Chapter Text
Did you know that I called you?
The lunch with Emily happened four months ago. The lunch where she declared that she had wanted to be pals with Andy. The lunch where Andy had held her hand out and looked at Emily with her big, brown eyes, saying that yes she wanted to be friends.
Since that lunch, the two women have become close. Close in a fast, quick way. Emily’s children want to hang out with Andy more than their own father close. Andy now has a key to Emily’s townhouse close. Emily lets herself laugh and smile and be herself around Andy close.
So close that sometimes—in a deep corner of Andy’s brain—she thinks that maybe her and Emily could become more than friends. But she shuts that off as soon as the thought seeps into her mind because Emily is her friend, Emily is straight, Emily wouldn’t want to date you even if she did like women because you talk too much and aren’t organized and would clash too intensely with Emily’s perfect, polished life if you moved any closer into it.
But then, sometimes, a small thing happens that makes her reconsider those three facts: Emily holding eye contact over their weekly dinners for a little longer than necessary, Emily reaching across her dining table to wipe pasta sauce from the corner of Andy’s mouth with her thumb, the fact that Emily trusts Andy to watch the kids when she’s stuck at work late, or when Frank decides he’s too busy to take them.
But Andy knows that she is Emily’s only friend. Emily works too hard and then comes home to take care of her two kids without any help. And she’s let herself trust Andy, so it’s not surprising that she’d occasionally become touchy or act extra friendly. Andy tries not to read too much into it, tries to shove her crush into the back of her brain and hide it in a closed box.
The two women have become close enough that Andy standing on Emily’s doorstep at 7 in the morning on a Saturday is strange, but not crazy. She knocked a minute ago, and is now waiting patiently for someone to open the door. Technically she could let herself in, but she gave Emily no warning of her appearance and doesn’t want to scare her by waltzing inside unannounced.
Andy is wearing Coach jeans that Emily bought for her, paired with a deep red long sleeve blouse. The lock on the door finally clicks and it swings open, revealing Emily, wearing a soft sweater with matching sweatpants. Pajamas, but ones that cost at least hundreds of dollars, if not more.
Andy’s eyes sweep over her friend’s body before landing on her face, which is scowling. She has no makeup on and her red hair is slightly mused.
“Hey,” Andy says, grinning. “I have a favor to ask you. Can I come in?”
Emily’s eyes narrow and then she nods, just slightly. “Yes.” She holds the door open for Andy and then shuts it quietly behind her. “You are aware of the hour?”
“Mmhmm.” Andy hums, looking around the townhouse’s entry hall. She knows it well. The hooks on the wall with three Coach coats hanging from them, the console table that holds a single plant, the small shoes sitting underneath the coats in a straight line. The lighting is warm and the house is quiet. It smells faintly of coffee.
“Why are you here, Andrea? You didn’t call.” Emily crosses her arms, a plain look on her face as she studies her friend. “Are you alright?”
Andy smiles again. “I’m fine, Em. I just need to borrow a kid.”
Emily’s face twists in confusion. Her brows pull together, her lips form a line. “You—you need to borrow a kid?”
“Yeah,” Andy says. “Bronwyn would be preferable, but Roark would work too.”
Emily shakes her head and goes to walk past Andy. She grabs the brunette’s wrist as she does, pulling her along with her into the kitchen. She drops Andy’s wrist once they reach the island and grabs the mug of coffee she abandoned when she went to go answer the door. She takes a long sip before saying, “Andy… what could you possibly need my children for at seven in the morning?”
“Well, just one of them,” Andy corrects. Emily fixes her with a pointed look. That makes Andy shrug and jump into her explanation. “Okay, so, Prada is releasing this exclusive tote bag, right? And it’s sooo cute and I need it, but it’s technically for kids and apparently they aren’t letting you buy one unless you have a kid with you because there’s, like, a limited amount or something. They go on sale at eight, so I need a kid soon.”
Emily blinks a few times. She takes another sip of coffee, which has turned cool now. “You want to buy a children’s tote bag for yourself?”
“Yeah, Em, I do,” Andy says, bouncing on her feet. She pulls her phone from her pocket to pull up a picture of the bag. “Are either of the kids awake?” She leans across the island and shoves her phone in Emily’s face, showing her the bag. “Cute, right?”
Emily sighs. “I suppose. But it is for children, Andrea.” Andy groans dramatically, laying her upper body across the island. Emily huffs and then yells, “Bronwyn! Get down here.”
Andy jumps up, grinning. She rounds the island, arms out, pulling Emily into a reluctant hug. Emily lets her, but keeps her arms at her sides and her body still.
“You’re forty-two, Andrea,” Emily mumbles, close to Andy’s ear. She tries not to let that get to her, how close Emily’s face is to her own.
“Mum?” A small voice says behind them.
Andy pulls away and pivots towards Bronwyn. The girl is twelve and thankfully hasn’t reached her teenage stage yet. Though Emily's kids are wildly good mannered and incredibly smart, so Andy isn’t sure that either will have a proper teenage stage.
Bronwyn looks at Andy and smiles. “Hi Andy!” She’s in a pink pajama set that probably cost far too much for something she’s going to grow out of in a year.
“Hey, kid,” Andy says, walking over to the twelve year old. “You’re coming with me. Go get dressed. Be speedy, time is not on our side.”
Emily laughs softly from behind her. Bronwyn just shrugs, says okay, and scampers back upstairs. Andy spins back around to face her friend. Emily has a small smile on her face and has her elbows on the island. She’s watching Andy closely with her pretty blue green eyes, which makes Andy’s face warm up.
“What if she wants a bag?” Emily asks. “What’s your plan then?”
“I’m gonna buy her a bag, Em,” Andy says, looking at her with an expression that says duh. “You think I’d bring her with me and not buy her one too? We’re gonna have matching bags, obviously.”
“Mmm, obviously,” Emily says, eyes sparkling. She stands up straight, turning to put her mug in the sink. Before she turns back around, she says, “Andy? You will stay once you return my daughter, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Andy says quickly. She spends probably too much time at Emily’s now. The guest room is basically just her room now. The kids don’t bat an eye when Andy is there. In fact, sometimes they ask Emily where Andy is when she’s not there.
When Emily turns around back around, the look on her face resembles a look of smugness. Perhaps one she was trying to hide or get to leave her face before she turned back around. “Right. Well. How much is this bag you’re purchasing for yourself and for my daughter?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Andy smiles. She hears footsteps on stairs and then Bronwyn is right next to her at the island, dressed impeccably well for a twelve year old on a Saturday. Andy pats her head. “Ready to go?”
“Sure,” Bronwyn says. “Where exactly are we going?”
Emily snorts. “Didn’t think to ask that before you agreed?”
Her daughter shrugs. “Andy wouldn’t take me somewhere boring.”
Emily raises a perfect eyebrow. “Are you insinuating that I would?”
“Well… yes. You take me to boring places all the time. The doctor, school, your job—”
Andy places a hand on the girl’s shoulder, stopping her from talking. “Wyn. I’m taking you to get a Prada tote bag. But we can get a treat afterwards, okay? If your mom says it’s fine, that is.”
They both look at Emily. Andy with her puppy eyes and Bronwyn with a big smile. “Mum, is that okay?”
“Yeah, mom, is that okay?” Andy asks, trying to hide a smirk as Emily’s face reddens.
“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Now go,” she moves her hands, ushering them away. “I believe you said that time is not on your side.”
“Thanks mum!” Bronwyn says, jumping and giving Emily a side hug. Emily returns the hug, unlike the one Andy gave her earlier.
“Have fun,” she says quietly, watching Bronwyn walk towards the front door to put her shoes on. She looks at Andy. “My child better return to me in the same shape she’s currently in.”
Andy laughs. “Come on Em, I’ve taken her places before. With Roark, and he’s more of a wild card than she is.”
“Mmm, still.” Emily’s eyes sweep over Andy once again. “Alright. Good luck.”
“Thank you baby,” Andy says, grinning and turning away, but only after catching the blush forming across Emily’s face.
That is another fact that Andy holds in her brain. That Emily blushes when Andy teases her and blushes even harder when she calls her baby. She discovered that when they were slightly wine drunk about a month ago and the name had slipped from Andy’s mouth before she realized what she said. She thought Emily would call her out on it, tell her to never call her that, but the redhead had simply blushed. So Andy—not too often, not often enough to raise suspicion or get called out—calls Emily baby from time to time. Just to see that pretty blush break the careful walls Emily has built around herself.
Andy and Bronwyn rode to Prada on 5th in a car that Andy had ordered sometime between Bronwyn running upstairs to get dressed and telling Emily that her daughter will be returned in pristine condition. The ride was mostly silent—surprising because both Andy and Bronwyn love to talk.
As soon as they got out of the car, Andy took Wyn’s hand, making sure she was safe as they walked up the sidewalk. The girl didn’t protest. There was a line forming outside of Prada full of overdressed women with overdressed children, waiting for this tote bag. They got to the back of the line with ten minutes left until eight o'clock.
The line isn’t super long, so Andy is pretty sure she’ll get a bag. Two bags.
Bronwyn yawns and looks up at Andy. “Why are we buying a bag so early in the morning?”
“Because it’s limited edition and it’s going to sell out if we don’t buy it right when the doors open,” Andy explains. Bronwyn makes a face and shrugs. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. But it’s a really cute bag.”
Andy cares about fashion—obviously—but not usually enough to stand in a line to buy a Prada bag. But this bag is a tote bag, which means it’s big enough to hold all the stuff she totes around with her, and it has red leather accents, which is her favorite color. The reason it’s for children is the little red sparkly cat faces embroidered into the canvas. But that’s besides the point.
“Why am I here, though?” Wyn asks.
Andy lowers her voice a bit, leaning down so only Bronwyn can hear and not the overdressed women in front of and behind her in line, just in case they turn her into the Prada police. “Umm because the bag is technically for kids and they don’t let you buy one unless you’ve got a kid with you.”
Bronwyn narrows her eyes and fixes her with a judgmental look. A look straight from Emily’s face. “You’re buying a bag for children… for yourself?”
Andy groans. “Yes!”
“Aren’t you, like, forty?”
Andy laughs, short and breathy. “Yeah, I am.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t worry, Wyn,” Andy says, nudging the girl’s shoulder. “I’m buying you one too.” Bronwyn looks up at her, a small smile on her face. Andy raises an eyebrow. “Unless… would having a matching bag with me be uncool for you?”
She shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I have a matching coat with mum.”
“Good point.” Andy isn’t exactly up to date with what’s cool or uncool with the kids nowadays. She isn’t even sure if people still say cool, which, she thinks, means that she has become uncool. Luckily Emily’s kids think she’s more fun than their mom and especially more fun than their father, so she gets away with being uncool.
“Andy?” Bronwyn says, looking up again. Her face has a soft expression on it, eyes wide. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can,” Andy automatically says.
The girl’s face shifts into something shy. Which is strange because Emily’s kids aren’t usually shy. They take after their mother in how blunt they are. “Do you—do you like my mum?”
Andy’s heart rate picks up. “Uh, yeah, I do like your mom.”
“You do?” Bronwyn asks, face lighting up. Alarm bells start ringing in Andy’s head. She wishes the line would move so she didn’t have to stand still. “Does she know that you like her?”
Andy blinks. She realizes that maybe she misunderstood the question. “Umm, well.” I’m an award winning journalist and all I can say is ‘umm, well,’ she thinks to herself. She clears her throat. “Yeah, honey, I think your mom knows I like her. We are friends, you know.” Friends.
Bronwyn’s face falls. She blinks up at Andy and then looks away. “Oh.” She makes a quiet hmmph noise. “So… you just like her as a friend?”
Andy’s heart is pounding now. She looks desperately towards the building’s door, which still hasn't opened. She glances at her phone. Somehow it’s only been five minutes. “Wyn, what are you asking me?”
“Well—Roark and I thought that maybe you and mum would date.”
“Date?” Andy repeats, her voice much too high. She looks down at the girl. “Well that’s really sweet, honey, and I like your mom a lot, but… your mom doesn’t date women. She doesn’t like other women like that.” Her excuse is flimsy. She doesn’t deny that she does like Emily how Bronwyn is insinuating but she hopes the girl doesn’t catch on.
Bronwyn furrows her eyebrows. “She doesn’t?”
Andy studies her face. A look of genuine confusion, like she was sure that her mother does in fact like women like that. Which takes Andy off guard. “Well… I don’t think so. Where did you get that idea from?”
Bronwyn shrugs. “I dunno. She acts with you how she sometimes acted with dad before they got divorced. Not that I remember much of that. I was, like, four. But with you it seems more real, like she isn’t pretending.”
This kid is much too observant, Andy thinks. “Oh.”
Bronwyn nods her head. “Yeah. And besides, I’ve seen her staring at women before. Like how I’ve seen people do it on TV when they like someone. But mum hasn’t dated anyone since she got divorced, or, I don’t think she has anyway.”
She has, Andy thinks. Benji. But Benji never met the kids. Benji was a pawn in Emily’s plan to get Runway. The plan that failed. Emily told Andy during that first lunch that she feels stupid for attempting it and questioned why Andy would even want to be her friend. Andy assured her that it was okay, that she understood. Miranda treated Emily horribly twenty years ago, of course she’d want revenge.
Andy doesn’t tell Bronwyn any of this, obviously. She looks up to find that the line is beginning to move. She thinks about Bronwyn saying that Emily has stared at women before. She glances down at the girl. “I’m really not sure, kid. But your mom and I are just friends.”
She frowns, but shrugs. “Okay.” And then, “Do you?”
“Do I what?” Andy asks, quirking a brow as they step forward in line.
“Like other women like that.”
Andy swallowed. This is not a conversation she thought she’d ever be having with a twelve year old at eight in the morning, especially not in line for a Prada tote bag. “Uh. Yeah, I do. I’m bisexual.”
Bronwyn doesn’t bat an eye at that. Instead she asks, “Does mum know that?”
“Mmhmm,” Andy hums her confirmation. She’s not annoyed at Bronwyn for asking questions. Andy is a journalist and asks questions on the daily whether she’s working or not. She loves how inquisitive Emily’s kids are and that they don’t shy away from asking whatever is on their mind. However, it is very early in the morning and all she’d consumed is coffee, so trying to hide that she has a crush on the mother of the girl she’s about to spend far too much money on is becoming a bit taxing.
Bronwyn just nods, but her expression is almost mischievous. Andy doesn’t like that look. But she doesn’t say anything because they reach the front of the line and are ushered inside by a Prada employee. She looks down at Bronwyn and says, “Alright. It’s go time.”