Chapter Text
Emily Charlton was disgusted with herself. Her hatred for Miranda had blinded her, and her thirst for revenge against her had been stronger than the affection she felt for Andrea. Sure, if that idiot Benji had bought Runway for her, Andy would have undoubtedly kept her position as Feature Editor. Emily would have even promoted her to Senior Editor, but would Andrea have agreed to work for her after she had stolen the magazine from Miranda and Nigel? Probably not. No—definitely not. Emily had used her for revenge, and Andrea would probably never forgive her for it.
She looked at herself in the mirror: the bleach was already beginning to take effect on her hair. She had been a fool to think she could outsmart Miranda, and now she was paying the price for it. Benji had left her, and honestly, she was more relieved than upset about it, but Miranda had made sure she got fired from Dior. A week after getting fired, Nigel had sent her a long message telling her there was an opening at Coach: Andy and her damned influence over Miranda had worked a miracle.
She picked up the phone from the bathroom counter and began rereading the message for the millionth time.
“I don’t blame you, darling,” the man had written. “You worked your ass off at Runway all those years for what, exactly? Nothing. You knew making an enemy out of Miranda was a dangerous game, but there are still a couple of people on your side who care about you. Andrea is the reason you got the position at Coach. She told me not to say anything, but… you deserve to know she doesn’t hate you. She’s actually very worried about you. But you know how she is: she won’t call. She works from the shadows and always tries to do the right thing. That’s why she trusted you in the first place, because she thought the two of you could save Runway together. She never expected a knife in the back, and yet she’s still on your side.”
Emily felt a painful lump rise in her throat as an old feeling from twenty years ago resurfaced deep inside her. She sniffed sharply, forcing the tears back as she kept reading Nigel’s message.
“Miranda wanted to destroy you. You know better than anyone that her fury has no limits, and she would have done it, darling. Andrea had to work very hard to calm her down. Now, for once, will you listen to your old friend Nigel? Call Andy. Call her. And if it goes to voicemail… try again. Don’t make the same mistake you made twenty years ago. Put your fears aside. Life is giving you a second chance — don’t waste it. Trust me. Everything will be alright.”
Emily locked the phone and dragged a tired hand across her face. Then she turned on the water and began rinsing the bleach from her hair, washing away the tears now streaming freely down her cheeks.
The following morning, Emily found herself standing in front of the mirror once again. She still looked exhausted. It was Saturday morning, the kids were with their father, and she was going to spend the weekend alone.
She glanced once more at her newly bleached hair, took a deep breath, and picked up her phone. Andrea’s name had always remained the first contact in her favorites list.
After the third ring, she was about to hang up. Andy was probably spending time with Peter, the man she had been seeing.
Her grip tightened around the phone as bitterness rose in her throat at the mere thought of it, but then Andy’s bright voice suddenly tore right through her.
“Em! Hi!”
The blondie fell silent for a couple of seconds. God, how badly she had wished that voice had answered the phone twenty years ago
“Emily?” Andrea said again, her tone softening immediately. “Hey. I’m really happy to hear from you. Are you okay?”
The blondie finally found her voice again. “I know you’re very busy between Runway and your new flame, and I know I’m not exactly in a position to ask anything of you, but… I really need to see you.”
“Well, it’s Saturday, Em,” Andrea began, and Emily immediately deflated a little, “but I don’t have any deadlines, Miranda’s out of town with her husband, and And my latest relationship has officially gone up in smoke. So yes — we can meet, if you want.”
Emily’s heart skipped a beat, and suddenly she felt almost euphoric. She wasn’t sure whether it was because she was going to see Andy, because Andy and her latest love interest had broken up… or both.
“Well. There’s a small restaurant on Fifth Avenue. We could have lunch there. Nothing fancy — your wallet is perfectly safe,” she said, rolling her eyes, fully aware that on the other end of the line Andy was probably wearing the brightest smile imaginable. Emily could almost hear it through the phone.
“Send me the address. I’ll be there. See you later, Em,” Andrea replied before hanging up.
And for once in her life, Emily Charlton smiled.
The rest of the morning passed quietly for the blonde. She had done a quick check-in with her children, Bronwyn and Andrew, before finally taking some time for herself. This time, she had spent a little longer getting dressed.
Naturally, she arrived first.
Her nerves were completely shot, and when Andrea made her triumphant entrance into the restaurant, Emily’s breath caught in her throat for a moment.
“Nice hair,” the journalist said with a smile as she slid into the seat across from her. “That color really suits you. Though it might take me a little while to get used to it.”
“Well… thank you.”
“So, how’s the job at Coach going?” Andrea asked, completely unaware that Nigel had already told Emily everything.
“Oh, I have more time for myself and the kids. Besides, Dior had started getting on my nerves. Everyone at the office kept making fun of my terrible French.”
“So you’re not quite as flawless as you like people to believe,” Andrea replied with an infuriatingly smug grin.
“I swear to God, Andy…”
“What? Are you seriously going to abandon me in the middle of lunch?” she teased. “Relax, Em. Not speaking French isn’t the end of the world. Besides, Dior lost a lot when they lost you. You were the right person for the job. Competent, too.”
Emily lowered her gaze. “Competent like a vendor”
Andrea sighed softly. “Emily…”
“No, it’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. Miranda can be a real bitch, and we both know it. What happened in Milan was horrible. Hearing her say those things about you hurt. You didn’t deserve that. You gave everything to Runway, and she took everything away from you. That confrontation was painful. Much more painful than your betrayal.”
“I screwed up, Andy,” Emily murmured tiredly.
“Yeah, but who am I to judge? I betrayed you too, with the Paris thing. I hurt the one person I actually wanted on my side.”
Emily stared at her for a few seconds. “I called you, you know.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“No. For God’s sake, why do you always have to make everything so difficult?” Emily muttered, wishing the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. “Twenty years ago. I called you after Paris.”
Andrea blinked, and it almost looked as though the gears in her brain had finally started turning again. “Oh! Right — I saw the call, but… well, I thought it had been an accident.”
Emily wanted to die. “No… I called because…”
“Because?”
“I was hoping we could become pals,” she confessed in one breath, and the moment she saw the look on Andy’s face, her heart started beating so fast she thought she might actually have a heart attack.
“Nooo! You wanted us to be friends!”
“Oh my God, stop making that face!” Emily hissed immediately. “It’s too late now anyway, isn’t it?”
“Why?” Andy asked softly.
“Because I’m persona non grata, that’s why.”
“Not to me,” Andrea replied with a smile. “For what it’s worth, you can be whatever you want to be.”
Emily looked away. “I’m not so sure about that. Benji broke up with me, and finding another patron like him won’t exactly be easy.”
Andrea’s smile somehow became even brighter. “You don’t need him. You don’t need a fashion house. You don’t… you…” She shook her head softly, almost laughing at herself. “you’re iconic.”
And those words completely shattered Emily Charlton emotionally. She stared at Andrea in stunned silence, trying desperately not to break down in front of her. She rolled her eyes upward, forcing the tears back.
“Well, that’s… a lovely compliment.”
Andrea smiled.
Then she shifted slightly in her chair and rested her hand on the table, palm facing upward.
“So? Friends?”
Emily was about to answer that no, she would never — ever — hold her hand in public, but her body betrayed her before she could stop it.
A second later, her fingers were intertwined with Andrea’s.
A jolt shot through both women, though neither of them acknowledged it aloud.
Maybe whatever had always existed between them… was still there, even after twenty years.
At least five months passed after that conversation, and during that time the two women had grown incredibly close. They talked practically every day — often more than once — and always found time to share a meal together, especially on the weekends when Emily was free.
Andrea had become a constant presence in Emily’s home, and her children absolutely adored her. She often played PlayStation with Andrew or spent hours inventing stories with Bronwyn. Both children resembled their mother so much it was almost frightening.
One evening after dinner, Andrew made Andrea smile harder than she had in years. “I bet she named me Andrew because of you.”
Bronwyn nodded immediately. “I agree. You’ve known each other forever. It’s actually really sweet.”
Emily froze at the sink, still washing dishes, suddenly unable to turn around. Andrea, meanwhile, burst out laughing. “Oh, I seriously doubt that. If she’d named you after me back then, she probably would’ve called you ‘disaster’ or ‘incompetent.’ My name was practically forbidden at the time. And besides, I definitely wasn’t her idol.”
“Well,” Bronwyn said with a frown, “good thing she didn’t name me Miranda,” she added with a dramatic shudder, while the other two nearly doubled over laughing.
Unseen by them, Emily tightened her grip around the sponge before returning to the dishes.
There was no way her children had actually come to that conclusion… right? Andrew was a beautiful name. It had absolutely nothing to do with Andrea. At least, that was the lie Emily kept telling herself.
Both of their moods had noticeably changed after that conversation. Emily was still brutal, of course, but she smiled far more often now — enough that even her children had noticed. And Bronwyn and Andrew were far too clever not to realize that their mother’s improved mood had everything to do with her friend Andrea Sachs.
“So,” Andrew asked one day, “when are you finally going to ask aunt Andy out?”
Bronwyn immediately elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to knock the air out of him for a second.
“Are you crazy?” she whispered harshly.
Emily stared at them in complete disbelief.
“Andy and I go out together all the time. It’s not exactly unusual.”
Bronwyn crossed her arms. “Not like that, Mom. An actual date. You know — candlelight, music… romantic atmosphere.”
If it had been physically possible, Emily’s jaw would have hit the floor. “W-what?” she stammered.
“Bron,” Andrew muttered, shaking his head dramatically, “they’re hopeless.”
“What exactly are you two implying?”
Two pairs of eyes rolled upward before returning to the television.
“Forget it, Ma’,” Andrew said.
Bronwyn sighed heavily. “After twenty years, she still hasn’t realized that Andy is her Andy. Honestly, it’s tragic.”
“She is not my Andy.”
“Whatever you say, Ma’” the kids replied in unison before returning to their PlayStation game, leaving Emily staring blankly into space.
Andrea, on the other hand, was surprisingly at peace. Work was going more than well, she had finally managed to renovate her apartment, and things at Runway seemed to have settled down. Sure, there were still those occasional periods where Miranda fired someone for breathing incorrectly, but… well, that was Miranda, wasn’t it?
Besides, her final breakup with Peter months earlier hadn’t affected her in the slightest. One evening, Lily had even joked about it.
“So tell me — how long did it take your Emily to make you forget him? Less than twenty-four hours? I think that’s a record. Honestly, it feels like you only pretended to give it another shot after you came back from Milan.”
Andy nearly choked on her wine. “She’s not my Emily.”
“That’s the part you focused on? Of course you did. Sure, sweetheart, she’s not. Totally not.”
Nigel, too, knew exactly what he was doing. Naturally, he had never told Andrea that he’d sent Emily that message. He also hadn’t mentioned that twenty years ago, he had encouraged Emily to call her. He wasn’t stupid. He had understood the connection between those two girls a very long time ago, and he had been genuinely saddened when he learned their paths had split apart. Now that fate had brought them back together, he intended to make sure things finally worked out properly this time.
After all, they had always been his favorites. “You’ve been glowing lately, Six.”
“Miranda’s currently in one of her deceptively calm phases, so yes, I’m calm too. You know I’ve never been very good at hiding my emotions,” Andrea replied casually while helping him organize the clothes Runway had been sent for a shoot.
Nigel huffed as he folded a gorgeous Valentino shirt.
“Couldn’t possibly have anything to do with your Emily coming back into your life?”
“She’s not my Emily.”
“Of course not, darling. Keep telling yourself that.”
Andrea narrowed her eyes at him. “Why does everyone keep saying she’s my Emily?”
“Because we have eyes, dear” Nigel answered dryly before sighing dramatically. “Honestly, can two people be this idiotic?”
“Oh, stop it, Nigel. You’re imagining things. We’re friends. Finally, I might add. I’ve been waiting for this for twenty years. We’re making up for lost time.”
Nigel responded by raising a single eyebrow.
“Really?” Andrea asked, staring at him. “You’re making the exact same face Miranda makes when she’s annoyed.”
“Because I am annoyed. Very annoyed. For God’s sake, Andrea — you tuck her children into bed. You play with them. You’re literally their emergency contact at school.”
The journalist looked scandalized.
“And? They’re adorable kids. I’m helping a single friend whose excuse for an ex-husband is completely useless,” she replied with a grimace.
Nigel could only shake his head in despair.
“Jesus Christ. Honestly, can two people really be this oblivious?”