Emily just shook her head. “It’s Elias-Clark. It’s Miranda Priestly, for god’s sake. It’s like they’re anointing us.”
“I’m trying here, Em.”
“Trying? I can’t believe you’re not jumping at this opportunity.”
Andy was quiet. “What’s our rush?” she asked. “This is the first offer, and it’s years earlier than we expected. Why race into it? Let’s take our time, think it through, and make the best decision for both of us.”
“Seriously, Andy? We would be certifiably insane not to accept this offer. I know it, and you know it.”
“I love The Plunge,” Andy said quietly. “I love what we’ve built together. I love our offices and our staff and getting to hang out with you every day. I love that no one tells us what to do or how to do it. I’m not sure I want to give all that up just yet.”
“I know you love it. I do too. But this is an opportunity a million people would kill for. Certainly anyone and everyone who’s ever grown a business from scratch. You need to see the big picture, Andy.”
Andy stood up and gathered her things. She reached out and squeezed Emily’s arm. “We just found out five seconds ago. Let’s give ourselves a little time to think it through, okay? We’ll figure something out.”
Emily’s hand reflexively hit the table in frustration. Not hard, but enough to stop Andy in her tracks. “I sure hope so, Andy. I’m willing to talk about this more, but I’m telling you now, we cannot squander this opportunity. I won’t let us stand in the way of our own success.”
Andy slung her bag over her shoulder. “You mean me. You won’t let me stand in the way of your success.”
“That’s not what I said,” Emily said.
“But that’s definitely what you meant.”
Emily shrugged. “You may hate them, but they are the very best and they are offering to make us rich in our own right. Can’t you take the long view for once?”
“What, you mean like the worshipful view you’ve always taken of Elias-Clark? And let’s be honest, of Miranda too?”
Emily glared at her. Andy knew she should end it there, but she couldn’t help herself.
“What? I’d be willing to bet anything that you still blame yourself for getting fired. That even though you were the best goddamn assistant she ever had, you still think Miranda was in some way justified for throwing you out like last week’s garbage.”
Anger flashed across Emily’s face, and Andy knew she’d gone too far. But all Emily said was, “Let’s not do this now, okay?”
“Fine. I’m headed to run some errands over lunch. I’ll see you back at the office,” Andy said, and walked out without another word. It was going to be a very long day.
chapter 13
i could easily be dead by then
Andy rested her head against the taxi seat and inhaled the not-unpleasant vanilla scent of the dangling air freshener. It was the first time in weeks she could remember smelling something and not wanting to vomit. She was breathing deeply when her phone rang.
“Hi,” she said to Max, and hoped he wouldn’t bring up the meeting. She was looking forward to telling their families about the baby that night, and she didn’t want to keep thinking about Miranda.
“Where have you been? I must have left a thousand messages with Agatha. How did the meeting go?” His tone was urgent.
“Me? Oh, I’m fine, thanks for asking. You must have been worried!” Andy said. She had kept Max up most of the night, thrashing with anxiety over the meeting.
“Seriously, Andy, how’d it go? They want to buy you, don’t they?”
This made her sit straight up. “Yes, they do. How did you know that?”
“What else could they have wanted?” he crowed, sounding triumphant. “I knew it, I just knew it! Miles and I have a bet about how much. You both must be so excited.”
“I’m not sure excited is the word I’d use. Maybe terrified is a little closer.”
“You should be proud as hell, Andy! You did it. You and Emily, against all odds, built this thing from scratch, and now the most prestigious magazine publisher on earth wants to buy it from you. It doesn’t get any better than that.”
“It is an honor,” Andy said. “But there are definitely some worrisome details.”
“Nothing you can’t work out, I’m sure. I can recommend a great lawyer, someone from an entertainment firm we use. They can iron out any issues.”
Andy kneaded her hands. Max was making it sound like a done deal when they’d only just gotten the offer that morning.
“So when’s everyone getting there?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “And do you think they suspect anything?”
“I told you, I’ve got it all under control. There’s a husband-and-wife chef team here now, and they’re whipping up a feast. Everyone’s getting here in an hour. They’re all going to flip when we tell them about the baby, and now we have this incredible news to share, too.”
“No, I don’t want to mention anything about—”
“Andy? Can you hear me? Look, I’ve got to make a few calls. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
She heard the phone click and once again allowed her head to rest against the seat. Of course, her husband was an investor, a substantial one. It was perfectly understandable he’d be thrilled; it made him look like a genius, not to mention help line the Harrison coffers. But she wasn’t yet ready to share the news. The baby was one thing—that was exactly the kind of news you shared with future grandparents, even the Barbara Harrisons of the world—but an entire evening spent discussing Miranda Priestly? No thank you.
Despite her initial reservations, by ten P.M. Andy had to admit that the evening had been a success. Everyone was still going strong. Unsurprising for her family, who interpreted “time to leave” as “time to begin saying good-bye, hugging, rehugging, asking last-minute questions, visiting the bathroom, offering once again to clean up, and kissing each and every person in the room,” but this was very unusual for Barbara, who was always fashionably but never rudely late, a tidy and considerate guest, and quick to thank her host and leave. With the exception of Eliza, who had left an hour earlier to meet friends, each and every one of their immediate family members was still planted in the living room, chatting animatedly, drinking voraciously, and laughing like teenagers.
“I’m so delighted for you both,” Mrs. Harrison said in a way that indicated nothing about her true feelings. But maybe she meant it? Maybe a baby—the promise of a new Harrison—was enough to win Andy some respect and acceptance? They sat side by side on the backless chaise. “A grandchild, my, my. Naturally I’d always hoped, but so soon! Quite the surprise.”
Andy tried to ignore the “so soon” part. Max had insisted they leave out the details about the baby being unplanned—he didn’t want everyone thinking it was some sort of mistake—but Andy was sure his mother was no more thrilled with the idea that she and Max had deliberately conceived this child two months before getting married. Wouldn’t that be just like her low-class daughter-in-law?
“Of course you’ll name him after Robert if it’s a boy,” Mrs. Harrison said, clearly intending it to be a statement and not a question. Even more infuriating, Barbara directed her stipulation to Max, as though he were the sole name decider.
“Of course,” Max said without so much as glancing in Andy’s direction.
She had no doubt they’d name a baby boy after Max’s father, and probably even a little girl—Andy wouldn’t want it any other way—but still she bristled at the presumption.
Jill caught Andy’s eye and coughed. Loudly.
“You never know, I have a feeling these two will have a girl. A tiny, perfect, sweet little girl. All sugar and spice and everything my three boys aren’t. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.”
“A girl would be lovely,” Mrs. Harrison said in agreement. “But we’ll want a boy at some point to carry on the family business.”
Andy refrained from pointing out that she, a fema
le, was perfectly capable of running a business and any daughter of hers would be the same. Nor would she mention that Max’s father, a male, hadn’t exactly shown a whole lot of business acumen when making decisions on behalf of Harrison Media Holdings.
Max caught her eye and sent her a silent thank-you.
Andy’s grandmother piped up from the couch opposite Andy. “That child won’t be born for another six months. I could easily be dead by then, in which case I’ll insist they name the child for me. Ida’s due to come back again, isn’t it? All the old-timer names are in favor again.”
“Grams, you’re only eighty-eight and you’re strong as an ox. You’re not going anywhere,” Andy said.
“From your lips to god’s ears,” her grandmother replied, then spit three times in quick succession.
“Enough with the naming,” Jill said, clapping her hands together. “Does anyone want some more decaf? If not, I think we should get going and let the parents-to-be get some rest.”
Andy shot her sister a grateful smile. “Yep, I’m pretty tired, so . . .”
“No one in our family has lived past eighty,” Grams called to Andy. “You’re crazy if you don’t think I’ll be dead any day now.”
“Mom, stop that. You’re perfectly healthy. Come on, let’s get our stuff together.”
Andy’s grandmother waved her hand dismissively. “I lived long enough to see this one married off, which I never thought would happen. And not just married off, but pregnant. Will wonders never cease.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Andy burst out laughing. It was so vintage Grams. She hugged her grandmother and whispered to Jill, “Thanks for getting them all out of here.”
“Before everyone goes, we have another exciting announcement . . . ,” Max said, standing to get the room’s attention.
“Oh Christ, it’s twins,” Andy’s grandmother moaned. “Two identical little rug rats at the same time.”
“Twins?” Mrs. Harrison asked, her voice rising by at least three octaves. “Oh, my.”
Andy could feel Jill turn to her questioningly, but she was too busy shooting Max a warning look to respond. He didn’t catch her eye.
“No, no, it’s not twins. It’s about The Plunge. It seems Andy and Emily got—”
“Max, please don’t,” Andy said quietly, her voice as hard and even as she could manage without creating a scene.
He either didn’t hear her or didn’t care.
“—an incredible offer from Elias-Clark to acquire The Plunge. An outrageously generous offer, to be more precise. Those two pretty much accomplished the impossible in getting such a young start-up noticed and courted like that so soon. Let’s all raise a glass to all of Andy’s hard work.”
Exactly no one raised a glass. They all began talking at once.
Andy’s father: “Elias-Clark? Does that mean you-know-who all over again?”
Barbara: “Well, it couldn’t have come at a more auspicious time! You’ll be able to unload that little vanity project and move on to something more rewarding, like spending time with your baby. And perhaps I could get you involved with some boards . . .”
Jill: “Wow, congratulations! Even if you don’t want to sell it to them, the offer itself is such an honor.”
Andy’s mother: “I can’t abide the idea of you working with . . . with . . . oh, what’s her name again? The one who tortured you for a year?”
Grams: “What, you work all this time to build the whole damn thing and now you just turn around and sell it? I don’t understand you kids today.”
Andy glared at Max until he walked across the living room and enveloped her in a bear hug. “Wonderful, isn’t it? I’m so proud of her.”
Jill must have caught the look on Andy’s face, because she sprang to her feet and announced to everyone that they’d all had enough excitement for one night, and they should all leave immediately so Andy and Max could sleep.
“I’ll call you from the airport tomorrow, okay?” Jill said, standing on tiptoe to wrap her arms around Andy’s neck. “I’m so incredibly excited for you guys. It really is the greatest thing ever. And I won’t even give you shit about telling me at the same time you told your mother-in-law. I’m not offended, don’t worry.”
“Good,” Andy said with a grin. “Because pregnant people can do no wrong, as I’m quickly finding out.”
Jill shrugged on her down coat—it was bracingly cold, even for November—and said, “Enjoy it while it lasts. People only care when it’s your first. You can be nine months and ready to pop with your second, and no one’s even going to offer you a seat. And your third?” She snorted. “They outright ask if it was planned or not. Like they couldn’t imagine anyone doing that voluntarily . . .”
Andy laughed.
“Not that we did do it voluntarily . . .”
“Details.” Andy reached out and tucked Jill’s hair behind her ear. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to spend a quiet moment or two with her sister. Living across the country, they saw each other so rarely, and when they did, the kids and Kyle and Max and Andy’s mom were almost always there, too. They hadn’t been that close growing up—the nine-year age difference meant Jill had left for college when Andy was only a little girl herself—but in the last five or six years, the girls had begun talking regularly on the phone and tried to plan more frequent visits. There was even more to chat about when Andy got engaged, from wedding planning to all the ways husbands and fiancés were maddening, mysterious creatures, and Jill had been a supportive and loving matron of honor. Nothing could have put them in the same frame of mind faster than Andy’s getting pregnant, she realized as she watched her sister pull on a pair of brown equestrian-style boots. For the last decade Jill’s life had revolved around parenting her boys, something Andy understood intellectually but couldn’t relate to in any real way. Now, about to become a mother herself, Andy could sense she and Jill were about to have more in common than at any other point in their lives, and she suddenly couldn’t wait to share the experience with her sister.
It took everyone another twenty minutes to gather their shoes and coats and hug good-bye and say congratulations one last time. When the door finally closed, Andy thought she might collapse.
“Tired?” Max asked, massaging her shoulders.
“Yes. But happy.”
“Everyone seemed legitimately pleased. And your grandmother was in rare form tonight.”
“Not rare enough. But yes, they were all so happy.” She turned around to face Max, who was standing behind the couch. She made a conscious decision not to say anything about the Elias-Clark announcement. Max had worked so hard to plan the perfect evening, and he was obviously just excited for her. Andy forced herself to focus on the positive. “Thank you for tonight. It was really special getting to tell everyone together.”
“You had a good time? Really?” Max asked with such hopefulness that it made her inexplicably sad.
“Really.”
“I did too. And they were all so thrilled with your Plunge news, too. I mean, how incredible. Barely three years out and already an offer from—”
Andy held up her hand. “Let’s talk about it another time, okay? I just want to enjoy tonight.”
Max moved forward to kiss her, pressing her body into the kitchen island with his own, and Andy felt a familiar jolt of excitement. It took her a moment to realize that for the first time since their wedding, she didn’t feel exhausted or nauseated. Max nibbled her lower lip, gently at first, and then pressed into her with more urgency. She glanced at the husband-and-wife chef team, who were now tidying up the kitchen. Max followed her gaze.
“Follow me,” he said gruffly, wrapping his hand around her wrist.
“Don’t you have to pay them?” she giggled, walk-running to keep up with Max as he led her to their bedroom. “Shouldn’t we at least say good-bye?”
Max pulled her into the room and quietly shut the door behind them. Without another word, he undressed her
and wrapped his arms around her. They fell, kissing, onto the bed together, Andy on top of Max. She pinned his hands by ears, kissed his neck, and said, “I remember this.”
Max flipped Andy onto her back and lowered himself onto her. It all felt wonderful—the weight of his body against hers, the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands. They made love slowly, sweetly. When they were finished, Andy rested her head on Max’s chest and listened as his breathing became regular and rhythmic. She heard Stanley bark as the chefs let themselves out, and she must have drifted off because when she next opened her eyes, she was shivering atop the covers and Stanley had wedged himself between her and Max.
Andy snuggled under the duvet and lay there ten minutes, fifteen. Sleep didn’t come again, although she was so tired she felt like she could barely roll over. This, too, was a new pregnancy-induced misery: the bone-weary exhaustion coupled with inexplicable insomnia. Beside her, Max’s breathing slowed and then evened out, his chest rising and falling with steady predictability. For as energetic and active as he was during the day, at night he slept soundly on his back, hands folded corpselike over his chest, rarely moving or readjusting. A 747 could have landed in their bedroom and he would have done little more than sigh, turn his head a few inches, and resume his strong, steady breathing. It was maddening on every level.
Climbing carefully out of bed, Andy pulled on her Mrs. Harrison robe and the fluffy travel socks she’d purchased at the newsstand at JFK. She scooped a groaning Stanley into her arms and padded down the hallway toward the couch, where she collapsed in an ungraceful heap. Their DVR was disappointing: mostly old football games that Max had recorded but ended up watching online; a few NFL commentary shows; an ancient episode of Private Practice; a 60 Minutes she’d already seen; a Modern Family that she’d promised Max they would watch together; and the final hour of the Today show’s special wedding episode from two weeks earlier, when Andy and Emily had both checked out all the vendors and trends that Hoda and Kathie Lee discussed. Live TV wasn’t much better: the usual late-night shows, some infomercials, a repeat of Design Star on HGTV. Andy was about to call it quits when something in the midnight slot caught her eye: The High Priestess of Fashion: The Life and Times of Miranda Priestly.