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It had started innocuously. Ever since she had been caught in the crosshairs of the twins (and subsequently their mother), Andy had found herself seeing them more and more often. Well, at least one of them. She would always appear as Andy dropped off the Book, standing warily and watching. Andy privately felt that just one was better than if they were both there, staring silently at her like she was some kind of zoo animal… or in the Shining.
She had mumbled a greeting the first time, but it was the kind of greeting that obviously accompanied a name, and Andy’s mind went fully blank. She knew Miranda’s daughters’ names, of course - Cassidy and Caroline, how could you forget? - but their faces…? Faces were usually no trouble for Andy, but the twins were two sides of the same coin, cut from the same cloth, identical down to the last freckle. The words died in her throat, and she was forced to let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, like a seam on one of her polyester sweaters.
She would have chalked it down to yet another awkward encounter if it hadn’t been for the look of bitter disappointment in the girl’s eyes. It was there for barely a millisecond. But Andy saw it, expert in the inclement expressions of their mother, and it almost made her knees buckle. Somehow, she continued to move smoothly forward, placing the Book on the table with the flowers as instructed. The young Priestly’s expression had smoothed to a mild disinterest, as if appraising a piece of lint on her dress.
As Andy left and closed the door, her eye caught on the necklace the girl wore: a rose-gold chain with a deep blue teardrop-shaped stone. For some strange reason, her mind refused to let go of this small fact, turning it over and over in her head like a washing machine. Why did she care so much about a necklace?
It was at 2 am that she finally realised where she had seen it before. Their mother had bought it as a surprise: one each, similar but not the same. Both teardrops on chains, one rose gold and blue, one silver and green.
Assuming she could finally get to sleep now, Andy rolled over. Her traitorous mind had other plans, however, filling itself with the look of defeat on the girl’s expression. Andy had seen that expression many times - often on her own face. Faced with that paradigm shift, the twins’ behaviour suddenly started making much more sense.
The daughter of a doctor and a lawyer, Andy’s parents were rarely around. Her father was more of an abstract concept for much of her childhood, and only started being around when she was perhaps sixteen. By that point, her relationship with him was rocky at best - it had taken her a lot of hard work to claw it to the point it was at now.
The trigger for the twin’s expression wasn’t daddy issues though. It was Andy, a relative stranger. It was Andy, clearly being unable to tell who she was, that hurt her so deeply.
That was why, at 3:42 am, Andy Sachs started on what would later become her biggest regret.
At first it was easy. She had assigned the girls code names - Slytherin and Ravenclaw, based on their necklace colours - and from there she began to fill out an old notebook. It wasn’t suited to dictation at speed because the pages curled if you pressed too hard, so Andy had relegated it to the bottom drawer of her desk at the office. It would be her accomplice in this mission.
Ravenclaw was, by far, the easiest to gather information on. Every night, when Andy came to deliver the Book, Ravenclaw would be nearby. Some days she was closer than others, but whilst Slytherin was always upstairs, Ravenclaw would be on that floor. Andy considered asking her, once, why she was up and about at such an hour. On opening her mouth, however, Ravenclaw’s eyes had flashed in a way that reminded her of Miranda when she was about to go on the warpath, and she’d closed it again with an audible click.
Slytherin was trickier. On the few times she had seen her, she had been much too guarded for Andy to learn much of anything about her at all. It had been the science project that finally drew her into her orbit, pun intended. The requirements had been laid out in a surprisingly elegant handwriting that Andy originally attributed to Ravenclaw, but their encounter later that day convinced her it was in fact the elusive Slytherin. Andy began a correspondence shortly after through neon Post-It notes (hers) and thick sketchbook paper (Slytherin’s). Sometimes she would give a note to Ravenclaw as a kind of envoy. The girl would always appear angry at being used in that manner, yet would always take the note anyway with a resigned, tense smile.
Although she was able to learn a great deal about their habits and behaviours, she was no closer to determining which was which. Even if she had both in front of her simultaneously, she wasn’t certain she would know one from the other - not to mention that she had no idea whether Slytherin was Cassidy or Caroline and vice versa.
She knew that Miranda had a photograph of them both on her desk at the office. During her morning routine, Andy started to sneak glimpses at the image and try to ingrain it in her mind. The freckle pattern of Sinistra on the left contrasted with Dextra on the right, who smiled more with her eyes. The differences in their jawlines. She catalogued their features - somewhat out of date, but it was a start.
In person, delivering the Book, Andy would try to match them up. Ravenclaw sometimes seemed to be Dextra, but then she would shift just slightly on her heels and the jawline would be all wrong, or she would scratch at the end of her nose and Andy would be convinced that that was Sinistra’s nose.
She couldn’t say with certainty, and so she had to keep searching. She needed a more recent photograph.
Six weeks in, she started furtively looking at the frames in the hallways on the occasions she didn’t immediately have a ginger escort. There were never photos of the twins out here, she knew that already, but it didn’t hurt to check, right? When she was summoned to the depths of the house to give the Book directly to Miranda, she would take the opportunity to scour photographs for the duo - surreptitiously, of course.
And so the pages filled up gradually, piece by satisfying piece. Slowly, she built a map in her mind of six separate characters that together formed only two identities. Miranda’s photo gave her the physical traits of Dextra and Sinistra. Direct encounters gave her Ravenclaw and Slytherin’s postures, habits and personalities. And then there were Caroline and Cassidy; names but also twin daughters, fed to her through tasks from their mother.
“Cassidy would like new guitar strings.”
“Book a table for th-, four, at that Italian place I like for Caroline’s unbirthday.”
“Make sure my afternoon is booked off for Caroline’s soccer game. Of course, Bobbsey, I wouldn’t miss it for the world…”
Her precious individual scraps of information were collated with dedication. Each one a vital component of the puzzle, yet nearly useless alone. Dextra and Sinistra. Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Caroline and Cassidy. Her notebook slowly filled itself in Andy’s free time.
Her big breakthrough was when Andy saw a new photograph appear on Miranda’s desk - Sinistra on the Dalton Soccer team. From that, she could put names to faces - Caroline was Sinistra, and therefore Cassidy was Dextra.
She’d figured it out. She had names for faces.
That’s all that this was about. Simply being able to greet the mystery girl at the doorway, offer a name with the hello . She was done. And yet she wasn’t satisfied. Ravenclaw and Slytherin had grown on her, she was almost loath to admit. Knowing names wasn’t enough any more. Knowing names wouldn’t heal them. She knew this from experience.
Andy’s older sister, Jill, was the shining star of Cincinnati. The entire city seemed to know her name and adore her. She was an athlete par excellence , with popularity and charisma to match her skill on the pitch. She got a prestigious scholarship to a sports college to play soccer, then went on to join Team USA. Practically the only thing Jill wasn’t good at was academics, and even that, she couldn’t fail. No, she was simply “average”.
Andy lived her life as “Jill’s little sister”, which eventually became “Andy, Jill Sachs’ little sister”. She’d thought she was over it, but seeing Ravenclaw’s expression almost seven weeks ago clearly broke something inside her that she had thought long healed. Even once people knew her name, they didn’t really know her. A lifetime of trying to live up to the expectations, trying to even be seen when her sister was right there, shining so brightly that Andy felt blinded.
So, no, Andy couldn’t just settle for their names. Names were a consolation prize, the bare minimum for most people. It wasn’t just for Caroline and Cassidy any more. It was for the reclusive teen she had once been, writing and improving and fighting for the good of the world, hoping that it might be enough to be seen. It never was.
She sometimes felt like she was working on a piece of investigative journalism: the secrecy, the concise yet clear notes, all collected without the slightest awareness of their owners. That last point had made her squirm a little at first, wondering about the ethics of it all. When she doubted, she saw Ravenclaw’s crestfallen expression again; saw it reflected in her own eyes when she was that age. No. She would be the person she wished she had had in her life, even if this was unreasonably difficult. Especially since it was unreasonably difficult.
The nagging sense of guilt still lingered. She knew it would all come out in the wash eventually, but she wasn’t ready for it to happen. Not so soon.
But really, she should have known better than to leave her notebook on her desk when she went down to Accessories to pass on a message. It was barely five minutes, she had left it there far longer before - and besides, Miranda was out of the office at lunch with John Galliano. Where was the harm?
When she got back, two things were immediately apparent. Firstly, Miranda was on the warpath. Secondly, her notebook was not where she left it. Glancing to Emily for guidance but receiving only a somewhat uncomfortable stare, Andy tried to slink quietly to her desk and avoid the Dragon, but-
“Andrea.”
She pronounced her name wrong. Well, she pronounced it how everyone always pronounced it, but that was wrong. The way Miranda’s voice wrapped around the word no longer felt comfortable and familiar. No, Miranda strangled it, punctured it with spines in such a way that Andy almost forgot how to breathe.
A few things became clear in quick succession. Miranda had her notebook. Miranda had read her notebook. Miranda was livid .
Andy was so fired, blacklisted, everything. Maybe even arrested. She had known, of course, that Miranda held a ferocity unlike any other. She had not known that she had only been subject, or even witness to, a fraction of its true power before. And this was before she’d even seen her.
Forcing her legs to move, Andy made her way into Miranda’s office. Miranda did not turn to face her. She remained gazing impassively out of the window, merely addressing her in the same closed, clipped tones, ordering her to close the door. Andy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She felt as if she had just been told to enter a lion cage coated in BBQ sauce.
She did as she was told.
Miranda turned, holding the notebook up in front of her by two fingers. She let it drop to her desk with a dull thud. Slowly, painfully slowly, she flipped through its contents, pages upon pages of observations - innocuous and simple at first, but quickly growing more and more detailed. The evidence was damning, to be sure.
Miranda steepled her fingers, raising her eyes to meet Andy’s. The expression on her face could scarcely be described as angry , for it was so far beyond that. Even words like murderous and predatory didn’t fully cover what Miranda’s expression held. Pure, unbridled wrath was the only word that could even begin to illustrate her countenance.
“I- I can explain,” Andy started.
“No, no. I don’t need an explanation. I have all the explanation I need here.” As ever, Miranda’s voice was deceptively calm, despite the elephant in the room. The editor flicked nonchalantly through the pages again, appearing for all the world to be entirely at random. “How long?”
Andy flinched at the intensity, though she managed to respond in a reasonable amount of time. “A-about two months.”
“Mmm.” Miranda cast her gaze back down onto the notebook. “Two months,” she echoed. “My daughters have been being stalked for two months. I really did think you were harmless, you know. Northwestern’s theatre program must have improved.”
“Stalked? I- I really don’t think-”
“No, you don’t. You have invaded their privacy, and mine . Is this your ‘big break’, Andrea? The exclusive scoop on Miranda Priestly’s daughters that the Devil in Prada has kept so hidden from the public eye?”
“I- what?!” Andy’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody does what they have to in order to reach the top.” She paused, then spoke slowly. “No. That’s not your style. You wouldn’t run to give a scoop, you would write it yourself.”
“Miranda, please just let me-”
“You are a talented writer, I’m sure you would weave the words most delightfully.” She paused, but her eyes never stopped moving. Andy felt at once ice-cold and searing hot as Miranda studied her. She felt rather like an insect.
“Would you just- please let me explain?” Andy managed to finally ask.
Miranda’s eyes finally made their way to Andy’s face, roving across it in search of something Andy didn’t understand. A moment of stillness, then an eyebrow raised slightly in contemplation. “Hm,” she murmured softly. “You’re telling the truth.”
“Of course I am!” Andy spluttered.
“If you really weren’t planning on running to some rag with your hard-earned information, what is it that you wanted? Blackmail, perhaps?” Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath the surface.
“No, I- how could you say that?”
“Oh, of course, you don’t have the heart for that, do you? Your goody-two-shoes Midwestern attitude-”
“I wanted to be able to tell them apart!” Andy finally snapped. “I just wanted to be able to say something like, hey, Caroline, how was soccer? Cassidy! How’s your photography coming along? I wanted them to know that they were more than just ‘the twins’, because, God, I know exactly what it feels like to be a- a postscript on someone else’s life!”
Miranda was startled, that much was clear, but Andy was on a roll.
“I know that your daughter, the one who wears the silver and green necklace, she’s shyer. She’s sensitive, she cares about getting good grades and she’s scared of spiders. I know that one of your daughters has a scar on her left hand and that she has more freckles than her sister. I know that Ravenclaw wants nothing more than to be recognised on her own merit because nobody can tell either of them apart and it breaks my heart! I know that both of those girls are so desperate to be acknowledged for themselves, not as a buy-one-get-one-free deal, that they get into trouble on purpose so that Dalton has to check their files to give them detentions! Their teachers, who see them every day, they don’t care enough to tell the difference. And I know it’s arrogant and reaching of me to think I could do what they can’t, but damn it, I had to try!”
The room fell silent. The phone started to ring outside, but it seemed that even Emily was shell-shocked at Andy’s outburst, even through the walls.
Miranda’s expression became guarded, beyond Andy’s ability to read her. They remained in silence, staring at one another, for what felt like an eternity.
Andy swallowed hard. Her bravado had shrivelled up miserably in the silence, and she felt all of a sudden very exposed beneath that piercing gaze. She had said more than she had meant to, but she wouldn’t take any of it back. She couldn’t. It was the truth, after all. Andy nodded jerkily, smoothing down her skirt. “I- I had to try. I’m sorry, I should… I should go.”
Miranda didn’t respond, and Andy felt it was best to make a swift getaway before she regained her tongue. She was just turning the doorknob when Miranda spoke.
“Caroline. Ravenclaw is, um, that’s Caroline.” Her voice was soft, vulnerable in a way that made Andy freeze up entirely. She paused, slowly closing the door again, hoping that Miranda might reveal more. Andy turned just enough to see her out of the corner of her eye. The editor had never looked old, but now she looked a decade younger, looking almost as she had when she saw her twins for the first time. When it was clear that Miranda would say no more on the matter, Andy slowly opened the door.
“Deliver the Book tonight, as normal. That’s all.” Miranda’s voice had returned to normal, but it lacked the disaffected tone it usually held, instead sounding almost… wistful.
So. Perhaps she was less fired than she thought?
The townhouse was silent that night when Andy turned the key. It was always silent, but tonight it felt heavy, loaded with something she couldn’t identify. It was an unnatural stillness, as if the building itself was holding its breath. Her ginger guard was nearby, she could feel it - but she hadn’t made her presence known yet. That wasn’t unusual, sometimes she would be in a mischievous mood and try to startle Andy. Ravenclaw could be a ninja when she wanted to.
Caroline, she mentally corrected herself. She knew the girl’s name now, and wasn’t that an odd chain of events? Miranda worked in mysterious ways, to be sure.
Heels clicking on the floor, Andy made her way to the closet. The dry cleaning was hung with care, each garment smoothed down within its protective plastic sheath. As she placed the second-to-last item, the soft sound of footfalls reached her ears. Caroline was wearing her fur-lined house slippers, it seemed. They were the only shoes the girl wore that ever made any noise. She wasn’t doing a very good job of sneaking up today.
In spite of herself, Andy found a fond smile growing on her face. Despite almost getting her fired, she felt a kindred spirit to both the Priestly heiresses. She hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she saw her.
Andy turned, letting her eyes land on the girl. Her acting wasn’t much up to snuff, but she still let her eyes widen and her muscles stiffen a little. It usually elicited an amused micro-expression when Andy startled, but Caroline looked tired today.
“Jeez,” Andy said softly, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “You snuck up on me again.”
“Sorry,” Caroline said, equally softly. She sounded at least a little repentant for once, which made Andy smile internally.
“Good thing I didn’t drop anything this time.” Andy liked to joke about the first time Raven- Caroline had properly snuck up on her. She’d been utterly unprepared for it and jolted so badly that she’d flung the Book into the air. By luck alone it had landed on her foot instead of the hardwood floor, and she’d been able to rescue it without damage - or alerting Miranda.
Caroline made a face and shrugged slightly, her arms twitching by her sides as though she was going to move them somehow. It was an odd motion; Andy couldn’t quite telegraph the intended movement. Something was definitely off tonight. Maybe she’d got hurt at soccer? That could explain the extra tension she seemed to be holding today.
Andy clicked her way over to the table with the flowers, setting the Book down on it carefully. After a moment, she adjusted the angle to make it square with the rest of the decor. It was a small detail, and one that probably went unnoticed, but she liked the feeling of a job done right. She waited patiently for Caroline’s light scoff, but it never came.
She half-turned, then stopped. Caroline seemed almost pleased, her eyes flicking from the square vase to the aligned edge of the Book. The girl turned her head slightly to compare the edges of the Book and the wall, and Andy realised something. That wasn’t Caroline.
Or at least, it definitely wasn’t Sinistra. And if Sinistra was Caroline, which she was because of the soccer photo; and Miranda had told Andy that Caroline was Ravenclaw… then this couldn’t be Sinistra-Caroline- Ravenclaw at all.
This was Cassidy. The tense shoulders, the twitchiness - she had been moving to cross her arms protectively - even her strange response to Andy startling. This was Cassidy wearing her sister’s shoes and jacket.
“Hey,” Andy started, mindful of her volume and watching the girl’s face closely. “It’s really great to see you. I, uh, I enjoy writing to you.”
Cassidy looked confused. “I’ve never written to you? My sister does that.” A hand snaked up to play with her necklace, pulling it from under her shirt. The rose-gold and blue shone back mockingly at Andy as Ravenclaw(?) rubbed her fingers back and forth across it.
Andy paused, suddenly unsure. “Okay, um, well… I just wanted you both to know that I might not be able to write again. I sorta might have got fired today?”
Slyther-claw’s expression was hard to read. “I’ll- I’m sure she’ll miss that. A lot. I’ll tell her, I guess.” She continued to fidget with the necklace, rolling it over the pad of her hand with her thumb.
It still felt wrong. Something didn’t add up, but she couldn’t place what . Andy scanned her eyes over her one more time, finally stopping on the girl’s fingers. The fingertips. There was a strange tint to them. A tiny colour change, no bigger than the difference between beige and ecru, as if they had been dipped into a pale ink and allowed to dry.
Cassidy always wrote her back on thick paper. She wrote back on watercolour paper.
Andy grew more confident.
“If you’re not Cassidy, could you pass on a message to her, please?” At Cassidy’s head bob, Andy took a deep breath. “I want her to know that she’s important. I want her to know that there are people out there who see her. That it’s scary, but it’s also okay to want that. I want her to know she’s a great photographer, she’s got an awesome sense of humour, and that I wish I was half as good at drawing as she is. Most of all, I want her to know that she isn’t just your sister. And that you’re both worth so, so much more than just being the Priestly twins . You guys have it rough. Believe me, I know what it’s like. My sister is Jill Sachs.”
When Cassidy’s expression didn’t change, Andy knew she was right. She clarified: “You know, uh, Hacky-Sachs… striker for good ol’ Team USA.” She did a brief jazz hands. “That’s how I know. And, uh, it’s okay for that to suck.”
There was a long, long moment in which Cassidy simply stared at Andy like she’d grown another head.
And then there were arms around her, and she was being hugged. Fiercely tightly, too, like she had to put her feelings somewhere and a hug was the only vessel she could think of. It was the briefest of moments, barely enough time for Andy to acknowledge with an uncertain hand against her shoulder blades, before Cassidy - it had to be Cassidy - retreated a safe distance away.
“I’ll tell her,” Cassidy said softly. And then: “It does suck. Even you got it wrong.”
Andy shook her head. “I didn’t. You might be wearing Caroline’s jacket, boots and necklace, and yeah, I might’ve hesitated a bit. But you’re not impossible to distinguish. You’re Cassidy.”
Cassidy frowned. “Am not. Nobody gets it right except Mom.”
“What’s this about me?”
Andy should have known that saying any one of Miranda’s names would draw her in. Speak of the Devil (in Prada) and all that. She froze, eyes widening in genuine panic. She straightened up her posture and tried to look like she hadn’t just been in the middle of a conversation with Miranda’s daughter despite the confrontation they’d just had about that exact issue. “I- I was just leaving,” Andy blurted.
Miranda moved into the foyer, barefoot, having clearly discarded her heels somewhere within the house. She looked more human this way, Andy thought, but in no way did that stop Andy’s heart from racing. It seemed to make her heart go faster, actually.
Cassidy wasn’t willing to let her off the hook though. She turned to face Miranda, a frown on her face. “Mom, your assistant is being super weird. She keeps calling me Cassidy.”
Andy held her breath for a moment. She knew full well that Miranda would know which child was in front of her. The million dollar question was… was Andy right? And, even if Andy was right, would Miranda side with her daughter?
Once again, Andy found herself analysing another Priestly’s expression for clues. She watched as Miranda came closer and leant down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Oh, Bobbsey,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her daughter’s face. Her tone was gentle, unexpectedly so. It felt like Andy wasn’t supposed to be seeing this side of Miranda.
She straightened back up and rested a hand gently on Cassidy’s shoulder as she turned to face Andy.
“Andréa here is too astute for her own good at times,” Miranda said. She had said Andy’s name correctly again. Well, incorrectly, but that was correct. It felt somehow like an apology, a warning, and gratitude all rolled into one. Andy felt relief seeping into her bones.
“I don’t know how she did it,” Cassidy mumbled near-inaudibly, then spoke louder. “Tell her I’m Caroline, Mom.”
Miranda chuckled, the sound throaty and low in her chest, as she looked down at her daughter. “Bobbsey, loath as I am to take advice from Dolores Umbridge of all people… but ‘I shall not tell lies’, hmm?”
Even as Cassidy’s jaw dropped, a voice drifted down from the upstairs landing. “Accept it, Cass, she figured it out weeks ago.”
“Well,” Andy chuckled awkwardly. “Maybe not weeks ago . I only really knew for sure after today.” Her eyes flicked to Miranda, who was looking up to Caroline on the floor above. Her jawline caught the light just right, and Andy mentally compared it to Dextra and Sinistra in her head - they would grow up to be very similar indeed, she thought.
She realised she was staring when Miranda’s eyes met her own. Those eyes, which scarcely six hours ago had held contempt, wrath and rage, were now soft with an expression she had never seen on Miranda’s face before.
A different, new Miranda suddenly slotted itself into her mind, populating with the person she had seen given freely to Caroline and Cassidy this evening. The tender, gentle smiles tugged at Andy’s heart, and she realised she wouldn’t be opposed to seeing more of them. But the expression on Miranda’s face wasn’t directed at the twins now. It was for Andy . The soft smile, the tiniest crinkle at the corner of Miranda’s eyes - she knew Miranda’s real smiles were with her eyes! - how her face seemed softer, less guarded. All of that was directed at Andy.
That kind of expression, oh, Andy would do anything to see that again.
“I wonder,” Miranda said softly. Her eyebrows creased minutely and her head dipped just a fraction - another new expression to Andy. “I wonder,” Miranda said again, more firmly, “if perhaps you would like a glass of wine? Your employment is- this is unrelated to it. Off the clock. You are free to decline, of course. I am sure you must have someone waiting for you at home.”
And Andy thought of Nate. Of the argument she would no doubt come home to, how close she’d been to just kicking him to the curb. She thought about how she was just a postscript in his life now, an addendum that lacked any central significance. How little she felt when she looked at him; how much she felt looking at Miranda.
Her answer was easy: “There’s nothing I’d like more.”
…
Oh yeah. She could definitely get used to seeing that smile.