Chapter Text
DECEMBER 2006 – TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Paris had come and gone. Well, Andy had nearly gone too, left Miranda right there on those stairs surrounded by hundreds of paparazzi and thousands of flashing camera lights. And yes, her phone had taken a fun little plunge too. Thankfully, thankfully, Nigel had smacked some sense into her. He had followed her across the street and outright scolded her for thinking she had to make some great gesture for him and that she desperately needed to grow up. It had stung at the time, especially since she had just wanted to help him, to show support, to make it completely clear to Miranda that she did not condone what she had done to Nigel, how she had handled the situation. Reflecting on that years later, Andy realised that she had been so young then, barely understanding that sacrifices like these were simply necessary sometimes and that it did not have anything to do with selfishness or greed or nastiness.
Miranda and she had not talked about that last afternoon in Paris but when she returned to her hotel room later that day there was already a small white box with a brand-new phone and a sleek black, and most importantly, waterproof case waiting for her on the side table next to the door. And that was that.
They were back in New York now. They had been back for almost three weeks. Emily had been released from the hospital, now brightening up the office with her charming comments on crutches. Andy had given her most of the clothes she had gotten in Paris and that had softened the brit’s anger a bit. A bit.
The phone was ringing.
Oh! The phone is ringing.
Ripped out of her daydreams, Andrea fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping the receiver twice before answering.
“Miranda Priestly’s office. How may I help you?”
“Oh hello, Dearie. Can I speak to my daughter, please. She isn’t answering her mobile.”, the voice on the other end sounded so much like Miranda that Andy had to lean over her desk to peak into the Editor’s office to make sure she was actually still sitting there, however it was a lot warmer and distinctly more British. With an inaudible gasp Andy realised that she had Miranda Priestly’s mother on the other end. Miranda’s mother was calling to speak to her daughter. The daughter who wasn’t answering her cell. Oh God! Panic struck Andy and she looked over to Emily with frantic eyes, hoping to get a sign on what to do out of the redhead. No luck, Emily kept obliviously typing away.
Okay, breathe, Andy, breathe!
“Just a moment, ma’am. I’ll put you through right away.”
She pressed the button and hurried into Miranda’s office with sweaty hands, which she just so managed to not wipe on the Versace Slacks she was wearing.
Miranda was sorting through the results of the newest photoshoot for the February issue, not bestowing any of her attention on Andy who was hovering in the doorway.
“Your mother is on line two, Miranda.”
Miranda’s head snapped up from the photos, her blue eyes sparkling dangerously and regarding her, looking her up and down for a few moments.
Andy flushed under the intense gaze. She doubted she would ever get used to those expressive eyes looking at her, roaming over every inch of her, assessing her. She hated it. No, that wasn’t right. She hated the way it made her squirm, made her want to look away because she couldn’t bare the idea of Miranda seeing what could possibly be reflected in her own eyes.
No. She loved them, she loved Miranda’s eyes. Sometimes they were so light blue, they almost appeared silver; and sometimes, other times, they were so dark, so deep that Andy was reminded of an ocean, and she was the ship that was getting swallowed whole by the roaring tempest.
“Close the door on your way out, Andréa.”
Miranda left the office around five that evening to meet with her divorce lawyer before going home. Andy left exactly three and a half hours later with The Book and Miranda’s dry cleaning.
No matter how many times she crossed the threshold of the Townhouse, she would always be reminded of that first disastrous time she had delivered The Book. And like every other time she quickly pushed that thought away. It made her too angry, thinking about Stephen, thinking about how he had treated Miranda, how he had spoken to her, with so much disdain and so little respect for the woman he was supposed to love. If Andy would only so much as get the chance to- No! She wouldn’t even finish that thought. And anyway, she had to deliver some clothes and a book and go home to an empty flat with half of the furniture missing.
She unlocked the door, hung the dry-cleaning in the closet and put The Book-
“Andréa.”, Andy felt her stomach do that weird flippy thing and she wasn’t sure if it was due to dread or excitement, it was hard to tell these days. She put The Book in front of her chest like an armour and went through to the little sitting area that was situated before the kitchen.
Just like last time, she almost walked past Miranda despite knowing better this time. Miranda was sitting in one of the blue armchairs, glasses on and red pen already in hand. The other hand was expectantly stretched out towards Andy, who quickly handed her The Book.
Miranda immediately opened it before looking back up at Andy over the rim of her glasses. And there was that flippy thing in her tummy again.
“Christmas.”, she said and shifted her attention back to the book. Quickly Andy mentally went through every possible thing she could mean by that.
“Yes, I’ve booked your flight and checked you in already.”
Miranda hummed. “So, you will be in Ohio.”
It wasn’t a question. Miranda seldomly asked questions. Or rather, she made a presumption sound like a fact, and you were supposed to know it was actually a question. Andy quirked her lips and was glad Miranda was still looking at the book and couldn’t see it.
“No, I’ll be staying here. In New York, I mean.”
No need to go into detail how the relationship with her parents had been strenuous, to say the least, since she and Nate had broken up. And now they had used visiting her sister and her sister’s baby over the holidays as an excuse to not have to spend two weeks at once in the presence of the child ‘that had lost focus of what is really important in life’. Or at least that’s what Andy assumed was the reason. Nevertheless, she couldn’t say she didn’t feel relieved to some extent. She would gladly avoid her parents and extended family questioning her on her life choices during every meal and in-between those.
“You have plans, of course. She will just have to accept that.”, that last part she said so quietly Andy nearly missed it. She frowned almost involuntarily. This was getting stranger by the second. Since when was Miranda interested what her employees did during their incredibly limited free time.
“Who?”, she blurted and immediately bit her tongue. Miranda sighed, closed the book, took her glasses off and looked at Andy once again, with the long-suffering expression of someone who was clearly surrounded by idiots all day long.
“My mother, of course. Do keep up, Andréa.”
Andy needed to check her GPA again once she was home because she didn’t understand a word coming out of Miranda’s mouth. It must have shown on her face because Miranda sighed again and could just so refrain from rolling her eyes.
“She wants me to bring you.”
An incredulous chuckle escaped Andy. “Me? Why?”
Miranda pursed her lips, averted her eyes to look down at the book again, feigning nonchalance, and shrugged.
“If I spend my days trying to figure out what goes on in that woman’s head, I would never get any work done. So?”
“So?”
“Well, call her first thing tomorrow morning, no later than 9, and tell her you are unavailable.”
“I’m not, though. Unavailable, that is.” Andy had no idea why she had said that; it’s not like she fancied spending the holidays, the first time she had more than one free day at a time since starting at RUNWAY, with Miranda and her mother.
The former looked like she had bitten into a lemon at that admission. Great. This was worse than a pursed lip in the face of an atrocious preview.
“But I can tell her I am.”, she quickly added, nearly stumbling over the words.
Miranda slowly shook her head with resignation. “You can’t lie to my mother. Book another plane ticket and arrange for a car.”
Andy just nodded feeling like she had put her foot in it enough for one day.
“That’s all.”
Outside, as the cold December air hit her, it dawned on her with a clarity that she had just dug her own grave and there was no way for her to crawl out of it again.
She would be spending Christmas, New Years and all the days in-between with her boss at her mother’s house in England.
Her boss who was no other than Miranda Priestly.
Her boss who was nearly 23 years older than her.
Her boss who she was desperately in love with.
When she was brushing her teeth the next morning, she suddenly realised how weird it was for Miranda’s mother to invite her daughter’s assistant, of all people, to celebrate the holidays with them. But who was there she could ask for clarification? Certainly not Miranda. Emily, maybe? No, she had only just begun talking to her again. Nigel? She spat and rinsed her mouth. Possibly.
Once at the office she booked herself another ticket and that rental car Miranda had requested. She hoped desperately it wasn’t another manual transmission, she doubted she would survive that. Whether she would be killed by driving against a tree or strangled by Miranda’s hands however, she wasn’t sure about.
After she had gathered all the newest magazines from the foyer and arranged them on Miranda’s desk the way the Editor liked it, she went over to Nigel’s office. Fortunately, he was alone.
“Why the glum face, Six?”, he greeted her.
“I need your help, Nige. Please.”
His eyes wandered over her, assessing. “You need something blue with that. We have these lovely new Chanel earrings-“
“No, no! Not with-“, Andy looked down at herself. He was right a drop of colour would be perfect. No! No distractions, Andy, you’re on a mission. “It’s about Miranda.”
Nigel quirked his lips and raised an eyebrow. “When is it not?”
Andy rolled her eyes. “Nigel!”
The desperation in her voice seemed to alert him. Andy sighed. Where to even start. She, herself could hardly believe what she was about to tell him.
“Out with it, Six. You’re starting to worry me. Is she sick?”
“What? No! Nothing like that. No.”, she began to tell him everything that had happened after her brief conversation with Mrs Priestly over the phone the previous afternoon.
“What do I do now, Nigel? And why would she even- I mean, I don’t even know what’s happening, actually.”
Nigel grinned. He grinned. He stood there, surrounded by pictures and photos and accessories and he grinned.
“You’re fine, Six. It’ll be good for you.”, and with that he told her he needed to work and gently pushed her out of his office. Had everyone gone insane over the last 24 hours? Andy felt like she was slowly but surely losing her mind.
DECEMBER 2006 – THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Miranda had not mentioned the whole Andy-come-with-me-to-England-for-the-holidays-fiasco again, maybe she had forgotten about it, Andy hoped.
But of course, as usual, luck was not on her side, and so it happened that on December 20th Miranda entered her office with Andy in tow, who was frantically scribbling down dates and instructions and things she needed to do and remember.
“Oh, and about the 24th, be at the Townhouse at 5 a.m. sharp. You know I like to be at the airport on time and the girls will have been picked up the night before, so there is really no reason to waste any time.”
Shit! “Yes, Miranda.”
Two days later she was looming over her suitcase, the contents of her closet scattered around her on the floor, and the bed, and her dresser. What did one even wear to celebrate Christmas with their boss and her mother? Andy thought about googling but dismissed that thought not a second later. She doubted anyone else on the planet had ever had to face this exact problem. She contemplated calling Lily or Doug, but they hadn’t really spoken since before Paris.
She sighed and flopped herself on her bed, right on top of a grey Prada Blouse and a pair of Gucci gloves and stared up at the crack on the ceiling that had become increasingly more cracked in the last few months, she noticed. With an exhausted groan she turned around and closed her eyes. Maybe all this was a problem for Andy of the Future. Yes, she had all day tomorrow to find a few suitable pieces to put in that damned suitcase.
Of course, Andy of the Future (now Andy of the Present) was just as frustrated.
What was the weather even like in England right now? She should check.
Were they going to go somewhere? Was she there for work? Was she there to be Miranda’s Assistant? You are her assistant, she reminded herself.
Maybe that’s why Miranda’s mother had insisted on her coming along? Because she knew her daughter and wanted to spend some time with her. If Andy came along as well, quite a big chunk of work could be delegated to her.
Yes, Andy mused, that was the most likely scenario. She couldn’t come up with a different answer to her question that wasn’t entirely insane or completely dominated by her wishful fantasies (those she needed to stop thinking about, btw. Quickly!!).
In the end she packed a few ‘normal’ clothes and a healthy amount of everything Nigel had ever lent her from The Closet.
The rest of the day she spent with calling her sister and wishing her A Merry Christmas, and sending the, what she felt like, mandatory Christmas e-mail to her parents, Lily, and Doug.
Only Doug wrote back.