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Miranda should have noticed something was wrong. Andrea is never late. Andrea is the best assistant she's ever had, even if she'll never admit that to anyone. Andrea is punctual, kind, and knows how to anticipate her better than anyone else. So she really should have noticed. What a huge mistake.
Now Miranda is in a cab heading to the hospital. Something about an accident, which Roy—surprisingly awake and healthy—even told her the details of, but she doesn't remember anymore. Something, too, about her being her assistant's emergency contact, a fact that will disturb her greatly in the future. But right now, her mind is just one big blur.
From the moment she leaves home to the moment she's standing in front of Roy, after arguing with a significant number of people at the hospital, everything is a big blur in her mind.
At least Roy really does seem fine.
"Good evening, ma'am." His voice is weak, and just one closer look is enough to see that he'd been crying. "I apologize for the situation I caused."
Miranda feels a mix of overwhelming emotions and feelings. Just the thought that Andrea is in the other room, unconscious and more injured, makes her chest burn with rage. But at the same time, looking at Roy's guilty and sullen face—her so faithful Roy—she can't express any anger at all.
He doesn't deserve her wrath.
"It's not your fault," she manages to say, sitting in the chair next to him. "Do you have details on how Andrea is doing?"
"They told me she's not in life-threatening danger, but that she suffered some injuries and needs to be monitored for now." He puts his head in his hands, the position revealing a bruise forming on the back of his neck. "What a mess. I feel horrible about this."
Miranda looks at Roy, feeling the urge to comfort him, but she doesn't know how to do that. So she just presses her lips together in understanding and shares a tense silence with him.
What can she do?
Miranda wants to see her, but she would also hate to see that beautiful face marred. She wants to yell at the staff again, demand they give her assistant the best treatment, but she doesn't have the energy for that. She wants to take Andrea home, so she can truly take care of her, but that seems crazy.
After all, the girl must have someone waiting for her at home, right?
She remembers, then, the small detail about the emergency contact.
"Roy, do you know if there's anyone to take care of her?"
"I'm afraid not, Miranda. I..." He seems thoughtful, even distressed, about what to say next. "Look, I don't feel like I have the right to talk about her personal life, but I can assure you she's going through hard times. Really, really hard times. She confided many things to me, mostly about being alone."
Despite Miranda definitely not being interested in office gossip, she clearly remembers hearing about Andrea's breakup with some fifth-rate cook, but nothing beyond that. She noticed, of course, how much closer her assistant had become to Nigel in the last two weeks, and how Emily and Serena seemed strangely attentive to her.
But this? Being completely alone because of work? Miranda hadn't imagined it, but she isn't surprised.
"I really wish I could take care of her, especially since I caused all this, but... I have a wife, two kids, and very little time for them, let alone for her. I haven't even told my family yet, my God," he rambles, half embarrassed, half stressed. "They must be so worried."
"Go talk to them, Roy. Can you go home already?" He nods, shaking his head so fast it almost makes her laugh. "Then go. I'll handle it from here."
"What about the car? The back end is ruined."
"Don't worry about that, or about coming back to work tomorrow." Only when his eyes go wide does she realize how bad that sounded. "To rest, Roy. I'll formalize a week off for you tomorrow, and let me know if you feel you need more."
"Oh, ma'am. Thank you so much," he thanks her with a trembling smile, eyes teary, and she makes a gesture with her hand for him to go already.
And then Miranda waits. And waits. And waits. She couldn't say how many minutes—or hours—she sat there, staring at the white hospital wall, her mind completely blank.
When she can finally see Andrea, it's already past midnight. The doctor, though friendly, looks exhausted, so she doesn't explain much beyond that the girl suffered a concussion and some rib injury, which will keep her in the hospital bed until morning.
Now, alone with Andrea, she doesn't know what to say.
"Hey, Miranda." Despite everything, her smile remains as beautiful as every other day, just with a bruise at the corner of her lip. "What a terrible surprise, huh?"
"Terrible is an understatement." She sits in the chair beside the bed, taking a few seconds to analyze the situation. Her assistant, despite her pained expression, seems minimally fine, but with many bruises along her skin, and a large gash on her brow that has already been stitched closed. "How are you feeling?"
"A bit confused, and dizzy, but it could be worse." She laughs without any humor. "But how about Roy?"
"He's fine, just feeling... guilty. I sent him home."
"Guilty? But it was an accident." Right at that moment, the flash of lightning, immediately followed by a deafening thunderclap, shines through the room's window. "Damn, the rain is still terrible. It definitely wasn't his fault. I'll talk to him later."
Miranda just nods. How is she going to address the most important matter, without seeming like she's imposing her presence on an employee? HR would go crazy over this. But she needs to do this. She has a moral obligation.
"Andrea, I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer honestly," she speaks so firmly that it makes the girl nod in a way identical to Roy's. Spending so much time together does amazing things, right? "Do you have anyone to help you during the days you'll be resting?"
That question seems to hit Andrea in a terrible place. "No."
"And do you want to elaborate on that?" This time, the girl shakes her head no, looking away. "Okay. You're coming home with me, then."
"What?" She widens her eyes. "Miranda—"
Miranda raises her hand to silence her. "Know that there's no room for discussion, Andrea. As soon as you're discharged, I'm taking you to the townhouse so you can have proper rest."
She just didn't foresee, when she made that decision, that Andrea would break down crying in front of her. It's a painful cry, mentally and physically, echoing in the room and, mainly, inside Miranda, who feels her hand tremble slightly as she directs it to the girl's back.
"Was I too harsh?"
Between painful sniffles, Andrea lets out a weak laugh. "It's not that. I... I don't have anyone anymore. My boyfriend left, and with him my friends, and my parents also cut ties with me. It sucks to have the realization hit that I have no one."
You have me, Miranda thinks, but says nothing. You have me, Roy, Nigel, Emily. You are so loved. How could she even consider being alone?
"And the worst part," she continues, her sobs increasing in frequency and volume, "is that Nate still lied about having paid the rent, and I'm one step away from being evicted, as if everything weren't bad enough already. And now this accident. Damn it. I must really deserve all of this."
Miranda can no longer listen to all this lament in silence. "Don't say that, Andrea. We're going to take care of this, okay?"
"We?"
"Yes." She places her hand over Andrea's hand, who finally stops crying only to flash a smile that makes Miranda's heart stumble between one beat and the next. "We."
***
Miranda only goes home when she's sure Andrea has fallen asleep. Surprisingly, the girl is easily pleased—it just took holding her hand and offering the promise that she truly wouldn't go back home alone for her to finally agree to rest.
Miranda, on the other hand, can't sleep. She tosses and turns in bed for the rest of the entire early morning, until the sun rises and she decides to send an email to Emily—she needs to formalize not only Roy's and Andrea's time off, but also settle the hospital bills for both. Besides, it seems right to work from home today. It's not something she can usually afford to do, but she's exhausted, the office atmosphere has been calm, and the schedule is more than favorable for a day or two of working from home.
And if Irv complains, she's been wanting to humiliate some man anyway.
They can survive without her, anyway.
After that, she sends an email to Nigel, asking for some clothes for Andrea. They're not in the best phase of their friendship after Paris—he's a professional like no other, but Miranda feels the hurt in his eyes. Still, there's no one she trusts more than him, in his affection for Andrea, so she swallows her pride and writes a more affectionate message than usual.
Around nine-thirty in the morning, her personal cell phone rings. Instinctively, she knows it's Andrea, so she barely lets it ring twice, hurrying to answer.
Miranda." It's Andy who speaks first, her tone so insecure that Miranda startles. "Are you really coming? I just got discharged."
"Of course I am. I'll be there soon."
The drive there is a blur—Miranda can't tell if it's because of the sleepless night or purely from unavoidable nervousness.
"Good morning, Mrs. Priestly," the same doctor from the previous day greets her as soon as she opens the door, finding Andrea in a wheelchair. "I was talking to the patient about the care she'll need. She mentioned you'll be helping her, right?" Miranda nods. "Great. Miss Sachs will need at least five days of absolute rest. Fortunately, her bones are intact. She only suffered, besides the concussion, a contusion in her intercostal muscles." The woman turns to Andrea. "It will hurt quite a bit, but there's no risk. As long as you get physical and visual rest, and take the prescribed medication, you'll be fine soon, okay? But if you feel discomfort beyond normal, you need to come back to the hospital."
"And food? Any specific care?" It's Miranda who asks.
"Not much, just prefer foods that are easy to chew, to avoid pain. And if there's nausea from the medication, it's good to opt for light meals. Any more questions?"
"No," they answer at the same time, which makes them look at each other.
"Great. You're free then, Miss Sachs." She approaches the wheelchair. "I'll ask a nursing technician to take you to the parking lot."
"That's not necessary. I'll take her." Miranda steps forward, holding the wheelchair herself. The doctor immediately steps back. "Thank you for the good work."
The walk to the car is silent, accompanied by the obligatory presence of the nurse waiting for the wheelchair. Miranda can see Andrea playing with her own fingers, head down. She wants to ask so many things, but finds no voice for it. Only now, with the girl getting into the car, does she feel the weight of her decision.
She's going to live with her assistant. Temporarily, of course. But they're going to live together.
She didn't even tell her daughters yet.
"Miranda?" Andrea calls, and only then does she realize she must have stood completely still for a few seconds, sitting in the driver's seat. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I just remembered I have to tell my daughters. They're coming back from their father's house tomorrow morning to spend the second half of the break with me."
"Miranda... I really don't want to intrude on your family like this."
"And who said you're intruding, Andrea? If I invited you to my home, it's because I wanted to."
When an uncomfortable silence fills the car, Miranda realizes how harsh her voice sounded, so in an impulsive act, she places her hand on Andy's leg and tries to offer a welcoming smile. "And you know my daughters adore you."
And I do too, she can't help but think.
***
"Here, this is your room. If you feel physically comfortable enough to read, there's a library on the lower floor, which is where my bedroom is. Upstairs are the girls' rooms, so you can call us at any time if you need anything."
Andrea seems simply enchanted. Beside her, a little ahead, Miranda can see how bright those doe eyes are. Not that it's unusual—her assistant has the biggest and brightest eyes in this world—but knowing that she is, somehow, the reason for that beautiful look, messes with anyone's brain chemistry, even a Priestly's.
"Miranda, this..." she starts, but can't complete the thought because a sniffle interrupts her. Is she going to cry again? "Thank you so much, really."
"There's no need to thank me." She takes the liberty of giving a brief pat on Andrea's back. "I asked Nigel to pick out some clothes for you, but until it arrive, I left a change of clothes for you to shower. Do you think you can manage? Without help?"
When Andrea nods, Miranda gives her the necessary privacy and decides to go to the kitchen. Soon it will be lunchtime and there's absolutely nothing ready, but she doesn't feel like ordering food.
Today, she chooses to cook. Maybe Miranda is rusty, not having much time normally to dedicate to the kitchen, but that doesn't matter at the thought of preparing something for Andrea, for her well-being, for her happiness.
So, half an hour later, a pan-seared salmon with crispy skin is served on a bed of quinoa, with grilled asparagus on the side.
She actually did a good job.
"Wow, Miranda. I didn't know you cooked so well," Andrea's voice suddenly sounds behind her, a little more lively than before. "That smells wonderful."
"I can't cook often, but it's something I really enjoy doing for those I love."
For those I love. Her world stops. Love. Miranda loves very few things in the world besides her work and her daughters—maybe she could count on one hand everything that causes that feeling in her chest. But Andrea? She definitely feels something for Andrea—approval, admiration, or even some passion, but just that.
So how did that word escape her lips so easily?
Thank God, Andrea seems oblivious to Miranda's internal turmoil, having eyes only for the plate on the already set table.
"God, I'm salivating." And then, with some slowness, she sits down and ends up making a pained face, but shakes her head in an attempt to tell Miranda not to worry. "Eat with me?"
Jesus, asking with those doe eyes, Miranda would have every meal with her for the rest of her life.
***
The girls welcome Andrea as well as she predicted. Careful, and extremely affectionate, they do everything to make the stay more than pleasant—they tell her about their days at their father's house and about the new book they're reading to distract her, just as they spare their assistant from any possible effort.
And so, another day passes.
Andrea adapts well, despite still being a little quiet, and seems to be improving as expected. The pain, obviously, is still very present and visible in her expression, but she can move adequately and not depend on anyone, which is a great sign.
The problem comes at night.
Miranda is in the gym, stretching after an entire day sitting through meetings, when she hears Andrea's distressed voice coming from the bedroom. She knows that, deep down, she has no right to listen to someone's conversation like that, but it's inevitable when the situation sounds so... bad.
"Why can't you two believe me? I'm not a teenager anymore to make this kind of drama just to get your attention. I called because I thought, well, my parents should know I got into a fucking accident." It's the first time her voice sounds like this. "No, I'm not at my apartment. No, I'm not going to say where I am. Leave me alone. I already realized it was a mistake to think you'd care. I won't call again. Bye."
And then, silence. A silence that lasts long minutes. A silence that, actually, precedes the sound of the most painful crying Miranda has ever heard in her life.
What should she do? She has to do something. Anything. Miranda can't stay there, paralyzed, so much in shock. She's better than that.
Before she can even reason, she finds herself knocking on the door.
"Come in," is the response she hears, so low and choked that it sounds like a hallucination from her distressed mind.
When Miranda takes the first step into the room, the image of a destroyed Andrea, her face completely red, is the first thing she sees.
Immediately, an uncontrollable rage heats her body.
Andrea, on the other hand, offers her a broken smile. "Hey."
"Hey," she returns the greeting, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Sorry, I overheard you through the door."
Andrea, however, does nothing but purse her lips.
"I'm sorry for whatever happened between you and your parents," Miranda continues. Now, like at the hospital, she takes her assistant's hand in hers, in a fragile gesture of consolation. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Impressionably, this time, there's no hesitation in Andrea's eyes—actually, there's only anger and resentment.
"I never had a good relationship with my parents, because... I'm not the daughter they dreamed. In many ways." She laughs without humor, running her hand over her face to wipe away the tear tracks. "Our relationship improved a bit when I started dating Nate, but it got worse again with my job. It was stressful, but manageable, because it had been much worse before. But now that I'm single again, and that apparently I messed up with their favorite guy, I realized I'm truly not considered a daughter. Not as long as I'm not giving in to their unrealistic demands. To the point where they think I'm lying about the accident, just to get some crumbs of attention from them. Tsc. Can you believe that? Because I can't."
"Andrea..."
"And you know what's funny? On the day of the accident, I had made a very similar confession to Roy, about feeling miserable and lonely, and he told me I'm not alone. That I have him, I have friends at work. That I have you." She lets out another weak laugh. "I thought it was absurd, because how dare I think that? In my head, even though I love you all, my parents were still my parents, and they would welcome me if I needed them."
"Andrea."
"And I really did need them, but who actually welcomed me was you. I feel pathetic. Like shit. How is it possible that I still have hope? They always blame me for everything. Everything. When Nate pulled a fast one on me by not paying the apartment, it was my fault for not knowing how to keep a man. When my friends abandoned me, it was my fault because I became someone they didn't recognize anymore. Even suffering an accident, if I talked to them long enough, they'd find a way to blame me. Maybe I seduced the driver, distracted him. It wouldn't be the first time I'd hear something like that. That I'm a whore and need to seduce men to get any success in life. That's why I failed so much at Runway, because you're a woman. Hell. What a hell, damn it."
"Darling."
This time, Andrea stops. Her face is swollen and red, twisted into a scowl of rage that Miranda never imagined she'd see on that pretty face. However, as she receives a caress on her hand, her expression softens until all that's left is exhaustion.
"Other people's bitterness, my darling, rarely says anything about us. I'm sorry you were subjected to such hostile treatment, but nothing you heard is true." And then, she remembers a detail amid all this chaos. Her lips curve without her permission. "Only what Roy said, of course. You really aren't alone."
For the first time, Andrea lets out a genuine laugh. "He's a wise man."
"Yes, he is." She allows herself to laugh too, giving one last squeeze to the hand beneath hers. "How about taking a shower? We can... talk more about all of this later, if you want. I'll wait for you."
Even in a situation like this, it's impossible not to heed a suggestion from Miranda Priestly or simply not obey her. Andrea, indeed, takes a shower, and comes back with a minimally better expression.
They, anticipating a long conversation, snuggle into bed, side by side, their fingers almost touching once more as they stare at the painting on the wall.
"I've been thinking about the whole situation about your rent," it's Miranda who takes the initiative to speak. "I... could easily take care of it."
"Don't even think about it, Miranda. You're already doing so much for me."
She can't help but roll her eyes. "You know that the monetary value of both your stay and your rent is insignificant to me, just as I know how significant it is to you. I don't see why not accept my help."
"It's because... it feels like I'm taking advantage of you. Of your empathy."
"Andrea, I understand that you've most likely been through situations in your life that make you have this view, as if you were some burden, but that doesn't make sense. I have enough money to live three other lives, at minimum. Enough money to even buy all the apartments in the best building in the city, if you wanted, just for you. A few months of rent for someone who works so hard for me is nothing, if you think about it."
Andrea lets out a long sigh. "Okay."
Just like that?
Andrea is so exhausted that she doesn't even have the strength to fight for her pride?
Miranda has to hold herself back from looking at her, in this intimate proximity. "Okay. And... about all the other situations, I want to emphasize that the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. If all they know is cruelty, that's not your fault. Because anyone who truly knows you realizes that your heart is filled solely with love."
However, she receives no response.
Instead, when Miranda looks to the side, what she finds is Andrea sleeping with a smile.
***
She needs to go back to Andrea's room in the morning.
Actually, she doesn't need to, but she wants to. Her two days of working from home are over, and of course, she'll spend most of the day at the office, having to deal with incompetents—instead of being at home, enjoying the day with her loved ones.
Loved ones, she finally accepted it. There's no reason, at the peak of her life, to pretend she doesn't understand her own feelings. At the same time, there's nothing to be done about those feelings.
How many years has it been since she nurtured a platonic crush? Decades, perhaps?
"Hey, darling," she says softly, when Andrea finally opens her eyes. It's the first time she's seen her assistant like this, so cozy under the covers and with such a serene face. "I'm going back to work today, but you can call me anytime if you need anything, okay? Cara and the girls will be around all day."
She's so sleepy that Miranda wonders if she was really heard and understood. "Mhm."
However, when Miranda is about to repeat the information, just to be sure and not go to work worried, Andrea weakly pulls her wrist, in a silent request for her to lean down. She does so, at the same time she sees her assistant lift her head a little, making a slight pained face, but bringing their faces close together.
"Thank you so much, Miranda." She places a kiss on the woman's cheek, almost too close to her mouth. "See you later."
Oh, God.
Andrea Sachs will be her ruin.
***
The rest of the day is hell.
If there's one thing Miranda truly hates, it's dealing with other people's incompetence. And suddenly, everyone decided to be incompetent. All day long.
Amazing.
Coming home would be a relief, if it weren't already so late. The only person she finds awake is Cara, waiting to be dismissed. But her girls are nowhere to be found, not even in their room, and all that's left for her is to go to Andrea's room.
Only there, she finds the most beautiful sight she never even imagined she'd see: her daughters—Caroline with a book in hand, and Cassidy hugging a pillow—sleeping on each side of Andrea, who also seemed to be sleeping, but now has her eyes open, fixed on Miranda with overwhelming affection.
Andrea, very carefully, gets up and leaves a kiss on each of the girls' foreheads before they walk out of the room.
"Caroline read to help me sleep, but apparently they ended up falling asleep too." That's the first thing she says when they close the door. "How was your day?"
Miranda feels her head throb just remembering. "Terrible. Maybe I should take a shower and go to bed before I decide to fire everyone tomorrow."
"Cara left a plate of dinner, why don't you eat first?" She holds one of her boss's hands between hers. "I'll stay with you."
"You don't have to. You were already sleeping."
"Miranda," she says, firmer this time, giving one last squeeze to Miranda's hand before letting go. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen."
Oh, well. There's nothing Andrea asks—or orders, in this case—with those eyes that Miranda is capable of denying. So she takes a nice hot shower, puts on the first change of clothes her eyes see, and goes to the kitchen a few minutes later.
Her assistant, as promised, is waiting for her.
"I took the opportunity to heat up the food," she says, pointing to the plate next to her, a mushroom risotto that smells delicious. "This is the best risotto I've ever had, by the way."
"Cara is a great cook." She sits down, feeling not only the warmth of the food, but also of Andrea's body close to hers. "Did everything go well today?"
"Oh, actually, it was a great day! Your daughters are so precious, trying to include me in everything to distract me. We read a lot, watched a movie, and then I went with them to the terrace to watch them play basketball. Oh, I didn't know you had a hot tub! They said I could try it out." Miranda just nods, almost rolling her eyes at the divine taste of the risotto. All food tastes much better after a hellish day like this. "And I won't even mention the food Cara made, God! I never imagined I'd need to suffer an accident to finally have good days." The joke comes with some bitterness. "I... I'm calmer about what happened yesterday, and I'm also not in as much pain anymore."
"That's great. I noticed some of the stitches on your brow have already fallen out."
"Yep, I've always been a fast healer." She takes the liberty of serving ice cream for Miranda when the woman finishes eating, who wouldn't normally accept it, but feels that, at least today, it's deserved. "Oh, and I gathered the courage to talk to Roy today. He still seems a bit distressed, saying he didn't call me because he was feeling awful about what happened, but he already seemed better by the end of the call. By the way, what did you do with the car?"
"Oh, I declared the vehicle a total loss. I saw no reason to send a ruined car to the shop that would also trigger bad memories for both my driver and my assistant."
Andrea doesn't say anything more, but when Miranda sees a cell phone on the table, she remembers something. Something very important, which she feels she can't let pass.
"Hm, I just remembered something," she whispers, savoring the last spoonful of ice cream. "Roy told me about me being your emergency contact."
"Oh," she gasps. Side by side, they can't avoid looking at each other. "I... changed it recently. I thought that at least you would care if something happened to me, on a professional level."
"On a professional level, you say." The statement sounds absurdly wrong in her mind.
"Yes, because a problem with your assistant means one more problem for you, who already has so many other problems to deal with."
So that's how Andrea sees herself? Even after everything? After taking her into her home, after working from home solely for her? How insecure does a person have to be to not see what's right under their nose?
Maybe it's time for Miranda to make a decision about her feelings. Not that it's ideal—actually, this would be a huge problem professionally. But she can't watch Andrea sink into thoughts like these and do nothing, out of simple fear of letting it slip that she feels much more than simple gratitude for a job well done as an assistant.
It's time for her to work up the nerve.
"Andrea, it's sad how you don't seem to see your own worth," she decides, finally, to take a risk. "Of course I would really care about your health as my assistant, but do you think I would have done this for other assistants? That I would do this for Emily, for example? If so, maybe we need to go back to the hospital, because your concussion was worse than we thought. I would never have done this for anyone but you. Only you. Can you understand that?"
"But why me?"
This girl can't be serious. "For heaven's sake, Andrea. Because I care about you. More than I care, actually."
Silence. A torturous silence. She feels her chest rise and fall, her breathing quickened in pure fear and anticipation, while all Andrea does is look. And look. Look deep into Miranda's eyes, as if she wants to read her like an open book, as if she wants to find some bad joke between the paragraphs of text that the woman wrote for her in her heart.
Miranda has never felt so exposed in her entire life.
"Miranda, if you're joking..."
"I would never joke about this, Andrea. Least of all with you."
Suddenly, she feels two hands on her face, followed by warm lips on hers. It's not delicate, nor calm, with a desperation that comes like a thermal shock to her entire body chilled by the ice cream. Her hands fall to Andrea's ribs, where it's as warm as the rest of her body even beneath the silk pajamas, and she feels a visceral urge to squeeze, but she knows she can't. Not with the injuries so recent.
"I didn't know. I..." Andrea gasps between kisses. "I've loved you for so many months..."
Love. Once again that troublesome word.
"How could I have known..." Her voice starts to break, and she hides her face in the curve of Miranda's neck. It takes no more than a second for the skin there to moisten, and the woman feels her trembling beneath her hands. "You..."
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't even remember what it was like to be cared for by someone, Miranda." Her crying intensifies. "I am overwhelmed. Sorry."
"Oh, my darling. You don't need to apologize." She risks enveloping her in a hug, without squeezing too hard, while the sobs reverberate against her neck. The crying is, once again, so pained that she realizes there's no reason to protect her own heart so much, if Andrea is offering hers like this. "You are so loved by us. By me, by my daughters, by my employees. It's impossible not to love you."
"Love?"
"Yeah, love. I love you, if I haven't made that clear yet."
And then, with the crying ceasing, she flashes one of her most beautiful smiles, settling between Miranda's legs. "God, Miranda. Can I kiss you again?"
Oh, yeah. Andrea can do that whenever she wants. All night long, her whole life, and beyond.