Title:  Color Me Loved
Rating: PG
Pairing:  Miranda/Andy
Summary:  Five vignettes—varying lengths, themes, POVs—loosely progressing through the years, focusing on what the expressions of love might look like between Miranda and Andy and within their family.  My challenge to myself was to write scenarios that I hadn’t seen written before.
Disclaimer:  I am not the creator of the characters in this story.  That credit goes to Lauren Weisberger, for the novel she wrote in 2003 and to 20th Century Fox, for the movie produced in 2006. 
A/N:  Regarding the first story, I am not a historian, but I have made every effort to keep things as simple and accurate as I can within the context of Miranda's daughters doing the telling of the history within the story.  Please note that I have not read the book and I do not draw from it as a source of back story for the characters when I write.  Finally, the last story, while not containing character death, does deal--though not directly--with a character's serious illness. 
A/N:  I proofed these myself.  If you see errors and want to let me know, I really would appreciate it.    

“Love at first sight is easy to understand; it’s when two people have been looking at each other for a lifetime that it becomes a miracle.”
(Amy Bloom)

I.
Vital Records

Miranda closed the door and listened for the voices of her daughters and Andrea.

It was this moment that she now looked forward to everyday.  The sound of chatter—mostly happy, sometimes raised in argument, other times hushed in confidence—filling a home that had once been too quiet. 

Today she could just make out the sound of chatter as it drifted down the stairs.

She hung her coat in the closet and noted that Andrea was already home.  Over the past couple of months that had become a regular occurrence.

She would arrive home to find Andrea and the twins preparing dinner; well not preparing so much as setting it out.  A cook was still a vital necessity.

Other times they would be watching television together.  Or Andrea would sit with them working on her laptop while they did homework.  Andrea’s domesticity had come as a pleasant surprise.

Miranda climbed the stairs and nudged the door of the twins’ study open just a crack.  She had to stifle a gasp.

Photos she hadn’t looked at in over thirty years littered the table.  Miranda felt like she'd been broadsided by an iceberg.

Andrea sat sandwiched between Cassidy and Caroline who had pushed their chairs up so close they were each touching one of her shoulders.

“Who do you suppose this guy was?” 

“I haven’t the foggiest, Caroline.  I told you we should have waited for your mom to get home.”

“Yeah well that beard he’s sporting is ridiculous.”

“You know that’s probably one of our relatives.  I don’t think you should make fun.”

“Cass, if any of these people are related to us,” Caroline swished her hand over the photos, “then how come mom’s never said anything?”

Cassidy pondered her answer.  “Maybe she was waiting?”

“Waiting for what?  Are you sure you’re not playing a trick on us Andy?”

“Caroline I told you, I found these photos upstairs when I was trying to decide on a room for my office.  Besides, really look at this picture.  This man has your mother’s eyes.”

“He was my father.”

Three sets of eyes jumped to attention at the sound of her voice.  She pushed the door open and walked into the room, hands on her hips.

“Hi Miranda.”

“Andrea.” 

Cassidy looked nervous; Caroline defiant.

“Hi mother, how was work?”

“Fine Cassidy.  Don’t you girls have homework to do?”

“This is our homework.”

Miranda raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  “Really?  Cassidy I’m curious.  Just what kind of homework would require you to snoop in my private affairs?”

“How are family photos your private affair mom?”  Caroline chirped in.  She was holding the photo of Miranda’s father that Andrea had let flutter back on the pile.

“We’re studying American history in school.  Our teacher asked us to write a report on where our families came from.” 

“Cassidy, I fail to see how that’s relative to American history.”

“You can’t be serious Miranda?”

She fixed Andrea with a glare.  The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.

“Mom?”

“Caroline, you and Cassidy go to the kitchen and see what’s for dinner.  I would like a moment alone with Andrea.”

“No.”

“No?”

“We have a right to know where our family comes from.”

“Besides,” Cassidy added, “it’s not fair for you to yell at Andrea.  She was only trying to help us.”

That gave Miranda pause.  It was the first time since Andrea had moved in that one of the girls had jumped in to mediate between them; and, in Andrea’s defense no less.  This challenge on her partner’s behalf appeared to be progress.

At seeing her mother’s hesitation Caroline prodded.   “What was his name?”

Miranda didn’t answer immediately.  Her daughters did have a right to know where they came from.  They were old enough to choose for themselves she supposed. 

“His name was Moszek Pryzbylkowski.” 

Caroline immediately scrunched up her face.  “Eww, what kind of a name is that?” 

Miranda inhaled sharply.  On the other hand, maybe she wasn’t prepared for this conversation.

Cassidy kicked her sister under the table. 

“What?  It is a funny sounding name.  Besides, it’s not even mom’s name.”

Andrea stood and brought over another chair.  She took Miranda’s arm and nodded for Cassidy to move over.  She slid her hand down into Miranda’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not my name because I changed it.”

Two red heads bobbed up to look at her as she lowered herself into the chair. 

Cassidy spurted, “You what?  Wait mom, so you weren’t born with your name?  That means you’re not really Miranda Priestly.”

“Duh, Cass.”  Caroline gave her sister an annoyed be quiet already glare. 

“No, I was not born with the name Miranda Priestly.  But it is my name none-the-less.  As you girls know, sometimes life forces you to make difficult decisions.  I can assure you though that changing my name was not one of them.” 

She hoped the girls would just drop this. 

But then Caroline softly spoke.  “So what name were you born with?”

Miranda’s back stiffened against her will.  She felt Andrea’s hold on her hand become tighter.

“Leja.”

Caroline shrugged.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you Cassidy.”

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Fruma.  Fruma Pryzbylkowski.”

“What was she like?”

“She was a small woman.” 

“Like petite?”

“No, not exactly.  She was petite; you might describe her as a bit bird like perhaps.  She had terrible arthritis.  Her hands were especially gnarled and tiny.”

The twins simultaneously looked down at their hands—long delicate fingers, not bird like in the least—a ghost of a smile crossed Miranda’s face. 

“You two inherited your father’s hands.”

“Our music teacher says we have piano fingers.”  Caroline proudly looked down at her hands again.

“And so you do.”

Cassidy’s expression was bursting with unanswered questions.  “But what was your mother like?”

“I told you—“

“No, not what did she look like.  What was she like?”

Miranda’s eyes clouded a bit.  She pursed her lips.  “She was quite distant.” 

She could see this wasn’t the type of information the girls wanted. 

Andrea on the other hand was clearly working out her own conclusions based on what she was not saying.  She had been right.  This was progress of a sort.  None of her husbands had gotten this information out of her.

“And she was very sad.  She was sad all the time.  My father died when I was ten.”

“Was she sad because her husb—um, I mean our grandfather died?”

“I don’t think that was the whole reason, but his death certainly didn’t help.”

They had dinner delivered that evening and ate in the study while the twins peppered her and to her surprise Andrea with questions.

Two weeks later Miranda sat in a classroom filled with other parents, no doubt as concerned as she, as to what family secrets their offspring were about to reveal.

A young girl with dark brown hair concluded her presentation.  Miranda closed her eyes and pictured her twenty years from now: a member of the DAR and married to a politician.

“Okay, next up we have Caroline and Cassidy Priestly.”

The girls’ teacher, Ms. Cooper, was rosy cheeked and chubby.  She looked like a happy little cherub as she flitted around the classroom.  Curly wisps of black hair stuck out around her face.  Her exuberance almost made up for her roundness.

The girls smiled out at the classroom and waved at her. 

Caroline began.  “Our assignment was to research our family history and to discuss how it fits into the broader history of the United States.”

Cassidy picked up flawlessly from her sister.  “Caroline and I have broken this presentation into three parts.  She will talk about our mother’s family, I will talk about our father’s family, and then we'd like to share our impressions.”

Cassidy smiled at Caroline as she stepped to the side to give her sister center stage.

Miranda was holding her breath.

“Our mother is Miranda Priestly.  As I’m sure you all know she is the Editor of Runway magazine.” 

Caroline pointed at her for good measure.

Miranda gave her best proud parent smile to those around her and folded her hands neatly across her lap.  She had not instructed the girls to censor the information she had shared with them, but she desperately hoped they would use a modicum of sense.

“My mother’s parents were named, Moszek and Fruma Pryzbylkowski.  They were born in Poland and came to America in 1938 to work for my grandfather’s older brother.

He owned a bakery in Chicago, Illinois. 

My mother was the youngest child of five.  Her family was Jewish. 

Her parents named her Leja.  It is the Polish version of the biblical Hebrew name Leah.  I looked up the meaning on the internet and it means ‘weary.'  I think that was a perfect name to describe what my mother’s childhood was like.”

Caroline paused and smiled at her again.

“During World War II, Germany occupied Poland.  About six millions Poles lost their lives during the Nazi occupation, not all of them were Jewish.  But the majority of the Jewish population in Poland was killed during the war.

No one from my grandparents’ families survived. 

This made my mother’s parents very sad, especially my grandmother.  I can’t imagine what it would be like to one day never hear from my family again, like they never existed.  To not know how they died.

My grandfather survived Polio as a child, but his right leg was paralyzed.  Mom said he could always make people laugh and that he was very clever.

When my mother was ten years old her father died of pneumonia brought on by complications from his childhood Polio.

The family had never had a lot of money and it was even harder for them after my grandfather died. 

My mother worked every morning before school in her uncle’s bakery. 

After school she helped her mother who was a seamstress.  That’s where she learned to sew and first began dreaming about a career in fashion.

When she turned seventeen she asked her family about college.  But there wasn’t any money to send her.  Her mother and older brothers thought it would be best if she married a friend of her uncle’s.

He was quite a bit older than my mother and she knew that she would be forced to make a difficult decision.

When she turned eighteen my mother took her life savings of two hundred fourteen dollars and bought a bus ticket to New York City.  She tried to contact her family once she had gotten her first job, but they wouldn’t speak to her. 

That’s when she decided to change her name to Miranda Priestly.  She told us she thought Priestly sounded fashionable. 

She chose Miranda as her first name because it means ‘worthy of admiration.' 

My mother worked very hard to get where she is.  She had to make a lot of sacrifices and difficult decisions.  At first I was embarrassed to learn about my grandparents.

I didn’t want to be Polish.  And I don’t know anything about being Jewish since my mother stopped practicing when she left home and my sister and I celebrate Christmas.

But then I did some research on the contributions of Polish and Jewish people.  It makes me feel proud to know that my ancestors have stood up to and overcome great adversity. 

Also Scarlett Johansson is part Jewish and Polish too on her mother’s side and she was on the cover of Runway.”

Caroline nodded at her sister who stepped forward.

“Okay, now I would like to tell you a little bit about my father’s family…”

Miranda’s head was spinning.  She felt both exposed and liberated as she listened to Cassidy talk about her father’s family. 

“…so that is where my father’s family came from.  Unlike my mother he didn’t have to work for his money.  But I have learned that even if you inherit your wealth and are given every opportunity you can still make mistakes.”

“Yeah, our uncle Nick is an alcoholic and our Grandmother Anne is mean.”

Miranda stifled a laugh.  Caroline was a handful.  She would have to see about getting Scarlett Johansson to do another cover.

“What my sister means to say is that we all have to make choices in our life.  Now we would like to close by talking about the newest member of our family Andy Sachs.”

Then again, Cassidy could be handful as well.  Miranda was not prepared for this.  She had assumed the girls had merely questioned Andrea out of polite curiosity. 

Caroline shot her a crooked grin.  “Cassidy and I know that you all know who Andy is.  Well, I suppose if you live under a rock and can’t read you might not.”

Ms. Cooper cleared her throat.  From the look on her face she had not seen this coming either.

Undaunted, Caroline continued.  “So Andy and my mom have been dating for two years I think.”

She looked to Cassidy who nodded in confirmation. 

“Six months ago Andy moved in with us.  At first it was really weird.  Cassidy and I didn’t know that our mom was a lesbian and Andy is so much younger than mom.”

Again Cassidy nodded.

“So we weren’t sure if Andy was going to be like a big sister, or a friend, or a step-mom.  Also, there were so many reporters asking us questions and following us everywhere and mom was really stressed.  And it sucks to be on the cover of The National Enquirer.”

Cassidy put a hand on her sister’s shoulder.  “Yeah, it sucks.  And it felt like our family was being torn apart.  Andy is also really different from our mother so the whole thing just didn’t make sense to us at first.  I mean she’s pretty, but she’s not thin and she doesn’t care about the same stuff our mother does.”

“It was like mom went off the deep end.”

Their classmates giggled.  The other parents in the room were floating surreptitious glances her way.  Miranda smiled at her daughters who were grinning mischievously at her.

At what point in their upbringing she had lost control she couldn’t say.  But if one of the goals of parenting was to create individuals capable of following their own direction, well then she had succeeded grandly.

Caroline continued, “But she didn’t go off the deep end.”

“I know that we were supposed to talk about how our parents’ families fit into the history of the United States, but we think that’s boring.”  Caroline nodded in agreement.  “We want to talk about how our current family fits into the history that is being written right now.  So to start, my sister is going to tell you about Andy’s background.”

Caroline ran a hand through her hair and stepped forward.  “So Andy falls somewhere right between our mom’s family and our dad’s family: not super rich or really poor.  She’s not a first generation immigrant like our mom or descended from a family that predates the constitution like our dad. 

She was born in Cincinnati, Ohio the only child of Richard and Sarah Sachs.  Her father is a dentist and her mother is a middle school teacher. 

She has ancestors from all over Europe: Germany, England, Ireland, Austria, Norway, and a couple other places.  Most of her family settled in the Midwest during the mid-1800s. 

Andy was raised a Methodist, but she doesn’t practice. 

She went to college at Northwestern University in Chicago and graduated with a degree in journalism focusing on newspaper reporting.  Andy came to New York a few months after graduating in order to find a job.

But she couldn’t find a job as a reporter and so she ended up applying to be my mom’s assistant.  She worked for my mom for less than a year and then she got a job as a reporter for The Mirror where she works today.”

Cassidy chimed in, “And for the record, again, no they didn’t start dating until after Andy had quit her job at Runway.”

Caroline nodded vehemently and continued.  “We decided to tell you a bit about Andy’s background because she is part of our family now.  And that’s something about American history we think is important: families and traditions are always changing.  We’re not a traditional family.  I guess we never were depending on how you define that.  Our parents got divorced before we were two.  Our dad’s remarried and our mom’s been married two other times.”

“And we say so what.”  The look in Cassidy’s eyes was pure challenge.  “So what if our mother’s been divorced three times?  So what if now she’s living with a woman,” and she made large air quotes while rolling her eyes, “who is half her age.”

Cassidy paused for breath and Caroline picked up the thread.

“But it’s hard to say so what when you’ve got people accusing your mother of sexually harassing her assistants or of being a pervert or corrupting her children with her alternative lifestyle.  I won’t speak for Cassidy,” and she looked to her sister.

“No you can speak for me.”

“Okay, speaking for both of us then, nobody has the right to judge our family or our mother.  No, it hasn’t been easy to get to this point where we can stand up here and talk about this, but here we are.  We’re happy and we’re making it work as a family.”

Cassidy linked her arm with her sister’s.  “And it’s because of Andy and the stories she’s written about the child welfare system and our public schools that Caroline and I can also stand up here astonished that our family was ever newsworthy.  If people want to talk about moral issues, they should look at ones they ignore everyday right in their own neighborhoods instead of dissecting our family.”

“And that’s what we learned from doing this report.  It’s good to have a sense of history and a sense of where you came from because it helps to put things into perspective.  Cassidy and I have learned from the way our current family has been treated and batted around that we still have a long way to go as a country before we live up to our potential.”

Miranda started clapping first.  Each time she brought her hands together a tiny bit of her pent up fears and doubts were released.  Maybe they were becoming a whole family for the first time; not just a loosely tolerant group of individuals forced together by cohabitation.  It felt real and tangible in a way she had never experienced.

Her daughters winked at her as they took their seats.  

Perhaps this evening she would surprise Andrea by arriving home first and baking something with the girls for dinner.

Perhaps happiness really could be that simple.

II.
The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.

Sunday morning and the townhouse sat in blissful silence as Andy gently nipped the kitchen door shut behind her.  Another couple of hours would find the lazy drifting of dust moats raucously interrupted by two red headed terrors squabbling over their identical lacrosse equipment.

Their game wasn’t until noon, but the coach was taking the team to breakfast which meant that the girls would sleep until the last possible moment before managing to throw four stories into utter chaos ahead of dashing out the door. 

Even after five years of watching them grow, their exuberance and mostly good natured bickering still frazzled her at times.  Andy was glad she had grown up an only child.

But the cacophony wasn’t due to start for at least another hour and this was her time. 

Miranda was still asleep and as much as Andy loved a good Saturday snuggle, nothing pleased her more than when she was able to quietly slip out of their bed for a bit of weekend morning to herself.

She’d dashed out into the crisp autumn air to pick up some of her favorite bagels and real honest-to-goodness, full-fat cream cheese.  Of course she would need to dispose of the evidence, but Andy had never had a hard time eating her way through a container before. 

Then she would give it a quick rinse and smuggle it out in her bag on Monday for the recycling at the office.  If her co-workers thought it odd that she occasionally showed up with empty containers of dairy products in her briefcase they’d never said. 

The coffee was finished brewing and the Times sat beckoning to be read.  She plunked down and ripped open the warm brown paper bag with gusto.

“What the fuck?“

“Language, Andrea.”

The surprise of Miranda’s too awake voice whispering in her ear would have toppled her off the stool had Miranda not wrapped her arms around her waist and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“Miranda!”

“I should have thought that was obvious.”

“No wait, but you’re not supposed to be up yet.”

“Not supposed to be?  Careful Andrea, statements like that might make one wonder what you’ve been up to this early in the morning.”

“Up to?”  Oh shit, she was squeaking. 

“Yes, up to.  Bagels I see.  They smell delicious.  I’m surprised you haven’t done your usual food magician act and made them disappear.”

Andy motioned helplessly with her hand.  How could she tell Miranda that the bagels were nothing without the cream cheese that some piss poor employee at Vinnie’s Bagel had neglected to put in her bag?  An employee she was going to sneak out and strangle just as soon as she got a chance.

“I guess I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.”

“That’s odd.  Are you sure?”  Miranda was sauntering over to the refrigerator.  “See, I would have thought given the interrupted expletive and your crestfallen face that you were missing something.”  She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a tub of cream cheese.  “Like this perhaps?”

“Miranda!”

“Yes Watson, it’s still me.”

“Where did you…how did you,” great now she was sputtering and squeaking, “my cream cheese!”

“Oh yes, I know all about your clandestine early morning forays to procure forbidden dairy products.  Your, might I say breathtaking, size six ass tells the tale all by itself.”

“Ass?  My ass?” 

“Yes Andrea, I said ass.  There simply is no better word to describe your delicious bottom.” 

Miranda gave her bottom a swat as she set the cream cheese on the countertop. 

“But I don’t understand Miranda.  How did you know?  And how did you get my cream cheese?”

“Oh, I have my ways.  You of all people should know that.  And it was simple really.  I just gave Vinnie a call this morning and told him to make sure no cream cheese went into your bag.  He had an employee deliver this while you were out.”

“You paid Vinnie to forget my cream cheese?  Are you insane?” 

But she had never been so turned on in her life and Miranda could no doubt tell.

“You’re hopeless Andrea.”

“True, but that’s why you love me isn’t it.”

“Mmmm.”  Miranda removed the lid from the cream cheese container and picked up the spoon Andy had used to stir her coffee.  “Real cream too I see.  Tisk, tisk.” 

She shrugged helplessly.

Miranda gave the spoon a wicked lick before plunging it into the tub of fluffy white heaven. 

Eyes twinkling she raised the spoon to Andy’s lips.  “As I said Andrea, I love your ass.  And I would hate to wake up one morning to find that it had shrunk from a size six back to a four all because I failed to do my part.”

Andy took the spoon into her mouth, shut her eyes and sighed.  “Do you think we have enough time?”

“That depends.  How hard are you willing to work to burn off the calories you just consumed?”

“So you love my ass?”

“Minx.”

“Calculating cougar.”

“Completely hopeless,” but Miranda was laughing.  “You know that don’t you?” 

“Only when it comes to you my dairy fairy.”

“Andrea.”

“I know, only one instance of alliteration or bad rhyming allowed per day.”

“Just shut up and kiss me before the girls get up and want to use this counter for the purposes of eating.”

“Their coach is taking the team out to breakfast.”

“That’s wonderful dear.  One less sin to confess this week: thank god I avoided having sex where my children eat.”

“Miranda you’re not Catholic.”

“Andrea why are we still talking?”

She smirked and made to pick up the paper, but Miranda’s hand clamped down over her wrist.

“Because I enjoy frustrating you.  It’s always better when you’re right at the edge.”

“Well then Andrea, you’re going to love this.”

Miranda ran a hand up her back and gently tugged the hair at the nape of her neck.  She raked her teeth across Andrea’s throat as she slid her other hand under Andrea’s t-shirt, brushing her fingers across a taut nipple.

There was a thud upstairs.  Miranda growled. 

“This is your fault.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who felt the need to wake up and orchestrate a cream cheese heist.  You started this.”

“No I didn't.  But I am going to finish it.”

Miranda straddled Andy's leg and pushed her back into the countertop.  She grasped the edges of the counter just to the side of Andy’s hips.  Miranda leaned forward, bringing their lips together as she snaked her tongue over top of Andy’s lips.

“That tickles Miranda.”

“Just cleaning up a bit of leftover cream cheese.”

Miranda brought their lips together again, but this time for a searing kiss as she began to grind herself against Andy’s thigh in rhythm the two had perfected years ago. 

Andy couldn’t help it.  The feel of Miranda’s breasts bobbing against her own always drove her nuts and she moaned deeply into Miranda’s ear.  That was all it took. 

Miranda shivered once, twice, then stilled before driving herself up and down several more times, until her head fell on Andy’s shoulder.

“Gee, was it good for you?”

“Mmmm.”  Miranda pecked her on the forehead.

“That’s just great, now what am I supposed to do?”

“I suggest you enjoy the rest of your cream cheese.  I’m going to shower.”  As stealthy as she had entered the kitchen, Miranda was gone.  

Andy's bagels weren’t even warm anymore and they would hardly satisfy the ache between her legs.

The thought of water sliding down Miranda’s back while her tongue slid up to meet it was all it took to have her bounding up the stairs after Miranda.  

She would just have to take a bagel to the twin's game.

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