Chapter Text
October 18th.
14:40 (2pm).
The light.
I need to change the light, was the thought Emily decided to occupy her head with, otherwise she would probably be considering jumping from the window of her thirty fifth floor apartment or maybe creating a new identity, changing her hair color (again) and moving to a small town where no one knows the difference between cashmere and merino.
You see, at the age of thirty three, being the head leader of the fashion division at the place she had worked as an assistant for so many years, she thought she had everything figured out and in place. She did not, by any chances, expect to be here.
Lying on the cold marble floor of her bathroom, reflecting on changing her lights because the white is too dentist office right now and a warm yellow would look much better, waiting for the results, waiting to see one line on a stick.
Or two.
Just thinking about it sends a cold shiver down Emily’s spine and makes her force her eyes shut. It’s just a false alarm,she keeps repeating in her head, like a mantra. Just a late cycle, stress, it's obviously stress. The winter issue is coming up, and the designers are being exceptionally difficult this season, yes, stress.
Raising her arm until it is directly in front of her face, she looks at the time, two minutes left.
“This is not possible…” The whine comes out of her mouth before she can even think to stop it, her hands dropping heavy and limp over her face.
It feels like she has been in this situation for two hours, just waiting on something that could possibly change her life, flip it upside down, and shake all the spare change out of her pockets, she should have known better. It was supposed to be only a casual dinner, which was supposed to turn into a simple make out session on the guy’s sofa, but no. Emily Charlton had to go all the way through with it. Of course she did.
So, here she is, one hookup and possibly a defective condom later, waiting.
And waiting.
She stares at the grout lines between the tiles, they need scrubbing, or maybe she should just sell the apartment and move to a remote cottage in the south of France.
When she hears the sudden, shrill alarm from her phone, she shoots straight up, sitting on the floor and grabbing the device from the edge of the sink, she quickly fumbles with the screen to turn off the horrible sound.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Slowly, she raises herself up on shaky knees, gripping the edge of the marble sink for support, she stares down at the plastic stick sunken into the small cup.
It feels like it’s staring right back at me.
With actual trembling hands she reaches down and grabs it, she looks up at her reflection in the mirror first, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to force her racing heart to calm down, one line, just let it be one line.
Then, like ripping off a band aid, she drops her gaze quick, looking straight at the small place where the results show up.
“Oh. Fuck. Me.”
Emily Charlton is seriously considering the window option right now.
// -- //
A week later, she is sitting at a cafe she usually goes to, on the corner of her block, it has a calm, quiet space and a lot of green plants for such a small venue.
And she is desperately looking for answers she doesn't want to find.'Can I drink coffee?'
The thought appears in her head suddenly as a waitress puts down her usual drink, a simple dark drip coffee. Black.
Emily stares at the liquid, she doesn’t want to ask the waitress, she doesn’t want to open her phone and search for the answer because searching for it makes the situation look even more real. If she doesn't look it up, she can keep pretending she imagined everything during this past week, she can pretend the two pink lines were just a strange trick of the harsh, dentist office bathroom lighting.
But as she looks at the mug, a sudden wave of protective anxiety washes over her, with a heavy sigh, she pushes the coffee mug to the far side of the table. She catches the waitress's eye and orders a cup of green tea instead.
It’s better not to risk it.
The tea arrives, Emily stares at it with a look of profound betrayal, if someone had told her a month ago that she would willingly choose lukewarm water steeped with crushed weeds over a piping hot, perfectly pulled coffee, she would have laughed in their face.
But here she was, staring at green tea.
Seven days, it had been seven days since she stared at that stupid plastic stick on her bathroom floor, seven days of waking up in a cold sweat at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling, and realizing that her meticulously planned, beautifully curated life had just been crushed by a night of poor judgment and a piece of latex that had no right being on the market.
Her phone buzzes on the table, the sudden vibration making her jump so hard she splashes a bit of the grassy tea onto the saucer.
Andy: Just turned the corner. Be there in two.
Emily lets out a breath she feels like she has been holding since Tuesday. She swipes the message away and stares at the blank screen, her own reflection staring back at her, she looks exhausted, there are faint, bluish smudges under her eyes that even her priciest concealer couldn't completely camouflage today.
Why did I call Andrea?
That was the question she had been asking herself since she sent the text three hours ago, of all the people in New York, of all the contacts in her phone,she had reached out to Andy Sachs.
Andy, who had left the fashion world behind years ago to write about real world things, Andy, who still occasionally wore sweaters that looked like they had been salvaged from a thrift store bin. Andy, who was, somehow, the only person in Emily’s entire universe who wouldn't immediately try to spin this into a career move, analyze her weaknesses, or gossip about it over drinks.
The little brass bell above the coffee shop door chimes, a cheerful sound that feels entirely out of place with Emily’s current state of impending doom.
She looks up.
Andy walks in, bringing a gust of chilly autumn air with her, a warm, familiar smile spreads across Andy's face, and she quickly makes her way over, navigating the tight space between the small tables.
"Hey," Andy says, pulling off her scarf as she slides into the chair opposite Emily. "You're actually early or did I lose track of time?"
"I am never late, Sachs. You know this," Emily says, her voice carrying its usual sharp, she tries to offer a polite smile, but her lips feel stiff, like her face has forgotten how to perform the action.
Andy settles into her seat, her eyes immediately dropping to the table, she looks at the untouched cup of dark coffee sitting on the far side, and then at the steaming mug of green tea currently in Emily's hands, she raises an eyebrow.
"Are you feeling okay?" Andy asks, pointing a finger at the green tea. "Is the world ending? Because Emily Charlton drinking green tea while a perfectly good coffee sits there getting cold is definitely one of the signs of the apocalypse."
Emily looks down at her hands, which are wrapped tightly around the warm ceramic mug. "Don't be dramatic, Andrea. It's just tea."
"Right, sure.” Andy says lightly, but her smile fades slightly as she takes in Emily's appearance. The lack of energy, the slight paleness, the way she isn't even making direct eye contact. "Seriously, Em. What's going on? Your text sounded... weirdly urgent."
"It's quiet here," Emily muttered, her voice dropping. She takes a tiny sip of the tea. It tastes exactly like warm lawn, but she swallows it anyway. "I needed somewhere where I wouldn't run into anyone from the office. Or anyone who knows me. Or anyone, period."
Andy leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. The casual attitude she had walked in with is gone, replaced by a genuine, quiet concern. "You're starting to scare me a little. Did something happen at work? Did someone threaten to ruin your career? Because if it's about the fall layout…"
"No, work is fine, work is the only thing that actually makes sense right now," Emily cuts her off. She sets the mug down, taking a deep breath, feeling her chest tighten.
This was it, she has to say it, if she doesn't say it out loud to another human being soon, she is entirely sure her head is going to explode.
"Andrea," Emily starts, her voice dropping to a whisper, she looks around the cafe quickly, making sure the barista at the counter is busy and the couple two tables over are entirely engrossed in their laptops. "I'm pregnant." The silence that follows is heavy, thick, and seemingly endless, Andy blinks, once, twice, her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. She sits there, looking at Emily.
"You're..." Andy starts, her voice barely a squeak, she clears her throat and tries again. "You're what?"
"You heard me," Emily snaps defensively, though her voice is trembling. "Don't make me say it again. It's humiliating enough the first time."
"Oh my god," Andy whispers, her eyes widening to the size of saucers, she reaches across the table and instinctively grabs Emily’s hand. "Emily. Are you... are you serious? This isn't some weird joke to get back at me for being five minutes late last week?"
"Do I look like I am joking?" Emily asks, gesturing to her face. "Do you think I would willingly sit in a public place, drinking hot grass water, and lie about something that is currently a confusion in my head and life? No, Andrea, I am not joking, I am very, very pregnant."
"How... I mean..." Andy gestured vaguely.
"Oh, please, don't ask me how, you know how it happens," Emily rolls her eyes, though the defensive wall she is trying to build is starting to crumble. "It was... a mistak, a stupid, casual night, a guy I met at a gallery opening. He was nice, he had a decent apartment in Brooklyn and we... well, the condom broke or it was defective, or maybe the universe just decided that I was having too much of a good run and needed to be knocked down a peg."
Andy is still holding Emily's hand, her thumb gently rubbing the back of Emily's knuckles. "Wow, okay, how long have you known?"
"A week," Emily says, her voice cracking slightly, she hates that it does, she hates feeling this vulnerable, especially in front of someone she used to compete with. "I took the test last Friday, I've spent the last seven days staring at my bathroom ceiling, wondering if I could somehow ignore it until it went away. But turns out, science doesn't work that way."
"Oh, Em," Andy says softly, her face filled with an overwhelming amount of empathy that Emily usually finds highly irritating, but right now, it feels like a lifeline. "I'm so sorry, you must have been going crazy all week by yourself."
"I have been," Emily admits, a single tear escaping her eye, she quickly wipes it away with her free hand, deeply annoyed with herself. "I've been going absolutely mental. I had this whole plan, you know? I was going to wait until I was thirty eight, maybe find someone who actually understood the difference between a winter collection and a spring collection, and then... I don't know, maybe think about it, or maybe not! I was perfectly fine with the idea of being the cool, rich aunt who sends expensive gifts from Paris and never has to deal with sticky fingers or diapers!"
Andy lets out a soft, sympathetic chuckle. "Yeah, I can see you as that aunt."
"But now..." Emily looks down at her lap. Her hand instinctively drifts toward her stomach, which is still perfectly flat under her silk blouse, but suddenly feels like the center of the universe. "Now everything is different."
"So," Andy says gently, leaning in a little closer. "What are you going to do? Have you... have you thought about your options? Because whatever you decide, you know I'm here. Absolutely whatever you need."
Emily looks up, meeting Andy's brown eyes. She sees no judgment there. No calculation, no nothing. Just pure, unconditional support. It was the exact reason she had called her.
"I've thought about it," Emily says, her voice steadier now. She takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision she had made over the last several sleepless nights. "I've thought about every single option. I made lists, Andrea, pro and con lists, I looked up clinics, I even thought about just... ignoring it and hoping it was a very long, very vivid nightmare."
"And?"
Emily swallows hard. "And... I'm going to keep it."
Andy's eyes soften even more, a small, gentle smile appearing on her lips. "You are?"
"Yes," Emily says, nodding slowly. "I am. And trust me, I know how insane that sounds. I am the least maternal person on this planet. I don't even like puppies that much because they shed on my coats. How am I supposed to raise a human being? A tiny, crying person who will depend on me for literally everything?"
"You'll learn," Andy says softly. "But what made you decide?"
Emily sighs, leaning back in her chair, though she doesn't let go of Andy's hand. "I don't know. I think... on Tuesday night, I was sitting on my floor again and I realized that for the first time in my life, I wasn't just thinking about myself. Usually, my first thought is 'how does this affect my career?’ but when I looked at that little stick... I didn't just feel terror. I mean, I did feel terror, mostly terror, but under that... there was this weird, tiny spark of... something else."
She pauses, struggling to find the right words. It was hard to translate feelings into her usual sharp vocabulary.
Emily looks out the window of the cafe, watching the people of New York hurry past in their heavy coats, entirely absorbed in their own busy lives.
"This... this is real," Emily continued, her voice quiet but filled with a sudden, surprising certainty. "This is a real, actual life. And when I thought about not having it... when I thought about just going back to my normal, perfectly organized, empty apartment... I felt this overwhelming feeling. And that's when I knew. I've thought it over, over and over, until my head ached. And I'm going to do it. I'm going to keep it. Spread the news... Emily Charlton is going to be a mother." She almost smirks, but instantly reconized what she says. “But don’t! If anyone hears about this you are a dead woman Andrea Sachs.”
Andy's smile grows wider, and she squeezes Emily's hand tightly. "I think you're going to be an amazing mother, Emily. Seriously. You're organized, you're fierce, you don't take nonsense from anyone, and let's be honest, that kid is going to be the best dressed toddler in the state."
Emily couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, bubbling sound that made her chest feel a little lighter. "Well, obviously. If my child wears anything from a department store, I will simply have to disown them. It's in the contract."
"See? You've got this all figured out," Andy teased.
"I don't have anything figured out!" Emily groaned, burying her face in her free hand. "I don't know the first thing about babies. Do they eat three times a day? Do they sleep? What if they don't like me? What if I accidentally drop them? Andrea, I am terrified."
"Everyone is terrified, Em," Andy said, her tone comforting. "Even the people who plan it for years are terrified when it actually happens. It's a huge deal, but you're not going to be alone. You have me. And... well, we'll figure it out, step by step."
Emily looked at Andy through her fingers. "You'll help me? You won't let me dress them in polyester?"
"I promise. No polyester. Only the finest organic cotton," Andy laughed. "And I'll even help you pick out a stroller that fits your aesthetic, though I can't promise I won't mock you if you spend more on it than I do on rent."
"A stroller is an investment, Sachs. It's a vehicle," Emily sniffed, her usual snobbishness returning in a comforting wave.
For the next hour, they sat in the quiet corner of the cafe, the green tea growing cold alongside the forgotten coffee. For the first time in a week, Emily felt like she could actually breathe. The terror hadn't completely gone away, but sharing it with Andy made it feel manageable.
As they finally stood up to leave, wrapping their coats around themselves to face the wind chill, Andy pulled Emily into a warm, tight hug.
"Thank you for telling me," Andy whispered into her hair.
Emily hugged her back, tighter than she usually allowed herself to. "Thank you for not laughing."
They pulled apart, and Andy smiled, bopping Emily's nose gently. "Anytime. Now go home, get some rest, and please, for the love of fashion, stop drinking that terrible green tea if you hate it so much."
"Shan’t," Emily tried her best to keep a straight face, only letting a small corner of her lip be lift up and then she turned to walk out into the busy city streets, feeling, for the very first time, like she might actually be okay.