed to match his aesthetic.
A Charlton through and through.
It was not unusual for the children to call their mother when they were away to say goodnight. Andy would never tell Emily, since she would probably lose 'take-out choice' privileges, but the softness that Emily only let herself show when talking to Wynnie and Roark was captivating and overly adorable. Seeing the same person that would make interns shake in their Chanel boots for over two decades melt at the sight of her children made Andy's heart rate accelerate toward dangerous levels. It was a view that once upon a time 22-year-old Andy would only dream of while drunk on wine and blue eyes sneering from the opposite desk.
(Not like she would ever tell Emily that.)
From the other side of the couch, Emily stood up and walked the short distance to the kitchen island where they both left their phones—their unofficial rule of no screens while being together, unless it was the kids or Runway—and answered the FaceTime call.
"Hello my darling Princ—," Emily quickly stopped, her smile dropping from her face. "Darling, what's wrong?"
At hearing the urgency in the other woman's voice, Andy quickly stood up and walked toward her when instead of Roark answering, only sniffles and the distinct voice of Frank arguing in the background came through the speaker.
"Mum," Roark finally spoke after a couple of seconds, but it truly felt like minutes. It was unusual to see this kind of reaction from him. Never in an emotionless sense, but rather in that he had always been a happy child, a somewhat moody teenager sure, but crying was not a usual occurrence. This was serious. "Can you come pick me up?" he said through sniffles.
"Don't be dramatic, Roark Anders, it is just a guitar. Give me the phone," Frank's voice was hard and annoyed in tone. But in all fairness, his usual tone was never far from that.
"What in the bloody hell is going on?" Emily responded, her face hardening. It was pure instinct now, ready to fight tooth and nail for her baby boy no matter the reason.
"Natalie's twins are here and wanted to play the guitar. You know how teenage boys are. They got excited playing rockstars and accidentally broke it. It is just a silly guitar, he's just being dramatic," Frank said as if it was no big deal.
"They smashed it! It's completely destroyed," Roark argued.
"You know it's not just a guitar, Frank. My father gave him that before he died," Emily replied. She walked toward the closet by the front door and opened it, taking out her shoes. She then added, "You are aware that Roark and Wynnie are your priority? How can you even excuse such behavior? Roark, sweetheart, I'm on my way, tell your sister."
"This is my week, Emily. I'll contact my lawyer," Frank threatened.
"Do it! I would love to disclose how you failed to pick up the children for your court mandated time for three months." Without waiting for a response, she hung up.
And that is how she ended up here. Waiting impatiently for the guy behind the counter to examine what was left of the guitar. It was in rough shape. When she accompanied Emily to pick up the kids after arguing that the other woman should not go alone, she expected it to be broken in the middle with the neck and body disconnected.
But oh no, it was so much worse.
Those kids didn't just smash it, they utterly destroyed it. Even some of the tuning pegs were broken.
It was clearly no accident but arguing wouldn't magically fix it.
So she decided to find a way to do it. After sneaking the guitar out of Emily's apartment in the morning when she left for work, Andy searched for the best instrument repair store in the state. Hell, in the whole East Coast, if she needed to go all the way to Florida in order to bring Roark's smile back then she would gladly do it. No matter the cost.
Thankfully, one of the best stores was in the city.
"I'm gonna be frank with you, ma'am, you should sue whoever did this. The body is made out of Brazilian Rosewood, that already is $10,000 but the model is from '67, that already brings it up to around 30k," the guy explained, continuing to examine the wood with gloved hands. Directing his eyes toward her, the worker continued, "And that is just an estimate. But I'm not gonna beat around the bush, reconstructing it would be impossible."
She was going to jail for murder.
Andy closed her eyes and looked down. How truly naive of her to think this could be easily fixed. But God, there was no other choice but to try. This was more than wood and strings, it held one of the only memories that the children had of their Grandad. Andy never had the privilege of meeting Mr. Charlton, but she had seen all the pictures and heard the stories. Photos of a tiny wide-eyed Emily sitting in her father's lap, trying to play the guitar with her toddler hands. It was him that encouraged Emily to pursue a career in the creative world, to dream beyond the stars.
"While reconstruction would be impossible, there is another option. It's gonna take some time, but it could work," the guy broke her moment of pity.
Moving her head at the speed of light, eyes wide, a clear sign for him to continue.
"I could use some of the wood, like the big pieces, and make a new guitar. Two of the tuning pegs are okay so I could reuse those, just need to polish them. It's gonna take some time and I won't lie, it's gonna be expensive, but we are the best for a reason," he finished explaining, his eyes filled with confidence.
The easiest decision of her life.
It would take at the very least three months, but she had another solution for that.
"Hey, Dad? Sorry to wake you up."