Ficlets: Mirandy edition
Hello DWPers!
Beneath the cut are a lot of mini fics, written for a fun challenge on Tumblr. I hope you're enjoying this and although I have no concrete plans to expand any of these right now, I am open to suggestion. The fics range from G up to maybe R, but no full-blown smut for now.
If you would like to prompt me Mirandy fic at any point, please visit: My Fic Tumblr and use the ask box.
Miranda Cooks
“I’m sorry!” Andy protests for the hundredth time. “But those flames did not look under control to me!”
“It was a flambé,” Miranda growls. “I knew exactly what I-”
“Other things were on fire besides the pan!” Andy defends herself. “The tea towel you left next to it, for example.”
“The fire extinguisher was still an overreaction,” Miranda huffs. “And now we have no dinner.”
“Baby,” Andy says, slipping her arms around Miranda’s waist and resting her chin on Miranda’s shoulder. “Can I buy you some pizza? To say thank you for a lovely effort?”
“Kissing up to me won’t help…” Miranda hesitates. “But if you absolutely must, get that one with the green things I liked.”
“Yes, Miranda,” Andy mocks, before peeling away to search for her phone.
Twins and movies
“I don’t want to watch Harry Potter,” Cassidy whines from where she’s draped, upside down on Andy’s futon. “The books are so much better.”
“Right,” Caroline agrees from the pile of CDs she’s made around herself on the floor. “We could watch a scary movie?”
“I don’t like horror movies,” Andy snaps, wondering when exactly she decided to let her boss use her as an emergency babysitter.
Oh yeah, because Miranda had actually asked, and when Andy agreed there had been that grateful air kiss, in a cloud of Miranda’s perfume. It seemed Andy’s crush would take what it could get.
“What’s this?” Caroline says, holding up a slim DVD case that Andy specifically hid from view two hours ago. “Why does it have the Runway logo on it?”
“It’s uh, it’s a documentary. About the magazine,” Andy stammers a little. Nigel gave her a copy last time she complained about how Miranda was so nice to external people and such a devil at Runway. He told her to try to understand Miranda’s persona better, but Andy had only ever been distracted when she watched it: a chance to stare at Miranda without getting caught.
“Put it on!” Cassidy declares, turning herself right way up. “Mom never tells us anything about work.”
“Because it’s boring. Besides, everyone says that Mom is a real bitch at work, Caroline fires back, already rooting around for something else.
“Hey!” Andy calls out. “Don’t talk about your mother that way. That’s it, we’re watching The March Issue.”
*
Miranda is not impressed that Andrea is not answering her phone, and so she trudges up three floors on already aching feet to retrieve her girls. Dinner with Stephen was a disaster, as usual, and so she wants the girls tucked up in bed before they notice that he’s staying at a hotel tonight.
She knocks loudly on the apartment door, deliberately not looking at the cracked paint and unswept floors in the hallway. Caroline answers the door, which is less than ideal, but Miranda allows herself to be dragged inside.
“Mom, we watched your movie!” Cassidy declares. Miranda looks at the small television and sees the final scenes of that damn documentary playing. She’s flicking through the finished magazine with Nigel, deep in conversation. She would never dream of using a shot so clichéd to close out on.
Andrea is hugging her knees on the low sofa, Cassidy cuddled into her side. It almost looks as though Andrea has been crying, which is ridiculous.
“I didn’t know,” Andrea says, standing up to greet Miranda. “I mean, I see how much you do, and it stuns me. But I’ve never really looked at how it affects you, you know?”
“Crying like that should be reserved for Lifetime movies, Andrea. Girls, get ready. We’re going.”
The girls scatter into other tiny rooms to retrieve their things, while Andrea stands there awkwardly.
“I can help you more, Miranda,” Andrea says in a near-whisper. “I see that now. I can be better.”
“Don’t let some careful editing fool you, Andrea,” Miranda warns. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Mom!” Caroline calls, her uniform mostly back in place and her satchel in hand. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?”
“We’ll see, Bobbsey,” Miranda says as she steers both girls towards the door. “Say thank you to Andrea.”
“Thanks, Andy,” they chorus, already moved on to the next thing in their heads.
“Thank you, Andrea,” Miranda offers, and for a moment it seems like she might say more. But in a moment, she’s gone, pulling the front door closed behind her.
Andy switches off the DVD player and sits down to think.
Doctor
Miranda is so thoroughly annoyed by the stupidity of everyone in, well, the world, that she’s distracted when she gets home. She dispenses with her coat and bag, ignores the Book and heads straight for the bedroom. Seeing Andrea will improve this awful day, and given the late hour, Miranda wouldn’t expect to find her anywhere else.
Miranda strides into the bedroom with purpose, stopped in her tracks by the sight that greets her.
“Ah,” she sighs, happily. She’d almost forgotten the conversation from late last night, a confessional of secrets and fantasies in the dark. But here is her reward for doing the unthinkable and ‘opening up’.
Andrea, ravishing in almost anything, looks especially gorgeous in the ensemble she’s picked out for herself tonight. The hair in a bun is a nice, professional touch, especially couple with the serious reading glasses. The stethoscope around her neck is the first thing to make Miranda blush (just slightly) and there’s no way in hell she can tear her eyes away from the pristine white coat.
Andrea being Andrea, has skipped anything unnecessary, so beneath the open coat Miranda is treated to some exquisite La Perla lace in rich black, perfectly complemented by the Louboutins on Andrea’s feet.
Oh, this is absolutely worth it, Miranda thinks. The arousal is already making her pulse race, before she even has a chance to touch.
“Ms. Priestly?” Andrea asks.
“Yes, doctor?” Miranda responds, trying and failing to suppress a smile.
“It’s time for your appointment.”
Lust
“You’re going to get us arrested,” Miranda whines as Andy corners her. “Or killed.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Andy says, fumbling with the fussy clasp of Miranda’s belt. “What I am going to do,right the hell now, is get into your pants.”
“Have you no self-control?” Miranda asks, her fingers undoing the buttons of Andy’s blouse, because she is nothing if not a total hypocrite when it comes to these matters.
“Not when it comes to you,” Andy admits, before shoving Miranda’s pants down with absolutely no finesse. “And don’t start pretending you want me to.”
“Oh, fine.”
Date Night
“I can’t believe you did this,” Andy whispers as she and Miranda walk up the grand staircase. “Renting out a library? On a Friday night?”
Miranda shrugs, which looks especially elegant in the killer black dress and (realistic but faux) fur wrap draped around her. Andy hopes wherever they’re going isn’t too much further, because she’s in serious danger of jumping Miranda right there on the stairs.
“You like books,” Miranda points out as the nervous staffer points towards the open door of a private reading room. Andy smiles as she and Miranda walk in, alone, but it’s nothing compared to the unstoppable grin at what greets her inside.
“Beanbags,” Andy says, trying very hard not to giggle.
“There’s that awful tea you drink in the pot,” Miranda says with a vague wave of her hand. “These people were instant on no candles, and no hot food, but we won’t starve.”
“You did all this for me?” Andy asks, drawing Miranda into a grateful hug.
“It occurs to me that you were right-spending all our time in the townhouse is very much ‘my’ territory,” Miranda says. “So this is my compromise on ‘date night’.”
“Won’t you be bored?” Andy presses, looking for the catch.
“How could I be?” Miranda asks, her tone suddenly sincere. “Besides, I like books too, you know. You don’t have a monopoly.”
“You really are very sweet sometimes,” Andy says, cementing her point with a soft kiss.
“I’m really not,” Miranda argues, but her cheeks flush just a little nonetheless.
Final Straw
The sound of them having sex doesn’t bother him; that a house bought for over five million dollars doesn’t have better soundproofing is Miranda’s problem, because he’s only ever been a guest here. No, what makes Stephen’s blood run cold, what makes him decide that Miranda’s little ‘proposal’ is no longer something he can live with, is the sound of Miranda laughing.
Really, genuinely laughing. She sounds light, young again, all the things she faked with him for three whole years.
This girl Andy seems bright enough, and there’s no denying she’s a looker, but Stephen still can’t see how she’s the magic trick that turns Miranda back into a human being. He thought he loved his wife, when he married her. Now he realizes that wasn’t even the same person as she is now. Oh, the rest of the world might not see it (and maybe nobody expects drunk, bumbling Stephen to) but he’s got his thirty-day chip in one pocket and a bunch of apartment listings on his desk.
Maybe he should be angrier, rant and rage and threaten to scupper their quietly proceeding divorce, but Stephen doesn’t have the heart. He’s done here, has been since the day Miranda first said “I’ll be late, darling”, and what’s the point in fighting for something you never really had?
He folds the last few shirts into the second case and closes it with a muted thump. Looking around the guest room that he’s been sleeping in for seven months, Stephen can’t muster any pangs of regret. He waits for the voices down the hall to drift off in sleepy murmurs, and makes his exit with whatever dignity he can muster.
He hails a cab, looking up towards the third floor windows. He waves at the darkened glass, the closest he’ll coming to wishing them well.
Baby Making
Andy is fixing a drink when Cassidy comes in and drops three brochures on the dining room table.
“We’re giving these to you first. You decide if you want to talk to Mom,” Cassidy says, looking determined.
“What are…” Andy trails off as she reads the covers. One is for an exclusive looking clinic with something about families in the title. The other is a guide to Adoption in New York State. And the third appears to have been made on the computer upstairs, and as Andy flicks through she can see it’s basically a manifesto from the twins (with pictures) about why their family needs another member.
“You heard us talking last night?” Andy asks, because the girls are smart, but they’re not psychic.
“If you’re going to argue drunk, maybe do it on your own floor, next time,” Cassidy offers helpfully. “Have fun reading!”
Andy sinks down into one of the dining chairs, reaching for the clinic brochure now. The lack of prices listed by their exclusive treatments surely mean that the cost will be eye-watering, but if Andy can present the plan that Miranda says they’ll need, there’s no way Andy will be allowed to try anything but the best.
As she flicks through pretty descriptions of egg-meets-sperm for rich people, Andy can’t help but smile. It turns out she might really be having a kid with Miranda, and what’s not to love about that?
Juggling
Andy’s almost got the hang of it, if she really concentrates when thud-thud-thud-thud, dammit, the stupid balls all go hurtling to the floor.
“Whyyyy,” she groans, “did I ever sign up for this stupid lifestyle feature? I’m sure nobody cares what these stupid Brooklyn hipsters are into this month anyway. They’ll be over it by the time I publish.”
Miranda smirks from where she’s propped up against the headboard with the Sunday papers.
“This is what happens when you leave assignments to the last minute, darling.”
“I didn’t!” Andy protests, but she knows it’s true. She put off researching a bunch of ‘fads’ all week because Miranda’s been home a couple of evenings and certain other activities were just irresistible.
“I’m sure your readers will enjoy a video of you failing miserably,” Miranda suggests, peering at the Travel section.
“You try it, if you’re so smart,” Andy grumbles, throwing the balls from the floor to the bed as a joke. Miranda glares over the top of the paper before folding it with a sigh.
“Very well,” Miranda reaches for the four leather balls that are resting on the sheets and considers them for a long moment.
And then, with maddening precision, she starts juggling. And not just a close approximation of it, either. She’s juggling like she just walked out of a Big Top somewhere. Andy curses at the inevitability.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Andy asks, having enjoyed the sight for a moment or two. Miranda looks especially relaxed this morning.
“That’s for me to know,” Miranda says, slowing the motion of her hands and catching the balls one by one. “And for you to coax out of me.” The look is direct, suggestive, and Andy figures that she does have the whole day to write her article, after all.
“Get talking, Priestly,” Andy says with a giggle as she launches herself back into bed.
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that,” Miranda warns just before their lips meet.
Coming Out
“Oh sweetheart,” Miranda murmurs as Cassidy cries against her shoulder. “Why would that change anything? You know I’ll always love you.”
“I was just-” Cassidy is hiccupping and sniffing and looking far younger than seventeen, Andy thinks. “I didn’t want you and Andy to think I was, like, stealing your gay thunder.”
Andy feels the laugh bubbling up, but she quashes it with tremendous effort. Miranda is not so lucky, perhaps because she usually laughs a lot less. The snort as Miranda tries to hold back the laugh is what makes it art, though.
For a moment, Cassidy looks angry. She’s never been great at being teased, especially by her family. But finally she sees the funny side and laughs right along with her mother.
“So, Cass,” Andy asks when they’ve all collected themselves. “You got a girlfriend lined up?”
“Oh no!” Cassidy yelps. “You are not playing matchmaker like you do with Caroline and every boy we know. Nuh uh.”
“Darling,” Miranda interrupts. “I think you know by now that there’s nothing you can do to stop Andrea. Not when she’s on a mission.”
“God, spare me from my two awful moms,” Cassidy grumbles as she stomps out of the sitting room.
Animal Print
“Take. It. Off.”
Andy smirks at the command, happy to comply. The stretchy polyester feels terrible against her skin after months of silk and cashmere and the finest cottons.
“I thought you said animal prints were in this season?”
Miranda sneers a little at that, she hates Andy throwing anything from the magazine in her face. And Andy knows fine well that the advice didn’t apply to a dress that even Paris Hilton might find a little too revealing. It’s really just a stretchy bit of fabric and a prayer, which is why Andy would never dare wear it out of the house.
“Well?” Miranda huffs, impatient.
“Fine,” Andy says, and shimmies out of the offending garment. That has Miranda rooted to the armchair in Andy’s living room, all talk of dinner reservations and drinks with some unbearable business acquaintance evaporating.
Andy wants the quiet night in she was originally promised, and she’s pretty sure she just secured it.
“Fine,” Miranda sighs, finally shrugging off her jacket. “We’re staying here tonight.”
Andy would take more time to gloat, but since she’s left wearing nothing but her shoes, there are more important things to be doing.
Aunt Flo
“Stop being so smug,” Andy grouses, hugging her hot water bottle.
“I’m working,” Miranda replies, not looking up from the Book. “What’s smug about that?”
“You’re smug about not going through this every month,” Andy says, feeling very sorry for herself.
Miranda looks up then, fixing Andy with a glare over her reading glasses.
“I can assure you,” Miranda says in clipped tones. “That menopause was no picnic.”
“Hmph,” Andy says. “I had great plans for tonight. Sexy plans.”
“I’m sure we can find-”
“No!” Andy snaps. “Besides, if you touch me while I feel like this I’ll probably scream. Not in the good way.”
“Fair point,” Miranda admits, putting her pen down. “Would you like some ice cream?”
“You have ice cream?” Andy asks, incredulous.
“I’m full of surprises,” Miranda replies, leaving the room.
And it’s probably just her stupid hormones, but Andy can feel the tears welling up.
Road Trip
Silence reigns at last in the spacious interior of the monster truck that Miranda had Emily hire. Well, not Emily, and not technically a monster truck, but Andy can’t help feeling she needs some kind of special license to drive an SUV this big. She won’t even think about what they’re doing to the environment right now.
But it’s worth it, she thinks, as she checks the rear-view mirror again. Instead of the bench-like back seat that Andy is used to from more affordable cars, each twin is reclined in what looks like the captain’s chair from Star Trek. Though the floor around them is littered with organic snack wrappers and discarded books and magazines, they look almost angelic snuggled under their cashmere travel blankets.
Andy checks the highway ahead again, and her speed, before risking another glance at them. She can’t help the smile as Caroline stretches a little in her sleep and reaches for her sister’s hand. Cassidy frowns at the contact, but relaxes into the touch almost right away.
Andy checks the SatNav once more, confirming that they’re still a good half hour from anything even approaching Manhattan, and she relaxes. It’s tempting to just keep driving, right through the night, for the calm that’s engulfing them all. NPR is on at an incredibly soft volume, and Andy doesn’t need to actually listen to the program about the future of something-or-other to be comforted by the voices.
She’s watching the road when she feels Miranda’s hand on her thigh. Expecting some kind of question, or possibly an instruction like the one that had caused their argument earlier that afternoon, Andy braces before looking towards the passenger seat.
She’s surprised, and a little relieved, to discover that Miranda is still asleep, too. It seems all the Priestly women seek the comfort of another person in their sleep, and despite their earlier anger, Andy finds she doesn’t mind.
It’s a rare opportunity to watch Miranda rest, since she’s so good at wearing Andy out, leaving her with no chance of matching Miranda’s insomniac hours. Naturally, Miranda’s always awake first in the morning, and if she’s lucky Andy might catch up with her in the shower before Miranda’s off and running, but that’s what makes weekends like these so precious: the time.
Taking one hand from the wheel, Andy squeezes Miranda’s fingers with her own, gently enough not to wake her. Tonight, Andy knows not only where they’ve been, but she feels confident about where they’re going, whisper-screaming matches or not.
It’s easy to keep the car on the straight road towards home, Andy thinks. And she’s surprised to find she couldn’t be happier about everything that home turned out to be.
Wedding Day
“Stop it!” Miranda threatens, every bit as menacing as the worst days when Andy still worked for her. “Stop it right now.”
“I. Can’t,” Andy sobs. “Help. It.”
“You’re making a scene,” Miranda points out from beneath the absolutely killer hat that Sarah at Alexander McQueen made especially for her. “Be quiet.”
“It’s just…” Andy chokes out. “They both look so beautiful. And so grown up.”
“Don’t remind me,” Miranda sighs, and Andy notices the shimmer of tears threatening in her partner’s eyes.
“It’s beautiful. Everything about today is perfect, Miranda,” Andy says, squeezing Miranda’s hand. “You’ve done them both proud.”
“A double wedding,” Miranda says, her eyes fixed on the two redheads and their fiancés at the front of the room. “I should have known they wouldn’t do this without each other.”
“And we’d never let them do it without us,” Andy assures her. “When Caroline lost her temper last month and threatened to elope, you knew she was just kidding, right?”
“Of course,” Miranda snaps. “Now for the last time, be quiet. And pass me a damn tissue.”
Distraction
It’s too hot today, even in the cooler setting of the Hamptons. Andy drained her water in one ridiculous gulp, and now she’s crunching the ice, a bad habit she’s never quite grown out of. Miranda is issuing instructions a few feet away, under the shade of her own giant parasol, and Andy can’t seem to catch her eye no matter how many times she looks over.
She settles back into reading her book, only to be yanked out of her seat a few minutes later. It’s Miranda, naturally, and she looks furious. Andy let herself be led towards one of the changing tents, unsure what crime she’s committed. When they get inside, Miranda snatches Andy’s plastic cup of ice and hurls it in a corner.
“Do you have any idea how distracting that is?” Miranda snarls.
“The uh, the crunching?” Andy manages to say.
“No,” Miranda says, with a withering glare. “The licking. The sucking. Every time I look over, you’re doing something lewd with an ice cube.”
“Oh,” Andy says, smirking now. Despite the heat, she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck. “Would you like me to do something lewd with you, instead?”
Miranda rolls her eyes, but there’s no mistaking the new gleam in her eyes.
“We have to be quick,” is all Miranda will concede, untying the halter neck of Andy’s top.
New
Andy insists that they decorate the room by hand-she picks the warm yellows and cartoonish motif-but it’s not until they first place the baby (their baby, their son) in his cot that Miranda finally understands how important that decision was.
Beneath the cut are a lot of mini fics, written for a fun challenge on Tumblr. I hope you're enjoying this and although I have no concrete plans to expand any of these right now, I am open to suggestion. The fics range from G up to maybe R, but no full-blown smut for now.
If you would like to prompt me Mirandy fic at any point, please visit: My Fic Tumblr and use the ask box.
Miranda Cooks
“I’m sorry!” Andy protests for the hundredth time. “But those flames did not look under control to me!”
“It was a flambé,” Miranda growls. “I knew exactly what I-”
“Other things were on fire besides the pan!” Andy defends herself. “The tea towel you left next to it, for example.”
“The fire extinguisher was still an overreaction,” Miranda huffs. “And now we have no dinner.”
“Baby,” Andy says, slipping her arms around Miranda’s waist and resting her chin on Miranda’s shoulder. “Can I buy you some pizza? To say thank you for a lovely effort?”
“Kissing up to me won’t help…” Miranda hesitates. “But if you absolutely must, get that one with the green things I liked.”
“Yes, Miranda,” Andy mocks, before peeling away to search for her phone.
Twins and movies
“I don’t want to watch Harry Potter,” Cassidy whines from where she’s draped, upside down on Andy’s futon. “The books are so much better.”
“Right,” Caroline agrees from the pile of CDs she’s made around herself on the floor. “We could watch a scary movie?”
“I don’t like horror movies,” Andy snaps, wondering when exactly she decided to let her boss use her as an emergency babysitter.
Oh yeah, because Miranda had actually asked, and when Andy agreed there had been that grateful air kiss, in a cloud of Miranda’s perfume. It seemed Andy’s crush would take what it could get.
“What’s this?” Caroline says, holding up a slim DVD case that Andy specifically hid from view two hours ago. “Why does it have the Runway logo on it?”
“It’s uh, it’s a documentary. About the magazine,” Andy stammers a little. Nigel gave her a copy last time she complained about how Miranda was so nice to external people and such a devil at Runway. He told her to try to understand Miranda’s persona better, but Andy had only ever been distracted when she watched it: a chance to stare at Miranda without getting caught.
“Put it on!” Cassidy declares, turning herself right way up. “Mom never tells us anything about work.”
“Because it’s boring. Besides, everyone says that Mom is a real bitch at work, Caroline fires back, already rooting around for something else.
“Hey!” Andy calls out. “Don’t talk about your mother that way. That’s it, we’re watching The March Issue.”
*
Miranda is not impressed that Andrea is not answering her phone, and so she trudges up three floors on already aching feet to retrieve her girls. Dinner with Stephen was a disaster, as usual, and so she wants the girls tucked up in bed before they notice that he’s staying at a hotel tonight.
She knocks loudly on the apartment door, deliberately not looking at the cracked paint and unswept floors in the hallway. Caroline answers the door, which is less than ideal, but Miranda allows herself to be dragged inside.
“Mom, we watched your movie!” Cassidy declares. Miranda looks at the small television and sees the final scenes of that damn documentary playing. She’s flicking through the finished magazine with Nigel, deep in conversation. She would never dream of using a shot so clichéd to close out on.
Andrea is hugging her knees on the low sofa, Cassidy cuddled into her side. It almost looks as though Andrea has been crying, which is ridiculous.
“I didn’t know,” Andrea says, standing up to greet Miranda. “I mean, I see how much you do, and it stuns me. But I’ve never really looked at how it affects you, you know?”
“Crying like that should be reserved for Lifetime movies, Andrea. Girls, get ready. We’re going.”
The girls scatter into other tiny rooms to retrieve their things, while Andrea stands there awkwardly.
“I can help you more, Miranda,” Andrea says in a near-whisper. “I see that now. I can be better.”
“Don’t let some careful editing fool you, Andrea,” Miranda warns. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Mom!” Caroline calls, her uniform mostly back in place and her satchel in hand. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?”
“We’ll see, Bobbsey,” Miranda says as she steers both girls towards the door. “Say thank you to Andrea.”
“Thanks, Andy,” they chorus, already moved on to the next thing in their heads.
“Thank you, Andrea,” Miranda offers, and for a moment it seems like she might say more. But in a moment, she’s gone, pulling the front door closed behind her.
Andy switches off the DVD player and sits down to think.
Doctor
Miranda is so thoroughly annoyed by the stupidity of everyone in, well, the world, that she’s distracted when she gets home. She dispenses with her coat and bag, ignores the Book and heads straight for the bedroom. Seeing Andrea will improve this awful day, and given the late hour, Miranda wouldn’t expect to find her anywhere else.
Miranda strides into the bedroom with purpose, stopped in her tracks by the sight that greets her.
“Ah,” she sighs, happily. She’d almost forgotten the conversation from late last night, a confessional of secrets and fantasies in the dark. But here is her reward for doing the unthinkable and ‘opening up’.
Andrea, ravishing in almost anything, looks especially gorgeous in the ensemble she’s picked out for herself tonight. The hair in a bun is a nice, professional touch, especially couple with the serious reading glasses. The stethoscope around her neck is the first thing to make Miranda blush (just slightly) and there’s no way in hell she can tear her eyes away from the pristine white coat.
Andrea being Andrea, has skipped anything unnecessary, so beneath the open coat Miranda is treated to some exquisite La Perla lace in rich black, perfectly complemented by the Louboutins on Andrea’s feet.
Oh, this is absolutely worth it, Miranda thinks. The arousal is already making her pulse race, before she even has a chance to touch.
“Ms. Priestly?” Andrea asks.
“Yes, doctor?” Miranda responds, trying and failing to suppress a smile.
“It’s time for your appointment.”
Lust
“You’re going to get us arrested,” Miranda whines as Andy corners her. “Or killed.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Andy says, fumbling with the fussy clasp of Miranda’s belt. “What I am going to do,right the hell now, is get into your pants.”
“Have you no self-control?” Miranda asks, her fingers undoing the buttons of Andy’s blouse, because she is nothing if not a total hypocrite when it comes to these matters.
“Not when it comes to you,” Andy admits, before shoving Miranda’s pants down with absolutely no finesse. “And don’t start pretending you want me to.”
“Oh, fine.”
Date Night
“I can’t believe you did this,” Andy whispers as she and Miranda walk up the grand staircase. “Renting out a library? On a Friday night?”
Miranda shrugs, which looks especially elegant in the killer black dress and (realistic but faux) fur wrap draped around her. Andy hopes wherever they’re going isn’t too much further, because she’s in serious danger of jumping Miranda right there on the stairs.
“You like books,” Miranda points out as the nervous staffer points towards the open door of a private reading room. Andy smiles as she and Miranda walk in, alone, but it’s nothing compared to the unstoppable grin at what greets her inside.
“Beanbags,” Andy says, trying very hard not to giggle.
“There’s that awful tea you drink in the pot,” Miranda says with a vague wave of her hand. “These people were instant on no candles, and no hot food, but we won’t starve.”
“You did all this for me?” Andy asks, drawing Miranda into a grateful hug.
“It occurs to me that you were right-spending all our time in the townhouse is very much ‘my’ territory,” Miranda says. “So this is my compromise on ‘date night’.”
“Won’t you be bored?” Andy presses, looking for the catch.
“How could I be?” Miranda asks, her tone suddenly sincere. “Besides, I like books too, you know. You don’t have a monopoly.”
“You really are very sweet sometimes,” Andy says, cementing her point with a soft kiss.
“I’m really not,” Miranda argues, but her cheeks flush just a little nonetheless.
Final Straw
The sound of them having sex doesn’t bother him; that a house bought for over five million dollars doesn’t have better soundproofing is Miranda’s problem, because he’s only ever been a guest here. No, what makes Stephen’s blood run cold, what makes him decide that Miranda’s little ‘proposal’ is no longer something he can live with, is the sound of Miranda laughing.
Really, genuinely laughing. She sounds light, young again, all the things she faked with him for three whole years.
This girl Andy seems bright enough, and there’s no denying she’s a looker, but Stephen still can’t see how she’s the magic trick that turns Miranda back into a human being. He thought he loved his wife, when he married her. Now he realizes that wasn’t even the same person as she is now. Oh, the rest of the world might not see it (and maybe nobody expects drunk, bumbling Stephen to) but he’s got his thirty-day chip in one pocket and a bunch of apartment listings on his desk.
Maybe he should be angrier, rant and rage and threaten to scupper their quietly proceeding divorce, but Stephen doesn’t have the heart. He’s done here, has been since the day Miranda first said “I’ll be late, darling”, and what’s the point in fighting for something you never really had?
He folds the last few shirts into the second case and closes it with a muted thump. Looking around the guest room that he’s been sleeping in for seven months, Stephen can’t muster any pangs of regret. He waits for the voices down the hall to drift off in sleepy murmurs, and makes his exit with whatever dignity he can muster.
He hails a cab, looking up towards the third floor windows. He waves at the darkened glass, the closest he’ll coming to wishing them well.
Baby Making
Andy is fixing a drink when Cassidy comes in and drops three brochures on the dining room table.
“We’re giving these to you first. You decide if you want to talk to Mom,” Cassidy says, looking determined.
“What are…” Andy trails off as she reads the covers. One is for an exclusive looking clinic with something about families in the title. The other is a guide to Adoption in New York State. And the third appears to have been made on the computer upstairs, and as Andy flicks through she can see it’s basically a manifesto from the twins (with pictures) about why their family needs another member.
“You heard us talking last night?” Andy asks, because the girls are smart, but they’re not psychic.
“If you’re going to argue drunk, maybe do it on your own floor, next time,” Cassidy offers helpfully. “Have fun reading!”
Andy sinks down into one of the dining chairs, reaching for the clinic brochure now. The lack of prices listed by their exclusive treatments surely mean that the cost will be eye-watering, but if Andy can present the plan that Miranda says they’ll need, there’s no way Andy will be allowed to try anything but the best.
As she flicks through pretty descriptions of egg-meets-sperm for rich people, Andy can’t help but smile. It turns out she might really be having a kid with Miranda, and what’s not to love about that?
Juggling
Andy’s almost got the hang of it, if she really concentrates when thud-thud-thud-thud, dammit, the stupid balls all go hurtling to the floor.
“Whyyyy,” she groans, “did I ever sign up for this stupid lifestyle feature? I’m sure nobody cares what these stupid Brooklyn hipsters are into this month anyway. They’ll be over it by the time I publish.”
Miranda smirks from where she’s propped up against the headboard with the Sunday papers.
“This is what happens when you leave assignments to the last minute, darling.”
“I didn’t!” Andy protests, but she knows it’s true. She put off researching a bunch of ‘fads’ all week because Miranda’s been home a couple of evenings and certain other activities were just irresistible.
“I’m sure your readers will enjoy a video of you failing miserably,” Miranda suggests, peering at the Travel section.
“You try it, if you’re so smart,” Andy grumbles, throwing the balls from the floor to the bed as a joke. Miranda glares over the top of the paper before folding it with a sigh.
“Very well,” Miranda reaches for the four leather balls that are resting on the sheets and considers them for a long moment.
And then, with maddening precision, she starts juggling. And not just a close approximation of it, either. She’s juggling like she just walked out of a Big Top somewhere. Andy curses at the inevitability.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Andy asks, having enjoyed the sight for a moment or two. Miranda looks especially relaxed this morning.
“That’s for me to know,” Miranda says, slowing the motion of her hands and catching the balls one by one. “And for you to coax out of me.” The look is direct, suggestive, and Andy figures that she does have the whole day to write her article, after all.
“Get talking, Priestly,” Andy says with a giggle as she launches herself back into bed.
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that,” Miranda warns just before their lips meet.
Coming Out
“Oh sweetheart,” Miranda murmurs as Cassidy cries against her shoulder. “Why would that change anything? You know I’ll always love you.”
“I was just-” Cassidy is hiccupping and sniffing and looking far younger than seventeen, Andy thinks. “I didn’t want you and Andy to think I was, like, stealing your gay thunder.”
Andy feels the laugh bubbling up, but she quashes it with tremendous effort. Miranda is not so lucky, perhaps because she usually laughs a lot less. The snort as Miranda tries to hold back the laugh is what makes it art, though.
For a moment, Cassidy looks angry. She’s never been great at being teased, especially by her family. But finally she sees the funny side and laughs right along with her mother.
“So, Cass,” Andy asks when they’ve all collected themselves. “You got a girlfriend lined up?”
“Oh no!” Cassidy yelps. “You are not playing matchmaker like you do with Caroline and every boy we know. Nuh uh.”
“Darling,” Miranda interrupts. “I think you know by now that there’s nothing you can do to stop Andrea. Not when she’s on a mission.”
“God, spare me from my two awful moms,” Cassidy grumbles as she stomps out of the sitting room.
Animal Print
“Take. It. Off.”
Andy smirks at the command, happy to comply. The stretchy polyester feels terrible against her skin after months of silk and cashmere and the finest cottons.
“I thought you said animal prints were in this season?”
Miranda sneers a little at that, she hates Andy throwing anything from the magazine in her face. And Andy knows fine well that the advice didn’t apply to a dress that even Paris Hilton might find a little too revealing. It’s really just a stretchy bit of fabric and a prayer, which is why Andy would never dare wear it out of the house.
“Well?” Miranda huffs, impatient.
“Fine,” Andy says, and shimmies out of the offending garment. That has Miranda rooted to the armchair in Andy’s living room, all talk of dinner reservations and drinks with some unbearable business acquaintance evaporating.
Andy wants the quiet night in she was originally promised, and she’s pretty sure she just secured it.
“Fine,” Miranda sighs, finally shrugging off her jacket. “We’re staying here tonight.”
Andy would take more time to gloat, but since she’s left wearing nothing but her shoes, there are more important things to be doing.
Aunt Flo
“Stop being so smug,” Andy grouses, hugging her hot water bottle.
“I’m working,” Miranda replies, not looking up from the Book. “What’s smug about that?”
“You’re smug about not going through this every month,” Andy says, feeling very sorry for herself.
Miranda looks up then, fixing Andy with a glare over her reading glasses.
“I can assure you,” Miranda says in clipped tones. “That menopause was no picnic.”
“Hmph,” Andy says. “I had great plans for tonight. Sexy plans.”
“I’m sure we can find-”
“No!” Andy snaps. “Besides, if you touch me while I feel like this I’ll probably scream. Not in the good way.”
“Fair point,” Miranda admits, putting her pen down. “Would you like some ice cream?”
“You have ice cream?” Andy asks, incredulous.
“I’m full of surprises,” Miranda replies, leaving the room.
And it’s probably just her stupid hormones, but Andy can feel the tears welling up.
Road Trip
Silence reigns at last in the spacious interior of the monster truck that Miranda had Emily hire. Well, not Emily, and not technically a monster truck, but Andy can’t help feeling she needs some kind of special license to drive an SUV this big. She won’t even think about what they’re doing to the environment right now.
But it’s worth it, she thinks, as she checks the rear-view mirror again. Instead of the bench-like back seat that Andy is used to from more affordable cars, each twin is reclined in what looks like the captain’s chair from Star Trek. Though the floor around them is littered with organic snack wrappers and discarded books and magazines, they look almost angelic snuggled under their cashmere travel blankets.
Andy checks the highway ahead again, and her speed, before risking another glance at them. She can’t help the smile as Caroline stretches a little in her sleep and reaches for her sister’s hand. Cassidy frowns at the contact, but relaxes into the touch almost right away.
Andy checks the SatNav once more, confirming that they’re still a good half hour from anything even approaching Manhattan, and she relaxes. It’s tempting to just keep driving, right through the night, for the calm that’s engulfing them all. NPR is on at an incredibly soft volume, and Andy doesn’t need to actually listen to the program about the future of something-or-other to be comforted by the voices.
She’s watching the road when she feels Miranda’s hand on her thigh. Expecting some kind of question, or possibly an instruction like the one that had caused their argument earlier that afternoon, Andy braces before looking towards the passenger seat.
She’s surprised, and a little relieved, to discover that Miranda is still asleep, too. It seems all the Priestly women seek the comfort of another person in their sleep, and despite their earlier anger, Andy finds she doesn’t mind.
It’s a rare opportunity to watch Miranda rest, since she’s so good at wearing Andy out, leaving her with no chance of matching Miranda’s insomniac hours. Naturally, Miranda’s always awake first in the morning, and if she’s lucky Andy might catch up with her in the shower before Miranda’s off and running, but that’s what makes weekends like these so precious: the time.
Taking one hand from the wheel, Andy squeezes Miranda’s fingers with her own, gently enough not to wake her. Tonight, Andy knows not only where they’ve been, but she feels confident about where they’re going, whisper-screaming matches or not.
It’s easy to keep the car on the straight road towards home, Andy thinks. And she’s surprised to find she couldn’t be happier about everything that home turned out to be.
Wedding Day
“Stop it!” Miranda threatens, every bit as menacing as the worst days when Andy still worked for her. “Stop it right now.”
“I. Can’t,” Andy sobs. “Help. It.”
“You’re making a scene,” Miranda points out from beneath the absolutely killer hat that Sarah at Alexander McQueen made especially for her. “Be quiet.”
“It’s just…” Andy chokes out. “They both look so beautiful. And so grown up.”
“Don’t remind me,” Miranda sighs, and Andy notices the shimmer of tears threatening in her partner’s eyes.
“It’s beautiful. Everything about today is perfect, Miranda,” Andy says, squeezing Miranda’s hand. “You’ve done them both proud.”
“A double wedding,” Miranda says, her eyes fixed on the two redheads and their fiancés at the front of the room. “I should have known they wouldn’t do this without each other.”
“And we’d never let them do it without us,” Andy assures her. “When Caroline lost her temper last month and threatened to elope, you knew she was just kidding, right?”
“Of course,” Miranda snaps. “Now for the last time, be quiet. And pass me a damn tissue.”
Distraction
It’s too hot today, even in the cooler setting of the Hamptons. Andy drained her water in one ridiculous gulp, and now she’s crunching the ice, a bad habit she’s never quite grown out of. Miranda is issuing instructions a few feet away, under the shade of her own giant parasol, and Andy can’t seem to catch her eye no matter how many times she looks over.
She settles back into reading her book, only to be yanked out of her seat a few minutes later. It’s Miranda, naturally, and she looks furious. Andy let herself be led towards one of the changing tents, unsure what crime she’s committed. When they get inside, Miranda snatches Andy’s plastic cup of ice and hurls it in a corner.
“Do you have any idea how distracting that is?” Miranda snarls.
“The uh, the crunching?” Andy manages to say.
“No,” Miranda says, with a withering glare. “The licking. The sucking. Every time I look over, you’re doing something lewd with an ice cube.”
“Oh,” Andy says, smirking now. Despite the heat, she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck. “Would you like me to do something lewd with you, instead?”
Miranda rolls her eyes, but there’s no mistaking the new gleam in her eyes.
“We have to be quick,” is all Miranda will concede, untying the halter neck of Andy’s top.
New
Andy insists that they decorate the room by hand-she picks the warm yellows and cartoonish motif-but it’s not until they first place the baby (their baby, their son) in his cot that Miranda finally understands how important that decision was.