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Maybe giving Miranda the Sachs family photo album wasn’t, in fact, the very worst idea her Mom’s ever had. Miranda’s sitting next to her on the comfy couch in her parent’s living room and looking at a photo of a very young Andy on a pony. She hasn’t turned the page for a full minute and Andy’s starting to feel a little warm and fuzzy.
“You know, Miranda,” says Andy’s Mom, “if you’d like a copy of any of those I could easily make you one. Richard bought me this fancy photo printer a few years ago, it’s really great quality, like you’ve bought them from a store.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
“I’ve got that pony one on my laptop if you want it,” says Andy, “but I’ll get you some post-it notes so you can mark any of the others.” She stands up and heads out of the room. “Miranda loves post-its, they’re her favorite item of stationery in the whole world.”
“They’re functional, don’t be absurd.”
“Oh no, no, no, you love them, I’ve seen how you are with those things,” she calls out from the hallway. “I counted over a hundred on The Book one month.”
“That’s a sign of widespread incompetence, not a sign of my undying love for bits of paper.”
Andy returns to the room and hands her some post-its, grinning. “Look, my Mom’s got these cool sparkly ones, have you seen these before? Are you excited?”
Miranda glares at her, takes the post-its and fixes a note to the photo of Andy on the pony.
“I said I’d give you that one!”
“You’re very unreliable. I trust your mother.”
“Hmph.”
They carry on looking through the album, Miranda occasionally marking a photo with a post-it – one of Andy at a fireworks display; one of her building a snowman; one of her unwrapping presents on her birthday.
Andy tries to figure out why she’s choosing some of the photos but not others. Some of them are of her extended family and don’t show her at all, so she’s obviously not picking those ones, but the photos she’s in all look much the same to her. Maybe Miranda’s marking the photos where she looks happiest, but it’s difficult to tell – she looks pretty happy in all of them. (Maybe it’s the ones where she’s not wearing bright green polyester leggings.)
Then she marks a picture of Andy’s Aunt Bridget.
“Why that one?” asks Andy, puzzled.
“I like her blouse."
Andy laughs. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”
Miranda turns the page. The next photo shows Andy as a young teenager with a boy of a similar age.
“Who’s this?”
Andy peers down at the photo. “I don’t remember his name, he was from school. Jeff maybe? George? He asked me on a date one time but I turned him down, I think I had a crush on someone else. The only other thing I remember about him was that he told me in second grade that if you tie a worm in a knot it’ll explode, so I tried it and it didn’t go well for me.”
Miranda gives her a look.
“I was young and impressionable, don’t judge.”
Miranda turns the page.
“And this one?”
A teenage boy stands in a backyard and watches Andy, who’s running towards the camera and grinning. Miranda marks the photo with a post-it.
“That’s from my first date with Brian, his Dad took that I think.”
Miranda removes the post-it and turns the page. Andy gives her a look but doesn’t question it.
“And this?”
It’s another photo of Andy with a boy; they’re both slightly older this time. They’re holding hands.
“Oh God, that’s David Houseman, he was my first proper boyfriend ever. He moved to Chicago with his family a few months later and my life was over at 15, it was horrendous. Cried myself to sleep for weeks.”
Miranda turns the page. “And who is this?”
“Second proper boyfriend, that’s Ethan. He was sweet, I wonder what happened to him? He used to buy me flowers once a week and write me poetry, he was adorable.”
Miranda quickly turns the page. The next photo shows a college-age Andy with a man’s arm wrapped firmly around her shoulder. They’re both grinning broadly.
“And who might this be?” says Miranda. There may or may not be a slight hint of menace in her tone. The post-it notes have been dropped onto the couch.
“Cousin,” Andy says quickly. “Just one of my cousins.”
“Ah,” says Miranda. “A big family. How nice.”
She turns the page to find a shot of Andy at a party, sitting very close to a rather beautiful blonde woman. Miranda glances at her quickly from the corner of her eye.
Andy clears her throat. “Just a friend,” she says, blushing slightly. “She’s an old friend from college.”
The next page shows a college-aged Andy in a cheap, ill-fitting evening dress that doesn’t suit her at all. The man she’s with is wearing a tuxedo that’s seen better days; he’s kissing her cheek.
“What an unusual dress. And yet another young man, how interesting. This one looks rather pleased with himself. Another cousin, perhaps?”
But Andy doesn’t answer; she sits quietly, staring at the photo.
“Andrea?” Miranda says softly.
“I have no idea why that one’s in there. That one doesn’t get the courtesy of a name. We dated for two whole years in college and he cheated on me with not one but two of my friends, tried to deny it all when I found out and then told everyone who would listen that I’d slept with my professor. Asshole.”
“Oh my word, Andy! I didn’t know that, I’m so sorry,” says her Mom. “You told us you just got fed up with him.”
“Well, I did get fed up of him cheating, I just didn’t spell out the whole reason why. It was humiliating.”
Miranda watches her for a moment before sliding the photo out from the plastic sleeve.
“I wonder, Mr Sachs, if you might have a shredder in this house.”
Andy’s Dad raises his eyebrows. “There’s one in my study.”
“Good.” She gets up and hands him the photo. “Would you mind?”
He chuckles. “You got it.”
“Thank you.” She sits down and picks up the album again, turning another page. “Moving on.”
The next page shows Andy with Nate.
“Moving on,” Miranda says and turns the page. Andy bursts out laughing.
The next few photos show Andy in Cincinnati with her Aunt, or her grandma, or a family friend. Until a photo of her alone in New York, walking along a sidewalk with a Starbucks in her hand and an annoyed expression on her face.
“Mom!” Andy exclaims, outraged. “That’s from Page Six! You’re not supposed to put paparazzi photos in the family album!”
“If the whole world gets to see you in the newspapers then your own mother is allowed to keep a copy.”
“Chanel should fire their new designer, that coat is offensive.”
Andy stares at Miranda in disbelief.
“You told me I looked beautiful! Besides, I distinctly remember you promising not to criticize my clothes anymore, bucko.”
“You were beautiful, the coat was hideous. Those statements are not mutually exclusive. And I didn’t criticize it while you were wearing it so I’m sure that counts.”
“I don’t think it…” She tries to figure out whether she should be mad at her or not, on balance, but gives up. “Fine, I’ll ditch the coat.”
“A blesséd relief.” She turns the page.
A few more paparazzi photos show Andy talking on her cellphone or hailing a cab and then there’s a shot of the two of them together in a café. It’s a little blurred and the lighting isn’t great, but it’s obvious that Andy’s gesturing wildly and Miranda is laughing.
Andy takes a post-it and reaches over to mark the café photo.
“Honestly, Andrea, you shouldn’t encourage them.”
“I really don’t think the paps are going to find out about this.”
There are a couple more shots of them in the café and then a long lens photo of the two of them in an airport car park; they’re locked in a passionate kiss.
“Mother!” exclaims Andy.
“What? Which one are you looking at?”
Miranda turns the page. “Moving on,” she says briskly.
Next up, a short set of photos are laid out together; they’ve obviously not been taken by the press. Each one has been taken inside the townhouse and they show Andy, Miranda and the twins.
Andy cringes as she remembers insisting, early in their relationship, that all the Priestlys pose with her for a photo once a month. To say the twins had hated that particular idea would be an understatement; it hadn’t even lasted half a year.
In the first photo the girls look murderous. Andy is smiling nervously but Miranda’s expression is completely blank.
In the second photo Andy’s misjudged the timer and she’s only just made it back to the couch. The girls have their backs to the camera. Miranda looks tired.
In the third the twins are making rabbit ears behind Andy’s head. Miranda has her arms crossed and her mouth open as she admonishes them.
The final photo shows just Andy and the twins, but this one hasn’t been taken with a timer – it’s much clearer and everyone’s comfortably in frame. They’re sprawled together on the couch, all in pyjamas; Andy has a twin under each arm, cuddled into her, half-asleep.
“Aw,” says Andy, smiling fondly. “I forgot I sent you this one. Miranda was in Paris and Clara said we looked cute together. She’d made us this amazing pizza because Cassidy had an awful cold and I wanted to spoil her, it had like a million toppings and then the girls wanted to snuggle and watch The Philosopher’s Stone for the twentieth time. I didn’t know you’d put this in here Mom.”
“It was a lovely photo. You hardly ever send me photos anymore.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I know how much you like them. I’ll send more this year, I promise.”
“Thank you dear.”
“I’m getting away with murder right now, I hope you realize, Miranda was never supposed to see this photo. Those are my top secret pyjamas, they’re flannel, actual flannel, and they’ve got cartoon sheep all over them and they’re a million times more forbidden than that coat and she hasn’t even said a…”
Andy finally looks at Miranda. Who’s quietly crying.
“What’s wrong, what is it?” Andy says urgently. “What’s the matter?”
Miranda quickly swipes at her eyes but doesn’t answer. Andy looks down at the photo of her cuddling the twins; back up at Miranda, who’s not making eye contact. Suddenly she’s overwhelmed with emotion; with the warmth of her parent’s home; with the presence of so many of her favorite people all under one roof.
Andy reaches out and gently strokes Miranda’s hand with the back of her own. She tries to telepathically tell her parents that it is imperative they pretend they haven’t noticed anything wrong. Fortunately they seem to realize that themselves – Andy’s Mom has picked up a magazine and her Dad is cleaning his glasses with an exaggerated look of concentration on his face.
There’s silence as Andy continues to gently stroke Miranda’s hand, waiting for her to regain control. Her parents are still valiantly ignoring the situation but Andy’s tensing up a little; she’s still not used to seeing such a formidable woman cry, whatever the cause. She wants the tears to stop.
“I wish you’d stop embarrassing me in front of my parents, honey, I know you don’t approve of comfy nightwear but they were perfectly normal pyjamas and frankly you’re making a bit of a fuss.”
Miranda snorts and shoots her a death glare, but can’t quite suppress her smile. Andy grins.
The tears stop falling. Andy keeps stroking her hand.
Miranda puts a post-it on the pyjama photo.