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"I need the best possible team with me. That no longer includes Emily."
That no longer includes Emily.
It echoed through Andy's mind constantly ever since Miranda said it. Her casual cadence, her direct threat in coming for Andy's job and future endeavors that followed, the immense guilt that Andy had been choking down since she'd learned of Miranda's wishes...
Andy kept blinking away tears, knowing that she didn't deserve to cry. She was the one who eventually agreed to Miranda's plans and accepted her offer. She was the one who secretly was excited to arrive in glamorous Paris.
She was the one who had to tell Emily.
Emily had waited for this— starved herself for this. It was her whole life, and now Andy had to be the one to rip apart her dreams. She wouldn't blame Emily if she never wanted to talk to her again. In fact, she'd totally understand.
She shouldn't have been surprised that Miranda would be heartless and cut Emily from the team, and she certainly shouldn't have been surprised that Miranda tasked her with being the one to break the news.
Maybe she should've called Emily right away, but it felt too new— too raw. Andy sat on her couch, alone, scratching nervously on the backs of her hands. She used to scratch much more, creating angry marks that littered her pale skin. She'd luckily grown out of the habit once graduating college, but it returned in moments like these. Moments when she was dreading something because she knew how things would end.
All Emily talked about was Paris. Paris was the background on her computer, for Christ's sake. Emily worked harder every day for Paris, she stayed late and hung on Miranda's every word for Paris. She hid any and all aspects of her relationship with Andy for Paris. Anything that could jeopardize the opportunity had been out of the question.
How was it fair that Andy got to go? Andy, who hadn't even felt the need to hide, over the woman who'd been so cautious? Andy hadn't tried at all, but Emily's whole life was built on immense effort and careful curation.
Andy felt like a traitor, and she was. She felt sick with herself as she waited for Emily to arrive at her apartment. Emily had no idea what Andy was allowing her to walk into. Andy had done the right things, right? She did call, she went to the hospital, she was supportive, as always… but that somehow made it worse. No one else visited the hospital.
"Don't pick up."
"Don't pick up."
"Don't pick up, don't pick u—"
"Hi!" Came Emily's rushed voice on the other line.
"Emily!"
"Hi, hi, sorry I'm late. It's just Miranda wanted some scarves from Hermès. And she did tell me yesterday, but I forgot like an idiot. And so I freaked out, of course."
"Emily, Emily, I-I need to talk to you," she tried to interject.
"But then, I called Martine at home, and she opened the shop early." Andy cringed as she heard Emily loudly collide into someone on the street, but Emily continued talking, "She opened the shop early for me, so I got them, which is great."
"Okay. Um, Emily, wh-when you come in, there's something we, uh, I have to talk to you about."
"Well, I hope it's not another Miranda problem," she said.
"Not exactly."
"Well, good, because I've got so much to deal with before I go. I swear to God—"
Tired screeched, a few people gasped, and one woman screamed (quite dramatically). Andy's eyes widened, fearing the worst.
"Emily?"
The hospital was loud as Emily paced, refusing to stay in bed.
"You really should be sitting," Andy said, fidgeting.
"I really should be at work," Emily shook her head. "I mean, these tests are bordering on obsessive, I was barely nicked!"
"Em, you got hit by a taxi."
"Nicked!" she reiterated. "It barely tapped me. I'm wasting so much time here. The skirts should've already been delivered, and I should be planted at my desk."
"You could have a concussion," Andy scratched her hand. Emily really didn't need physical wounds on top of the emotional ones that Andy would surely soon create.
"I could be fine," Emily checked the clock. "I am fine. You shouldn't even be here, who's working the desk?"
"Don't worry," Andy said. "I got it under control."
"Tell me you didn't upset Miranda," Emily shook her head. "I can't have her irate when we're traveling."
"Uh, no," Andy tried to breathe normally, though she felt like she was on the verge of suffocation. "Miranda's fine. You probably shouldn't shake your head like that until—"
"I'm not concussed!" Emily said. "I would know if I had a concussion, Andy."
"Okay!" Andy held her hands up. "I'm just worried about you."
"Well, don't be," she sat down on the hospital bed. "I just have to be cleared to fly to Paris, and then everything will be okay."
There it was again. Paris, Paris, Paris.
Andy's words left her before she could think. "You should, um, come over for dinner tonight."
"Dinner?"
"Yeah," Andy's mind raced. "To celebrate, uh, you not getting…" she gestured.
"Obliterated by a taxi?" she finished. "Wow, what an occasion."
Andy tried to force out a laugh, but her nerves were killing her. She just knew that she couldn't break the news to Emily in a hospital gown. She couldn't completely mortify her and strip her of her dignity. Emily already had a large cut on her leg and a scrape on her head where she fell on the pavement. She claimed that she didn't hit her head hard, but Andy didn't know if she believed her yet.
It all depended on the doctor, she supposed. If she was cleared, Emily would come over. This way, Andy could tell her everything civilly and with care. If not, Andy would come back to the hospital later, which she really, really didn't want to do.
She made Emily promise to call her once she found out the damage. Andy went home in a stupor.
Andy should be glad that she wasn't injured, and she was, but would it be the worst thing if Emily suffered a sudden bout of amnesia that cleared up right after Andy got back from Paris? Yes? Maybe Andy was a terrible person.
The other difficult task was finding something that Emily would actually eat. The only thing that Andy could whip up was a plain spaghetti with jar sauce mess, which she doubted Emily would even pretend to consume.
At the mere thought of food, bile raised in Andy's throat. She hoped that Emily would be here soon. She had to rip the bandage off before it killed her.
Moments later, a knock came.
"Coming!" Andy called, standing up on shaky legs. She bounced, bending her knees and shaking her arms to get the nerves out. "Just rip the band-aid off."
Upon opening the door, Andy froze. Emily looked… really cute. She was much more dressed down than usual. She wore a looser sweater, tight track pants, and pristinely white sneakers.
"Sorry," Emily immediately started, walking into the apartment without invitation. "I know I look awful. The doctor made me swear I wouldn't wear heels for the rest of today, and my leg was a little swollen, so—"
"Em," Andy stopped her. "Stop, it's fine. I think you look really cute."
Emily immediately went red. "Stop that."
"What?" Andy laughed, her fear momentarily lessening. "I'm telling the truth. It's nice to see you out of designer."
"You've seen me in plenty less," she teased, making Andy match her blush.
"I'm glad you're feeling back to normal," Andy opted, trying to keep it light.
"I'm just ready to get back to work," Emily groaned, dropping carefully onto Andy's couch. "I lost half the day and royally fucked up with Miranda."
"You didn't fuck up," Andy sat next to her. "You were—"
"Rushing," she interrupted. "I was rushing, and I messed up Miranda's entire day. You should've seen it, Andy. Papers flying, scarves raining down— it was humiliating."
Andy pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the dramatics.
"Are you laughing?" Emily gasped, shoving her.
"I'm sorry, you're just being… you," Andy said.
"I hope I'm being me, otherwise I might have a serious head injury. If I start mixing up Dior and Chanel, please take me back to the hospital," Emily said.
"Noted," Andy blinked, running her hands across her legs. "Uh, about dinner… I didn't know what you liked and I'm not good at cooking. I can make pasta?"
Emily shook her head, "Carbs? Andy, no way. You know I'm not eating to prepare for Paris. I thought 'dinner' was code for sex."
"You thought I was scheduling a booty call while you were laid out on the hospital slab?"
"Those gowns do leave little to the imagination."
"Yes," Andy cleared her throat, trying not to let her thoughts wander.
"So you invited me here to not have dinner? And not have sex?" she asked. Her voice slipped into that seductive tone that drove Andy crazy.
"I don't…" she licked her lips. "We should—"
Andy's eyes opened wide as Emily's closed— Emily was kissing her. And the worst thing, the most selfish thing, was that Andy immediately kissed back.
Andy met her pace, but once she felt her eyes flutter shut, she pulled away. She rested her forehead on Emily's, trying to catch her breath.
Emily licked her lips, a little shy. "Sorry, I just… I did appreciate you coming to visit me. And the flowers you brought were lovely."
"I just got them from a vendor on the way," she downplayed. She didn't feel like she deserved the praise at all right now.
"No one's…" she shook her head, running a hand through her red hair. "No one's gotten me flowers."
"You're kidding," Andy's eyes widened for the umpteenth time.
"I'm not," she said, looking at Andy's lips. "I mean, in high school maybe. It's not a big deal, I just thought it was nice of you."
"Well," Andy took a deep breath. "You're welcome."
Emily didn't notice her apprehension, leaning back in to kiss her softly. Andy let their lips connect twice, before shaking her head.
"Em…"
"What?" Emily asked. Andy could tell that she was getting a little insecure.
"I don't know how to tell you," Andy stood, squeezing her eyes shut. "Fuck, you're gonna hate me."
"What?" she stood, rubbing Andy's shoulders. "I'm not going to hate you, what's going on? You can tell me."
Andy started regretting her decision to stall. Maybe telling her while she was trapped in the hospital, disoriented, would've been easier than this.
She was much less Emily a few hours ago. Now, she was all bandaged up in the softest, most Emily way. Her beautiful blue eyes, her glossy lips, her neatly combed hair, her effortlessly sexy outfit— it was so unfair, honestly.
"No," Andy put her hand on top of Emily's. "It's serious."
"Andy," Emily said, as if she already knew. "If it's about us, you don't have to worry. No one knows, and I feel the same. I really like you, okay? I know I've been cold at work."
"You really like me?" Andy asked, temporarily stunned and thrown off.
"Isn't it obvious?" Emily asked, kissing her cheek. "Come on, I'm not supposed to be standing this much. I'm not wearing flats tomorrow, God forbid."
Andy nodded eagerly, not wanting Emily to agitate her injuries. She liked Andy. Andy's heart raced. She knew that Emily was nicer to her outside of work now, she knew that they were soft and romantic after sex, but it was much different to actually hear it out loud.
Andy impossibly prayed that a small part of Emily already knew about everything. That she was just waiting for Andy to spit it out. She knew it wasn't true, but it was a nice thought.
Andy realized that she was being pulled through her apartment, Emily's hand gripping her own. It was a short distance to the bed from the living area, but she was in a fog.
Andy didn't care about clothes or connections. She didn't know anyone in the fashion world, and she wasn't planning to stick around. Emily deserved this so much more than she did, and it was killing her.
"I like you," Andy said, her voice shaking a bit. Emily interpreted it as nerves. "I do. And—"
Emily's lips were on hers.
Andy kissed back. Fuck, she was so weak.
Emily met her lips eagerly, smiling into the kiss. To Emily, this was a night of acceptance. She had successfully vocalized that she liked Andy, and Andy liked her back. They were kissing, she was happy, she wasn't concussed… what a perfect night.
To Andy, she wanted nothing more than to repress everything except for her affection for Emily. She wanted to pin her down and show her how much she liked her. She wanted them to kiss all night, make love in her bed, and fall asleep to the noise of something shitty on the television.
Andy couldn't believe that Emily tolerated her apartment, or that she even liked her after getting to know her. Truthfully, Emily was completely different than what she'd expected. When she first met her, she was stuck up and shallow. She thought Emily hated her, and she wasn't entirely wrong. Over time, though, she learned that Emily was just deeply closed off.
She opened up to Andy in ways that she never had before. She smiled more, she laughed louder, and she didn't judge everything Andy did anymore. It was something Andy could've never anticipated.
She didn't think she'd fall so hard for Emily Charlton, but Emily Charlton didn't think she'd fall so hard for Andrea Sachs.
Andy realized that Emily had been on top of her for some time, and Andy's hands were roaming her back freely. She was kissing back enthusiastically, loving every second of them like this. Every second before they were ruined. Andy surprised herself with her own greed. How could she be kissing her back? How could she be aroused right now?
Andy could feel Emily's shoulder bones protruding and it made her stomach twist. Andy slid her hands across the length of her back to feel her. Emily took Andy's ache of concern as unbridled lust, slipping her tongue into Andy's mouth.
Andy sighed, again, taken as a sign of enjoyment. And the thing was, Andy was enjoying it. Andy always enjoyed it. Emily was an incredible kisser, a skilled lover, and the only genuine connection that Andy had lately. She had friends, of course, but none of them actually understood her recent stresses. It was silly to them— just stuck-up fashion work, but Emily understood it all too well.
Emily was in a good mood, Andy could tell. She was feeling across Andy's neck softly, causing an immediate heat to settle lower. Andy could feel the light exhales from her nose on her cheek— it was just so sweet. They had moments where it was rushed, hot, and all about getting off. They had times where it was slow, sensual, and a genuine enjoyment of closeness.
This was everything together.
Emily swiped her nose across Andy, grinding her body into Andy's as she kissed her full lips. Emily's hands traveled south, slipping just under Andy's shirt seam. She thumbed at her waist, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. Andy felt herself let out a moan before she'd heard it, her brow creasing as Emily licked into her mouth.
Emily kissed the corner of her mouth, feeling up her bare stomach. She slid under her shirt, making her way to Andy's breasts, but Andy's hands stopped her. She placed her hand on Emily's, making her hand go flat on her ribs.
Emily's brow wrinkled in confusion, placing a shorter kiss on Andy's lips.
"You're not in the mood?" Emily asked, coming up for air. They'd been making out for minutes now, so Andy usually was beyond ready.
She was horribly in the mood.
"I am," Andy reassured, taking her hand off of Emily's, which was still under her shirt.
Emily withdrew her hand, not wanting to go too far. "You seem distracted," she put her head down on Andy's chest. "Is Miranda being hard on you?"
Andy's heart raced at the care in her voice. She was sure Emily could feel the constant thuds.
"A little," Andy swallowed. This was Miranda's doing, after all.
"You'll be free from her soon," Emily lifted her head, kissing Andy's neck. "It'll be slower when she's in Paris— mostly phone stuff."
Andy blinked back tears at the gentle kiss. Emily wasn't like this with anyone else, Andy was sure of it. She joked with Serena, she put on a front for others, but with Andy? She was soft. She was kind, she offered help, she cooked… And now Andy had to break her heart.
"Emily," Andy said, closing her eyes.
"Mm?" Emily hummed, tracing shapes on Andy's stomach on top of her shirt now. "Are you stressed? I can take care of you."
"No, I-It's…" Andy's chest hurt and Emily's willingness to ease her pain. The pain that was her own fault. "It's about… It's about Paris."
"Paris?" Emily lifted her head. "Darling, are you worried about the distance? It's only a short while, I'll call you."
Andy shook her head, "Miranda told me something."
"Told you what?" she asked, tucking a strand of Andy's hair behind her ear.
"Emily," she shook her head, moving to sit up. She couldn't do this with Emily still on top of her.
Emily moved off, sliding to the side as Andy sat up. She leaned up on her arm, playing absentmindedly with a pull in the comforter. She stopped herself from making a remark at the cheap bedding, considering how strange Andy was acting.
"Miranda told me," Andy pursed her lips. "Miranda told me that she wants me to go to Paris."
"What?" Emily laughed. The bedding was no longer interesting to her. "That's not true, Andy, only one of us can go to Paris with her."
Andy said nothing, waiting for the realization to sink in. She waited for Emily to scream at her. Maybe she'd storm out or maybe she'd cry. Andy hoped she wouldn't cry.
Instead, her mouth just opened. A chill went through Emily's body, following by hot rage.
"What?" she repeated. She was angrier.
"Em," Andy tried.
"Andy?" Emily stood. "Are you saying Miranda asked you to go to Paris? In my place?"
"I didn't have a choice," Andy tried. She stood, standing slightly taller than Emily, though she felt six feet underground.
"Oh. Please," Emily scoffed.
"You know how she is."
"That is a pathetic excuse!" Emily yelled. "You don't care about Paris! You never have. You just want to be a journalist."
"Emily, I know you're mad," Andy attempted to disarm her. "I don't blame you."
"The clothes you're gonna get…" she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've wanted this forever."
"Emily, I know," Andy spoke. "I've been dreading telling you—"
"Yeah? Poor you," Emily snapped. "Were you just going to let me fuck you? You still had it in you to be in the mood?"
"No," Andy swallowed. "I—"
"You just made out with me," Emily wiped her mouth. "You were kissing me… like everything was normal?"
"Emily, I didn't know when to tell you…"
"As soon as you found out!" she pointed her finger at her. "How long did you know? Did we have sex?"
"No," Andy immediately outstretched a hand. "Em, I'd never—"
"Fuck you," she pushed her hand away. "I can't believe I was so stupid."
"You're not stupid," Andy said. "It's me."
"Yeah, it is you," Emily choked out. "I can't believe I thought someone could be genuine around here, what an idiot. I trusted you."
"Miranda threatened my future," Andy begged. "I know that you understand that."
"I don't understand," Emily decided. "You could've refused her. The reason she likes you so much is because you have a backbone! Which you obvious didn't exercise. You wanted to go to Paris, didn't you?"
"Emily…"
"You want to go," she clenched her jaw. "You want to go to please Miranda. To get a foot in the door when you leave Runway?"
"She would've fired me."
"Good!" she swiped away a tear. She was angry with herself for showing any emotion at all. "I don't care if she would've fired you. Paris was my goal. It was my dream!"
"Emily…"
"No," she grabbed her purse, flinging it over her shoulder. "I thought you were different."
"I am," Andy walked after her. "Emily, please understand."
Emily opened the door, looking back at her. "Whatever this is? It's over."
The door slammed.
Andy swallowed back tears, but failed. Tears fell down her face as she stared at the door. She could still smell Emily's perfume, but she knew it wouldn't last. She wished that she could bottle the scent, but she couldn't. Her relationship with Emily was over. In every way. Emily hated her, she resented her, and that was the last kiss they'd probably ever share.
Andy hated herself.
She kind of hated Miranda.
She'd still go to Paris.
She'd go to Paris, since she already ruined everything. When she got back, she'd have endless opportunities in front of her. The only thing she wouldn't have, was Emily.