Chapter Text
“Oh don’t be ridiculous Andrea, everybody wants this. Everybody wants to be us.”
Us.
Oh. Like a lightbulb.
Us. She said us.
Since when was I in the us? And why was the knowledge that Miranda considered me to be part of an us causing a warm, glowy rush to bloom outwards from the center of my body?
Andy Sachs? Gangly and awkward but somehow still fat Andy Sachs? Andy Sachs who very nearly ended up at Auto Universe and married to a sweaty, unshaven chef?
That Andy Sachs?
In an us with Miranda Priestly, the present and premier Editor-in-Chief of Runway magazine?
No, it wasn’t possible. Not the very same Andy Sachs who had moments prior objected to the very idea that she could want to be like Miranda.
But, oh.
Being like someone isn’t the same as being with someone. In an us.
Yes, the two often do go hand-in-hand. The Venn diagram of being like someone and being with someone has quite the overlap, but they don’t have to be connected. Just moments ago I had been considering leaving her side for good. I thought that I was becoming like Miranda- and not just like her, too much like her; a carbon copy of all of her worst traits. I thought that was inevitable if I stayed at Runway- that eventually I would morph into one of the many Emilys that clack around the building night and noon, content to aspire to be Miranda and fail day in and day out to actually rise to the occasion.
Never once did I consider how being like Miranda might also mean that I would be with Miranda. And, oh god, why did that thought make me blush? She certainly wouldn’t mean it that way. No, Miranda Priestly’s us with Andrea Sachs would be a strictly platonic us. I would be with her in the strictest sense that we were a part of the same world, sharing not only an office space but a space in society. Where more opportunities like Paris, where Miranda and I rubbed shoulders in a social setting, could occur. But even that, just the opportunity to see her vulnerable and alone again the way I had in her hotel room, was enough to flutter my heart. And why did it do that? Why did the knowledge that Miranda in some way considered us, well, us make my stomach do flip flops and circles? Why, even now as I follow behind her through the crowd of paparazzi, do I stay so closely beside her? How is it that one minute I was considering abandoning my job and, consequently, Miranda, and now, just moments later, I’m ready to throw myself back into it full force and give her my undivided attention?
Oh.
Shit.
Shit, oh shit!
No no no no no no no, that’s not it. That cannot possibly be it. There is not even the slightest of minute possibilities. It isn’t possible. It’s non-possible. Impossible.
“The person whose calls you always take- that’s the relationship you’re in. I hope you two are very happy together.”
Shit.
Fucking Nate.
How did he see it before I did?
But that was it- the proverbial elephant in the room- that I had previously been completely unaware of even though now I feel it sitting on my chest.
I was in love with Miranda.
How had I been so oblivious? Why else would I slave myself away to an absurdly stressful job I cared nothing about? Not for some mediocre promise of a glorified glowing recommendation letter at the end of a year, no. Perhaps at the beginning, sure, it made sense. I had just graduated, moved to New York, and embarked on a new life that needed funding, stat. We were nearing a year deep now, though, and the thought of leaving Runway hadn’t crossed my mind until today. I wanted to be there, and now I knew why. All of those efforts I made towards improving myself and doing better at my job had been for her approval, and I had received it. How is it that I didn’t see then that it wasn’t the approval of my boss that I was seeking, but Miranda’s approval, specifically? I wouldn’t have wasted that much effort on just anyone. Miranda was special. Miranda had always been special. Everyone else lets her get away with having an attitude and deriding them constantly because they love fashion and want to work at Runway. I do it because she’s special. I let her get away with things I wouldn’t let anyone else get away with. Because I love her.
“Andrea!”
Shit.
My head snapped to attention. I realized I had been staring off into space as we moved through the crowd inside, lost in thought about my Miranda problem, and had missed her introducing me to one of the designers. I corrected myself immediately and shook his hand, mumbling niceties and trying to save face. Miranda eyed me curiously, but she didn’t seem anything beyond mildly annoyed that I had been slow to respond and so I thanked my lucky stars and put myself in check. Miranda feelings and Miranda problems could wait, lest they multiply.
I managed to steel myself well enough to get through the rest of the day, suppressing all of the new and interesting emotions that were provoked by being near Miranda after The Realization. I couldn’t risk allowing my newly identified feelings to negatively impact my relationship with Miranda in anyway. That had to remain solid. Now that I was a part of the us and well aware of why that mattered so much to me, it was something I would have to defend. I couldn’t have my lower, basal instincts endangering my newfound proximity to Miranda. I wasn’t so ignorant as to think that I could possibly ever actually have her, just be near to her, and I knew that if she ever realized what I had just realized, I could lose that completely.
For her part, Miranda didn’t seem at all phased by my newly discovered feelings, which helped to assuage my fears that I was being obvious. I had never dealt with anything like this before. Anytime I’d had feelings for someone I always seemed to realize it immediately, and it had certainly never been anyone in a position like Miranda- never my boss, never so famous, never so intimidating. I felt that I must surely be blushing constantly now, wearing my affection for her all over my face. It didn’t help that she was notoriously excellent at reading other people. I had seen it myself so many times. Knowing what people wanted was quite literally her job. I felt anything but inscrutable beside her, on display for her perusal at all times, and now was no different. No one had ever been able to read me the way that she had, and I suppose the same could be true in reverse. The difference was that now I had this incredibly dangerous secret to keep from her, and my job and happiness both depended on me doing it successfully.
I suppose those high school drama classes were going to come in handy for the first time in a long time.
The wash of new emotions I was suddenly subject to didn’t seem to affect my ability to do my job, thankfully. I was still as on the ball as ever, tending quickly and oh so carefully to Miranda’s every command. If anything, those emotions strengthened my commitment to follow through. I had always wanted her respect and praise, but now I craved it from the depths of my being. I needed her to see me; to see my commitment and passion for assisting her, even if she could never know the reasons why I was so invested. I could see already that this would be a fine line to walk- between showing her my dedication and showing her my dedication. I didn’t want her to think I was doing all of this for myself. I wanted her to know it was all for her, but I knew that was dangerous in itself.
Beyond everything else, I just wanted some time to think about all of this and what it meant moving forward. While outwardly I appeared to be thriving throughout the day, poised at Miranda’s side, inwardly I was screaming for a moment to myself, to meditate on this churning in my stomach, on her. At the same time, I didn’t want to leave her. I desired more so now than ever to be near to her, and I knew that while I needed a moment alone to ruminate on my feelings, I would miss her the moment she was no longer by my side. Yikes. I had it bad.
Both to my frustration and joy, the end of the day came on more quickly than expected. The final scheduled event for our evening had been cancelled and moved to the following day on account of weather. As beautifully dramatic as an outdoor fashion show would have been during a thunderstorm, the organizers felt it best not to risk life and limb for fashion this time. Miranda had muttered something under her breath and rolled her eyes when I had told her, but even she couldn’t wage a war with Mother Nature.
We arrived back to the hotel at around seven, Miranda immediately retiring to her suite with nothing more than a “hold my calls,” spilling from her lips. It seems the day had gotten to her, even, though I couldn’t imagine why. She had been saved from a great deal of stress- Irv had been undermined, her position was secure, and her evening was now free. She should be anything but overwhelmed right now. I was the one who had reason for exhaustion and nervousness. My evening with Christian Thompson had left me feeling dirty and used, as well as disgusted with myself, and my body had still not recovered from the amount of alcohol it had taken to get me into his bed. That, coupled with the sudden realization this morning that I was madly in love with my boss had me feeling completely drained and unable to focus. Still, though, I had been able to enjoy her presence throughout the day and I immediately felt a pang of loss when the door to her suite shut behind her. I was alone again, and left to these complex thoughts about Miranda.
Kicking off my Louboutins as I entered my own room, I let out a deep sigh, as if trying to exhale everything that had been clouding my mind for the past several hours. Still, thoughts swam around my brain, chasing each other and leaving me no rest:
Am I a lesbian now? Have I always been a lesbian? Am I bisexual? Did I ever really love Nate? When did I fall in love with Miranda? Have I always been attracted to Miranda? Have I been attracted to women before? What about my tenth grade English teacher who made my stomach swoop every single day? Was I in love with her? Had I been in love with my mentor at Northwestern? The older, brilliant lecturer who had praised my wit and looked at me with a twinkle in her eye? Oh my god, how had I been so blind for all of these years?
And then, of course, there was the:
What do I do? How do I see her every day and not die inside? How do I stay beside her every minute and not be eaten by the knowledge that I can never have her? How will I keep myself from disintegrating? From going mad with longing? How do I cope with the pain of being near to her?
And the:
How do I keep myself beside her? How do I make sure she doesn’t get rid of me? Promote me? Move me on as promised? How do I stay by her side without being hers?
That was the crux of the problem, alright. The moment I knew I was in love with her was the moment I realized I was truly, utterly, overwhelmingly, completely, horribly, yet deliciously fucked. I would never have Miranda Priestly. There was no question in my mind of that. She was absolutely everything in the world that I wanted, and absolutely the last person that I could ever get. What I could get, though, was closer to her, and I would take what I could get.
I resolved myself to accepting my fate. There was no getting around this- I was madly in love with her, and so I would do what I had to do to stay near to her. I would never make her uncomfortable, or deign to think for a moment that I could actually have any of my hopes realized. I would not press, or even try to get closer to her- no, I would allow Miranda to steer this ship, as she had been doing all along. It had been she, of course, who had permitted my admittance into the us. That was not of my own doing. All I had done was commit myself to my job and to fulfilling her requests. It was Miranda who noticed my devotion, enthusiasm, and loyalty for her and chose to move me closer to her inner circle. If I steadied my ground and continued pursuing my obligations to her passionately, perhaps the needle on the gauge of our proximity to one another would continue to move without my interference. Perhaps, one day, I could be considered something more than an employee. Perhaps a colleague, or even a friend.
Ha. Being friends with Miranda Priestly? Was that even possible? Was anyone friends with Miranda? Even Nigel, dear, darling Nigel who had practically been shot in the back today, was not really Miranda’s friend. She had people she called her friends, certainly, and those people probably considered Miranda their friend, but I wasn’t so sure Miranda returned the sentiment. The only people outside the office I had ever seen her show any real affection for were Caroline and Cassidy. Not even her husband (well, now presumably soon-to-be-ex-husband) managed to elicit anything more than the most standard of greetings when in her presence. She kept up appearances, but there had never been any warmth behind their interactions. Within the office there were a few people who seemed to make Miranda glow a bit brighter when they were around: a few of the more senior editors, Nigel, Leslie, a couple of established designers who flitted in and out of the offices at their own leisure and knew Miranda from god knows how long ago. But I ran Miranda’s life, and I had never been asked to contact anyone who had a connection to her that was purely platonic. There was always a tinge of business in her interactions, because that’s who Miranda was. She was her business, through and through, in and out, at the expense of any semblance of a personal life. I almost felt bad for her, but I knew that was what she wanted. Or at least what she thought she wanted.
Maybe I could light that candle. Be that spark. No, I had no ill-advised assumptions that I would be running off into the sunset with her anytime soon. I knew that she was completely off limits to me romantically, barring the intervention of a voodoo witch doctor, and she would stay that way. However, we were both missing pieces. I had just lost Nate and what I had considered a fairly well-established personal life complete with a shared apartment, shared friends, shared furnishings, shared expenses. She was losing her husband, the twins were moving back in with their father, and she would be alone. So utterly alone, just like me. Perhaps she didn’t want me in the way that I wanted to be there for her, but I could be there for her in other ways. I could make sure that this abrupt transition in her life was as smooth as possible, and hopefully in return she would move me closer and closer into the fold.
For now, though, sleep.