Chapter Text
Andy often thought about the time she walked away from Runway. Not the exact moment when she threw her phone in a fountain and left Miranda to fend for herself in Paris, but the moment she realized how much she’s changed and what she’s done to Emily as a result of it.
The thought of betraying someone who had been unexpectedly helpful, despite their rocky start, weighed heavily on her. She knew her departure had only made things harder for Emily. She’d seen how dejected and demoralized Emily was when she delivered the news that Miranda had chosen Andy to go with her to Paris. She could only imagine how, after being released from the hospital, Emily had to limp to work, probably irritated at having to scramble to find and train a replacement for Andy.
Now, twenty years later, and despite having reconnected with Emily, she still sometimes cringed thinking about how selfish she was. No, how cruel Miranda was for playing with us. So she promised herself she’d make things up with Emily.
And since this is Andrea Sachs we’re talking about, with her earnest heart and restless mind, she decided that bugging Emily is the right way to go about it. Emily insisted that making amends wasn’t necessary after everything they’d done to each other. But considering how no harm was actually done to Andy, Miranda, or Runway, Andy felt like Emily was punishing herself, having resigned from the quiet luxury of Dior’s executive suite and starting over in a humbler, more solid place as a senior executive at Coach.
With her Runway aspirations seemingly irreparably shattered and despite the bittersweet aftertaste of grief and gratitude she had for her past roles, “I feel more grounded here,” Emily claimed.
Still, Andy wanted to bridge the distance Emily always maintained because Andy couldn't deny the fact that she’s always wanted to be close to Emily (and how thrilled she was to have this chance now). So she constantly set up coffee dates and catch-up lunches. And she found excuses to extend late-night how’s your day been? texts into more getting to know you type of chats.
The bell above the café door chimed, and Andy looked up from her latte. Emily walked in, looking effortlessly chic in a tailored coat, though the illusion of perfect control was slightly compromised by the fact that she was being dragged forward by an eight-year-old girl, while a six-year-old boy trailed behind, clutching the hem of her jacket.
"I’m telling you, Mummy, the pigeon was looking at me on purpose," the little girl insisted.
"Yes, Bronwyn, I'm sure it had a personal vendetta," Emily deadpanned, her crisp British accent cutting through the café's hum. She spotted Andy and her shoulders dropped a fraction. "Sorry we're late. Someone decided that his left shoe was fundamentally incompatible with his right foot this morning."
The boy, Roark, peeked out from behind Emily's coat. "The sock was bumpy," he mumbled defensively.
"A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions, truly," Emily sighed, though her hand came down to gently ruffle his hair. She looked at Andy. "Andrea. You survived the wait."
"Barely," Andy smiled, standing up and facing the kids. "Hi. I'm Andy."
Bronwyn evaluated her with a sweeping gaze that was almost frighteningly reminiscent of her mother. "You’re the one who keeps ruining Mummy’s sleep schedule."
Andy let out a startled laugh, glancing up at Emily, whose pale cheeks suddenly dusted with a faint pink.
"I simply mentioned to them that you are a night owl, Andrea," Emily said stiffly, pulling out a chair. "Do not let it go to your head."
"Right," Andy grinned, taking her seat. She looked back at Bronwyn. "I do text her a lot. But only because she pretends she doesn't want to talk to me, and I know she secretly does."
"I do no such thing," Emily muttered, helping Roark off with his coat. "Roark, darling, please do not lick the table."
"I'm not!"
"You were considering it. I could see it in your eyes."
The truth was, Andy didn’t want to waste this bright Saturday morning sleeping in. So when she learned that Emily planned to take her kids to the park, she invited herself along despite Emily’s quiet reservations. I insisted on coming along with them, more like.
It’s not that she’s impatient to meet Emily’s children, it’s just that she realized that there’s still some parts of Emily that she feels are hidden from her. And the thought I wish you wouldn’t always keep me at arm’s length always comes back to her whenever she watches Emily walk away.
Now, watching her friend settle at a corner table, Andy felt a flutter of nerves she hadn’t expected. This was different from their usual coffee dates or late-night texts. This was stepping into Emily’s world—the one she rarely, if ever, let anyone see.
“Hey,” Emily said softly, setting down the bags and smoothing her hair. “You okay?” she asked, as if checking she hadn’t changed her mind about spending time with her and the children.
Andy nodded and smiled, wishing she could reach out and squeeze Emily’s hand to show how delighted she was to be here.
Once the hot chocolates arrived, along with a strategic plate of croissants, Bronwyn took a deliberate sip and turned her attention back to Andy. "Mummy says you're a writer. But that you used to work with her and you wore terrible sweaters."
Oh, my god, she’s raising a mini-Miranda, Andy thought, though she couldn't stop grinning.
"Bronwyn," Emily chided, tapping her finger on the table. "We do not repeat everything we hear in the privacy of our home."
"It's true, though," Andy admitted, leaning in like it was a secret. "I had this one sweater. It was lumpy and blue. But your mom actually helped motivate me to dress better and do better at my work. She was unexpectedly... grudgingly helpful."
Emily rolled her eyes, though a small smile threatened at the corner of her mouth. "I was merely protecting my own sanity and eyesight. It was self-preservation."
"Sure it was," Andy teased.
She watched as Roark struggled to pull a piece of his croissant apart. Without missing a beat, Emily leaned over, gently breaking it into bite-sized pieces for him, her fingers brushing his cheek. She then grabbed a napkin and wiped a smudge of chocolate from his chin, her eyes crinkling with a quiet, unconditional warmth that Andy had never seen directed at anyone in the halls of Runway.
Andy rested her chin on her hand, her voice softening. "You know, you’re really unexpected, Em."
Emily paused, the napkin still in her hand. "Excuse me?"
"I just..." Andy gestured vaguely to the kids, who were now happily distracted by their pastries. "I'm not used to seeing you like this. So... gooey and gentle."
Emily carefully folded the napkin and set it down. She looked at Bronwyn and Roark, her sharp features softening into something entirely open and vulnerable.
"Well, some gooeyness is warranted," Emily said quietly, her voice losing its usual sardonic edge. "I'm guiding these beautiful humans through life, after all."
Andy felt a lump form in her throat. "Looks like you're doing an amazing job with them, so far."
"They're menaces," Emily deflected, though her eyes were shining. "Absolute terrors."
"I heard that!" Bronwyn chimed in.
"You were meant to," Emily shot back effortlessly. She looked over at Andy, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. "But thank you, Andy. Truly."
"Are you going to be Mummy's friend now?" Roark asked suddenly, his big eyes fixed on Andy. "She said she was going to see an old friend."
Emily looked away, taking a very sudden, very deliberate sip of her tea.
Andy’s heart swelled, and she couldn't help the massive smile that broke across her face. Internally, she's screaming. She called me a friend!
"Yeah, Roark," Andy said softly, keeping her eyes on Emily. "I think I am."
Maybe, hopefully, more.