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Andy stared down at the street below without really seeing it, the drink in her hand all but forgotten. It was a late October evening and she wasn’t really dressed for standing around outside, but it beat the alternative—as cold as she might be out here, it would be nothing compared to the icy treatment she’d be sure to receive if she ran into Miranda inside.
She’d known the other woman would be here when she’d agreed to fill in for her colleague, of course, and she’d told herself that she could handle it—it had been five months, after all, at some point she had to start getting over her, right? It wasn’t happening today, however: she’d decided caution was the better part of valour and, grateful for Miranda’s famously short appearances at these events, had convinced Nigel to text her when she showed up, and again when she left. He’d accused her of hiding, but she preferred to think of it as more of a tactical retreat.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
The voice from behind her was soft, even hesitant, but still unexpected enough to make her jump. Speak of the devil… Andy knew it was probably better for her own sanity if she didn’t turn around, but the urge to see Miranda in person again was just too strong. She looked stunning in a floor-length gown which draped down from one shoulder and swept the floor behind her. It was unembellished save for the subtle mix of fabrics, both a purple so dark it looked almost black except for the way one of them shimmered in even in the low light. Her only jewellery was a discrete pair of diamond earrings, but she didn’t need anything else—her pale skin was flawless, and Andy knew she’d turned every head in the room when she entered. She always did.
“Umm…” she cleared her throat, knowing it was useless to pretend she was unaffected by the sight. “… yeah, kind of.”
Miranda just nodded once and turned away. Andy was shocked she’d given in so easily, and—god, she hadn’t expected the dress to have such a low back. She could see the subtle movement of Miranda’s shoulder blades below skin she knew intimately, and all she wanted to do was—
“Wait—“ She swallowed, and told herself she was only doing this because of the flash of disappointment she’d seen in Miranda’s eyes, nothing else. “What did you want?”
“I wanted to talk”—Miranda pursed her lips and corrected—“apologise. I wanted to apologise.”
Well. That was unexpected. Rare enough for Miranda to choose to apologise to anyone, but to do it in public, even if it was just the two of them on the balcony? Now that she thought about it—
“How did you know I was out here?”
“Nigel told me.”
Traitor. But he why would he do that, unless…
“So he… knows?”
Miranda nodded, stiffening slightly as if bracing for an attack. Andy took a moment to ponder the implications of this revelation—it certainly explained why he hadn’t questioned or teased her at all about her avoidance tactic, but didn’t it also suggest that Miranda had learned from her mistakes? She shook her head at herself; she was reading too much into this, or at least getting ahead of herself. Nigel had always been a good friend to her, though, and she liked to think he wouldn’t have given her away unless he thought some good would come of it.
Miranda cleared her throat, shaking Andy out of her thoughts. “It doesn’t have to be now.”
Andy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You might as well say what you came to,” she said eventually, “I’ll just drive myself crazy thinking about it if you don’t.”
The editor gave a small smile which was quickly replaced by what could only be described as anxiousness—an unfamiliar expression on her. One hand rose to fiddle briefly with the neckline of her dress, a nervous habit in the absence of a necklace.
“I am sorry, Andrea,” Miranda said formally. “I know I treated you badly, and—well, you don’t need me to tell you that—”
“No, but it would be nice to know what exactly you’re apologising for.”
“Right, yes. Admit wrongdoing,” Miranda muttered to herself, and Andy remembered giving her that exact advice when encouraging her to make amends with Nigel. “I’m sorry for excluding you from so much of my life, even in private. I didn’t consider how it would make you feel to be so… marginalised, and I’m—I don’t blame you at all for leaving.”
Miranda was somehow managing to sound both rehearsed and incredibly stilted, but Andy could tell she was being genuine.
“Okay. Thank you,” she said, assuming Miranda was finished.
“I did want you to be part of the family,” Miranda blurted, continuing at a more manageable pace, “I still do, though I realise that I—that might not be an option anymore, for you.”
Andy blinked. “Oh.” Miranda looked a little disappointed by her monosyllabic response but continued speaking before she could formulate anything more meaningful.
“It was wonderful seeing how well you got on with the girls, and getting to spend time with all of you was… priceless, even if it wasn’t everything it could have been.”
“Then why,” asked Andy, finding her voice at last, “why didn’t you want to tell them about us?”
“I was—scared,” Miranda looked away, glancing first at the balustrade Andy was standing against then back over her own shoulder towards the well-lit ballroom. Nobody was paying them any attention, though she could just make out Nigel lurking close enough to intercept any unwitting intruders.
“Of what?”
“Of losing exactly that,” Miranda said slowly. “You know my history, I’ve never dated anyone who’s…”
“A woman?”
“No—well, yes, but I didn’t think that would bother them. I meant—”
“Someone younger.”
“Would you let me finish!” Miranda scowled, and Andy raised her hands placatingly. “Age is part of it, but more indirectly than you’re thinking. If…” Miranda paused again, searching for the right words. “If I tried to introduce them to someone your age as a date, it would be a bigger issue, but… they already know you.”
“Yeah…” Andy said slowly, not really following.
“You said it yourself, Andrea. You’ve always been their friend, even when you were still my assistant.”
“Isn’t it a good thing that we’re close?” Andy wrapped her arms around herself, the low temperatures getting to her, and Miranda took a step forward as if to share some warmth.
“Of course it is, but it complicates things,” the editor said softly. “The difference between a friend and your mother’s partner is huge, no matter how close you are.”
“And when you throw in the age gap…” Andy said, everything falling into place.
“Exactly. There are so few people who treat them the way you do”—Andy must have looked confused, because Miranda explained—“as individuals, as simply two thirteen-year-old girls rather than just my daughters. They’ve always known that you’ll put them first, that was the first thing that made me consider you as more than an employee.” Andy hadn’t known that and had never dared ask. “I thought that keeping my relationship with you and your relationship with them separate would preserve that for them.”
It was a lot to take in, but it did make a certain amount of sense in a strange, emotionally-repressed sort of way. “I can see why you’d think that, and of course their needs should come first, but… I wish you would have told me this, Miranda.”
“I know,” she said remorsefully. “It was… selfish, and deeply unfair of me to make that decision unilaterally.”
“Yeah, it sucked,” Andy agreed. “… maybe the girls would have understood, you know?”
“The girls think I’m an idiot, and said so in no uncertain terms,” Miranda replied dryly.
“Wait, you told them?” Andy gaped, stunned.
“Yes. They didn’t speak a single word to me for a week, and then they yelled at me.”
“They didn’t—” Andy cut herself off with a cough.
“… tell you?” Miranda finished with a meaningful look. “I should have said this much, much sooner, but you’re free to see them whenever you wish, Andrea. You don’t have to pretend you’re not still in touch—I’m glad you are.”
“They didn’t mention it, no,” she said sheepishly.
“I did emphasise that I’d hurt you. They probably didn’t want to upset you.”
“Oh. Well… thank you, but—Miranda, come on, what did they say?” Andy begged.
“That they would have loved to have you as part of the family. I still think it would have been more of an adjustment than they realised, but… I was wrong. It wouldn’t have ruined anything, quite the opposite.”
“Okay. Okay, so—okay,” Andy stammered, her thoughts racing. “So, I mean… do you want to—you know. Do that?”
Miranda looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Very much so, yes. I would kiss you in the middle of that dance floor if that’s what it took.”
“Okay. I mean I—I don’t want you to do that,” Andy blushed. “I mean, I do want you to kiss me, just not… like that.”
“No?” Miranda raised an eyebrow.
“No. I did mean it when I said I’m not ready for that sort of press. There’s being out publicly, and then there’s being out to the entire world. Sometime in the future for sure, but maybe we should start by actually building a relationship which could handle that.”
“If you insist,” Miranda agreed with a slight smirk.
“I am sorry about that day in the museum,” Andy added. “You were right, it was reckless, I just… we were having such a good day, and it really felt like we were all there together, and I think… I just wanted to provoke you, to force a change, one way or the other.”
“I understand,” Miranda sighed. “I’m sorry I blew it out of proportion.”
“Well… maybe we needed to start from scratch anyway.”
“Mmm… perhaps you’re right.” Miranda seemed unconvinced.
“Be honest, would you have apologised like this if we’d just told the girls there and then and muddled through?”
“… almost certainly not, no,” Miranda allowed with a rueful smile. “And you definitely deserved one.”
“Thank you. You did a great job.”
“Don’t patronise,” Miranda rolled her eyes, then added, “Nigel said I needed practice.”
“Ha! Shows what he knows,” Andy grinned. “Come on, people will be wondering where you are—you go on, you go in and I’ll wait five minutes.”
“No, you go—you’ve been out here longer, and I can’t have you freezing to death now,” Miranda smirked.
“Okay,” Andy bounced on her feet for a moment, wishing she could kiss the editor. “Okay, bye.”
Miranda waited until she was almost at the door before calling after her. “Andrea?”
Andy turned around almost embarrassingly quickly. “Yeah?”
“How do you feel about coming over for dinner tomorrow?” Andy opened her mouth. “And for goodness sake, do not say okay one more time.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I would love to.”
“6pm, don’t be late.”
“I never am,” she replied.
She was still struggling to control her smile as she slipped back inside, stepping up beside Nigel and looping her arm through his.
“Six,” he said in greeting, peering at her through his glasses. “Does that beaming smile mean I don’t have to officially pick a side?”
“Maybe. Come on, I think I owe you a drink.”
“That good?” he asked.
Andy just grinned—she’d tell him some of the details later, of course, but for now she was content just to bask in the knowledge that she had a date with the Priestlys.