Chapter Text
"I'm giving it one evening, and that's all. I refuse to believe that this warrants six hours of training."
It was her third or fourth conversation of this nature with Cassidy, who was doing her best to assuage her mother’s boundless agitation about her upcoming dance class that Miranda had no interest in “getting over,” as her daughter called it, anytime soon.
“It’s important to Jamie, and Caroline loves him so much,” Cassidy told her. “And I like him a lot! And you… tolerate him I think about as much as you’d like anyone who tried to marry your daughter, right?”
Miranda pursed her lips, still unconvinced of Caroline’s insistence that her wedding party and their parents be well-versed in ballroom dancing prior to her nuptials. Clearly sensing this, Cassidy barreled on.
“If it makes you feel any better, apparently Dad’s instructor is Gia’s best friend, so he’s having a miserable time.”
Miranda’s lips curled into a tiny smile. Greg being forced to trip over his feet in front of his third ex-wife’s closest friend? That did make her feel better.
She hummed, still unwilling to capitulate to Cassidy just yet, and heard the sound of the blinker as her driver pulled over. “I have to go.”
“Have fun!”
The studio was on the Upper West Side, a veritable nightmare of a commute from the office on a Tuesday evening, but she’d been assured by many (her daughters, Nigel, both assistants that she’d tasked with calling multiple times under various identities) that it was discrete, professional, and the least painless option for her to learn the ballroom dancing skills as mandated by her future son-in-law.
She kept on her sunglasses when the elevator opened onto the studio. It was one large room, full of light, warm tones of wood and hanging fabrics, and already lively with couples milling about in casual clothing. Miranda lingered in the entryway, clutching her coat and bag and hoping to stay out of everyone’s eyeline until the music started.
“Hey there!”
Miranda nodded at the cheerful woman who’d appeared at her side, hoping that her silence would send her away, but she seemed undeterred by Miranda’s cold shoulder.
“I’m Joy, and I’ll be leading the class today. You can hang your coat and purse up just over there. And sunglasses. They’ll be safe, I promise!”
Miranda did not move, and neither did Joy, whose smile did not waver. She held her hands out, not unlike one of Miranda’s assistants, and Miranda tried not to roll her eyes as she finally shrugged off her coat.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name,” Joy said over her shoulder as she led Miranda to the coatrack.
“It’s…”
And then she saw her.
Across the room, in a loose-fitting maroon dress, stood Andrea.
The din of the chattering attendees was briefly drowned out by the rush of blood to Miranda’s ears. She placed her hand on her abdomen as if to keep her stomach from flipping over, but it didn’t work. Then Joy came to stand at her side, staring at Miranda with clear confusion, and she blinked quickly to clear her head. She cleared her throat before turning to Joy, hoping to cut off any further line of questioning from the instructor.
“It’s Miranda,” she said quickly, and turned around to busy herself at the coatrack.
“Miranda, got it,” Joy said, far too loudly and far too happily. Miranda felt the sudden urge to duck for cover. “And you’re here alone — that’s great. We’ve got one other ‘solo traveller,’ so you two can keep each other company today.”
“Fine,” Miranda muttered. She pulled her phone from her bag, but she’d hardly navigated to her contacts before Joy was tutting next to her.
“I hope you’re just silencing that. We’re about to get started, so…” When Miranda made no attempt to put her phone away, Joy reached out and plucked it from her hand with a grin. “Great, that’s awesome. I’ll just set this here” — she placed the phone on the shelf above the coat rack — “and you can check it after, okay?”
“Check it after,” Miranda said coolly, wishing that her Manolos were slightly taller so that she could glare at Joy from above. “I’m not some insolent preschooler, and I’ll have you know that—”
Her speech was drowned out by deafening static, followed by the opening brass notes of “Conga” by Gloria Estefan. Joy jogged to the center of the room, clapping her hands along to the beat before encouraging everyone to form a circle around her. She reserved a particularly aggressive head-tilt for Miranda, who slunk to the edge of the throng of excited dancers, positioning herself next to a tall, mustachioed man who she hoped would hide her long enough to keep Andrea from noticing that she was there.
It didn’t stop Miranda from peering around his blazer to try to get a better look at her, albeit briefly.
She wore her hair down, still long and chestnut-brown, but she’d grown out her bangs, and Miranda thought that she could perhaps see a few grays in the silhouette that the setting sun created behind her head. A small smile played on her face as she listened to Joy, her posture casual and confident like she knew that she belonged in the room. It was a far cry from the tottering, nervous assistant that Miranda had known, but she wasn’t surprised. Andrea had been filing articles with increasingly prestigious publications over the years, sharing bylines with some of the most accomplished journalists in the country, and ultimately making a name for herself in the print world. Her work had never overlapped with Runway, nor any other Elias-Clarke publications, which had the unfortunate effect of leaving Miranda eternally curious about where she’d see Andy Sachs written next.
She was jolted out of her reverie by a loud clap, courtesy of Joy. The man next to her suddenly walked away, leaving a direct path between her and Andrea, whose widening eyes found hers immediately.
Andrea seemed to freeze in place, leaving Miranda feeling slightly smug that she could still have that effect, until Joy was at her side and tugging her closer.
“You two are our singles!” Joy said, and Miranda blinked in confusion. Andrea seemed less surprised by this information, however, and offered Joy a pained smile before turning to Miranda.
“Hi,” she said.
Though Miranda read thousands of words written by Andrea over the years, she hadn’t heard her speak in nearly two decades, and the once-familiar sound made her feel slightly breathless. Not entirely confident in her own voice, Miranda only nodded at Andrea before looking at Joy, whose own smile had faded slightly as she looked between the two women.
“We’ve got a shortage of men in this class, so I’m going to ask you two to partner up tonight. We’ll be rotating partners throughout the next few weeks, so I promise that you’ll get your chance with” — she waggled her eyebrows as she pointed her thumb at the other participants — “all those guys. Sound okay?”
“Sounds great,” Andrea said warmly, and Miranda shot her a glare before she could think better of it. But instead of recoiling, Andrea smiled, her lips pursing slightly like she was trying to hold back a smile.
“Thanks, ladies.” Joy turned back to the group, but not before smacking Miranda’s arm affectionately, and Miranda practically jumped out of her skin in surprise. She heard a chuckle at her side, and turned to see Andrea grinning.
“So she’s… a lot,” she said softly, tilting her chin towards Joy. Her eyes never left Miranda’s, and they were unfortunately as easy to get lost in as Miranda had found them twenty years ago.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Miranda said dryly. She fiddled with the Tiffany pendant around her neck, allowing herself to look at Andrea once more before focusing on Joy, who had launched into a wordy explanation of ballroom dancing. Miranda tuned out most of it, her primary brain function dedicated entirely to the awareness of Andrea’s body next to hers. Only the mention of assigning leaders and followers brought her plummeting back down to earth.
Andrea was unnaturally still next to her, and Miranda noticed that she was blushing slightly when they faced each other again.
“Do you…” she began, then cleared her throat. “Have you ever led before?”
Miranda pursed her lips and glanced around the room, seething at the easy decisions being made by the heterosexual couples around her. “No.”
“Got it,” Andrea grumbled. It was the most annoyed she’d seemed since they’d been presented with this debacle. “Guess I’ll be doing that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Miranda said sweetly, narrowing her eyes. “Were you expecting someone else to sweep you off your feet?”
“Yeah, actually, I was,” Andrea snapped. “I was supposed to come here with my boyfriend, but on account of us breaking up, I’m here alone. The tickets were non-refundable, so I put his on Craigslist, which is where I’m assuming you got it. So don’t pretend I’m thrilled to be in this position either.”
Miranda shook her head as she ingested this. “Who the hell is Craig?”
“Oh my god,” Andrea groaned, running a hand through her hair.
Joy clapped again, and the room went quiet as she explained the basics of the box-step. Miranda tried her best to pay attention this time, determined not to make a fool out of herself in front of Andrea and reasonably confident that forty years of horrible slow-dancing encounters at work events would give her a leg up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andrea moving her feet slowly, copying Joy’s movements. It was…
Well, it didn’t matter what it was. Miranda smoothed out her top and took a deep breath as Joy prepared to cue the music.
“Okay, so,” Andrea said, and Miranda turned to see her gesturing expectantly. “Can I…?”
Miranda slid her tongue along the inside of her cheek before nodding stiffly, and allowed Andrea to pull her closer.
Her perfume was different — no doubt something from the checkout lane at Marshall’s, or perhaps the Duty-Free store — but not far off from the warm and light scents that she’d favored in the past. Her breathing was quiet and shallow as she placed one gentle hand on Miranda’s waist. With her other hand, she clasped Miranda’s in a perfect imitation of Joy's instructions, and then raised an eyebrow until Miranda placed her free hand on Andrea’s shoulder.
“Okay, class!” Joy called. “We’ll go through it a few times as a group, then I’ll turn on the music and you can try for yourselves. Ready, and… slow, quick-quick! Slow, quick-quick!”
Miranda bit her lip as she watched and felt Andrea navigate the dance. Her eyes were glued to their feet as she whispered Joy’s instructions to herself, moving them in a perfect, though slightly clumsy, square. Her hands were gentle but commanding where they pressed into Miranda, guiding her carefully. It was nothing like her past dance partners, all meaty hands and strong grip with footwork closer to a drunken stumble than anything.
Andrea squeezed her waist a little more firmly as the began the routine again, and Miranda was catapulted back to the last time Andrea’s hands had been on her. When Andrea began to lead her to the left, Miranda went right, and Andrea stumbled backwards on the hardwood floor.
“Hey!” she said, glaring at Miranda’s heels before catching her eye.
Miranda crossed her arms and looked around the room innocently. Joy, unfortunately, noticed their folly, and ran over excitedly.
“Hey, ladies! How we doin'?”
“Great,” Andrea said, though her wavering smile was more reminiscent of a prey animal than anything.
Miranda avoided eye contact when Andrea pulled her in again, and her mouth landed dangerously close to Miranda’s cheek as she recited the infuriating slow, quick-quick mantra under her breath. On the quick, Miranda aimed, and Andrea winced as Miranda’s Manolo collided with the corner of her hideous ballet flats. While Andrea didn’t let go of her hand or back away this time, she practically growled Miranda’s name as they came to a stop in the middle of the floor.
“Hmm?” Miranda said softly, looking around the room.
“Why are you even here?” Andrea hissed. “Did you lose a bet or something?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
To her horror, Andrea resumed tugging her around the dance floor in perfect rhythm. “You’re the one making this impossible. Do you not know how to dance?”
Miranda finally glanced her way, and was selfishly glad to see that Andrea’s cheeks were still as pink as her own were beginning to feel. “Yes, Andrea, I’m an expert, which is why I chose to spend my Tuesday night above a Jimmy John’s learning how to box step.”
It was Andrea’s turn to roll her eyes, but her tone softened as she slowed their pace and squeezed Miranda’s hand. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here?”
Then the music stopped, and Joyce was clapping, and Miranda took three steps back. Her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t quite sure why, but she felt relieved at Joy’s announcement that their first lesson had come to an end.
—
19 years, 75 days, and 30 minutes earlier
“Um.”
The bed squeaked as Miranda brought herself to the edge. “Well.”
Andrea ran a hand through her hair, her fingers catching where it had tangled. Where it had been tangled, Miranda realized, by her own hands at… some point.
“That was…”
Miranda narrowed her eyes at Andrea as she climbed off of the bed and began to locate her clothing. “Was it?” she said acidly.
“I don’t know,” Andrea said, exhaling sharply.
Miranda didn’t deign to respond, focused entirely on slipping her underwear on without Andrea noticing, but she regretted it when the girl began talking again.
“I, um… can I see you again sometime, though? We could… try…”
“No.”
When Miranda turned around, Andrea was glaring at her. “It goes both ways, you know. You can’t act like…”
Miranda arched an eyebrow, and while Andrea shriveled slightly, she didn’t stop talking. “You were here, too. And yeah, it was weird, but… isn’t it always kind of weird?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Miranda scoffed, breaking eye contact to focus on the clasp of her skirt. Her fingers were shaking slightly, and she struggled to keep a hold on the tiny closure.
“No. It’s an honest question.”
“I’m leaving.”
The bed squeaked again, this time because Andrea was standing up, though she’d had the good sense to wrap a sheet around her. “Okay. Well. Thanks for coming over.”
“Yes, well,” Miranda muttered, and risked one final glance as she grabbed her purse. There was nothing left to say, really, and for once, Andrea let them linger in a near-suffocating silence.
And when Miranda left a moment later, she did not follow.