threeguesses | FIC: 1 + 1 = Window [the devil wears prada, caroline, cassidy] 3 of 3

Part One.
Part Two.

The twins knew as soon as Mum sat them down on the good pinstripe sofa and said “Girls”. Sooner, when she first got home from Paris, face curtain-closed and blank. Soonest, when she called from the hotel to do the Goodnights over the phone, voice echoing too much down the long line.

“Girls,” she said, and Caroline burst out “You’re getting a divorce” because Mum had a look in her eyes, and oh, it was the look of the incubator and dark, helpless things. And then Miranda was nodding and hugging them, too hard, but they didn’t say anything because you weren’t supposed to turn anything on its back that couldn’t get up again, you weren’t.

After the hug, Miranda went into the kitchen to make them sandwiches and the twins waited in the sitting room, side by side and silent. It was a formal room, one for important guests and grownups and good posture. And, apparently, divorces. The twins sat up very straight on the pinstripe sofa and did not talk.

“Sandwiches?” said Cass finally.

“Yeah.”

“But she never—”

“I know.”

“Well, shouldn't we—”

“No.”

“Oh,” said Cass. The room, with its austere surfaces and modern decor, seemed to be frowning at them, still their leftover playclothes from Grandma’s, one of Caroline’s braids coming undone. What are you doing here, it seemed to be asking. You don’t belong. “Oh,” said Cass again, and put her head down on the sofa.

“He must’ve,” Caroline clenched her hands into fists, pushing them down against her thighs. “He must’ve, when she was in Paris—”

“He didn’t go,” said Cass into the sofa cushions. “He wasn’t at the airport coming back. He never even went.”

“Asshole,” murmured Caroline, and Cass turned over to look up at her. “I hate him, Cass,” she said, face contorted. “I hate him. I hate him and I wish he were dead.” And then she burst into tears.

Cass pushed herself up. “Oh, don’t do that,” she pleaded, but Caroline just shuddered and buried her head in the crook of Cass’s shoulder. “Come on, Mum’ll be back any second,” Cass said, voice hitching. “Come on. You can’t do that.”

“He’s such an asshole, Cass,” Caroline whispered into her neck. “Such an asshole.” And so Cass didn’t day anything, just stroked her hair silently and tried to figure out how to be the brave one.

Evidence of Stephen was removed from the penthouse quickly and quietly and almost without noticeable change. After everything was said and done there would be nothing left of him but the memory of awkward dinners, hushed arguments and, faintly, two pairs of ugly round-toed shoes.

He came to collect his things late one night, long after bedtime. Miranda stayed in the study, flipping through The Book, but Cass saw him on her way to the bathroom. They stood there for a long moment, Stephen and Cass, watching each other.

Stephen looked away first.

The next morning at breakfast, when Miranda was in the other room, Cass opened the cupboard with the tally up the inside and put a tick in her column. “What’s that for?” asked Caroline, “Patricia’s been at the vet’s.” Cass didn’t say anything.

Over the following weeks, the twins were careful. They watched Miranda for any signs of the incubator-shadow and took to speaking more softly than normal. Which was fitting; the whole house felt like it was under a permanent hush, holding back its creaks and squeaks until happier times. Even the tricky fourth step remained silent. It made it extremely easy for Cass to steal their old VHS version of The Parent Trap out of the downstairs movie cabinet and hide it in their room. “Should probably burn it,” she told Caroline, but Caroline just said “Smoke alarm” and so they crushed it up into tiny pieces instead.

Two weeks passed this way, in a whirl of hushed voices and press-damage-control (lots of outings to the park). Then one day Cass opened their front door to collect the mail and found herself face to face with Andrea Sachs, standing on their front stoop.

“Um, hi there,” said Andrea.

“Weren’t you fired?” Cass asked skeptically.

“Yes.” Andrea laughed, but not happily. “I was kind of hoping to—” She paused, and pushed a hand through her hair. “Look,” she said, “can you just give this to your Mom for me?” She thrust a grubby pink envelope at Cass and was gone, just like that, walking off down the street. Cass closed the door slowly.

“S’that?” asked Caroline from the sofa when Cass returned to the living room.

“Dunno.” Cass turned the envelope over and over in her hands. “It’s for Mum. From Andrea.”

“No way.” Caroline sat up, fully interested now. “Thought she was fired.” She held out her hands. “Come on, gimme.” Cass handed over the envelope and she examined it carefully, running a fingernail along the flap, testing its strength. There was no writing on the outside. “How d’you know it’s for Mum?”

“She said. Andrea.”

“Wait, what? She was here?”

“Just now, at the door.”

“Jeez.” Caroline let her breath out in a rush, whistling through her teeth. “Well, we’ve got to open it.” At Cass’s hesitant look, she said, “We’ll just tell Mum there was no envelope. She’ll probably assume Andrea can’t afford them or something, now that she’s lost her job. ‘Sides,” she grinned, “it could always be a letter bomb.”

They tore it open. It was not, in fact, a letter bomb, but rather what Cass thought to be a very nice card with flowers on the front. Caroline had other opinions.

“Oh God,” she wailed, turning the card over to look at the manufacturer. “It’s from Hallmark. And you know how Mum hates them. We can’t possibly give this to her; she’ll flip.”

“Shut up,” said Cass, grabbing it from her. “We don’t even know what’s inside yet.”

Together, they bent over it, preparing to read, when—

“Girls, what are you doing?”

“Shit,” whispered Caroline, then turned slowly around to face their mother. “It’s for you,” she said, holding out the card, eyes all wide innocence. Cass did her best to copy.

Miranda raised an eyebrow at them but said nothing, simply opened the card and read it. The twins watched as her face turned white and the shutters closed down over her eyes. And, oh, there it was again, hiding in the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw: their old nemesis the incubator, wires and pins and helpless things, things on their backs that couldn’t get up again.

But when Miranda finished reading she simply said “Dinner’s in ten minutes,” and breezed out of the room like nothing had ever happened.

They found the card in the wastebasket in her office a day later, torn to bits. Caroline pieced it back together carefully, with tape and sticky-tack. As soon as she was done she read it. And read it. And read it again. And then she gasped.

Cass rushed over, expecting swearwords, threats, maybe even a tiny de-armed letter bomb. But Caroline just shook her head.

“Cass,” she said, incredulous, staring at the ruined card. “It’s a thank-you note. Nothing but a thank-you note.”

They didn’t ask Miranda about it, of course they didn’t – not all the perfectly-timed, seven-thirty-sharp interruptions in the world were enough for that question. But it did confirm their suspicions that Andy had clearly been no ordinary assistant.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have been so quick to smash The Parent Trap,” said Cass one afternoon. Caroline had absolutely no idea what she meant and she refused to explain. “It’s just… It might’ve come in handy,” was all she would say.

They weren’t watching Miranda for signs of trouble anymore – they were too busy staying out of her way. She was on a rampage. She found the score tally up the inside of the kitchen cupboards and scrubbed it all off, even though Cass cried and screamed and slammed her door. She criticized everything, from their clothing to their homework to their choice of fingernail polish.

“I’m going to kill her,” said Cass, changing her headband for the fourth time in an hour. “I’m really, really going to kill her.”

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Caroline. “We have the same DNA, remember?”

And then one day it all stopped.

When Cass opened the door she had both Miranda and Caroline in tow, because whoever was outside was pounding, actually pounding on it, loud enough so that the whole house seemed to wake up and notice.

“Hi.” Andrea Sachs swept through the door and stood in the foyer, feet planted. “Okay,” she said, “you two go away. I promise later I will give candy, I will give you puppies, I will do your homework, but right now, you really Need. To. Go. Away.”

It took the twins a few seconds to realize she was actually speaking to them – she wasn’t looking anywhere but Miranda.

“C’mon, Cass,” said Caroline, watching their mother’s face closely. “Let’s go. We’re obviously not wanted.” Miranda didn’t so much as move a muscle.

For the first time in weeks, the fourth step creaked on their way up the stairs.

They had just flattened themselves against the floor of the landing and were peeking through the gaps in the railing when it started:

“You bitch,” hissed Andrea. “I can’t believe you went to my boss. I was almost fired, you know. Was that what you wanted - to give me a recommendation, then take it all away? Is this some kind of sick power trip for you?”

There was a silence, filled by the sound of Andrea’s stilettos on the marble floor as she paced back and forth. The twins held their breath, and the house held it’s breath, and then—

“I got your card,” drawled Miranda.

Andrea spun and rounded on her with a clatter. “And to think that I actually took the time,” she spat. “Wasted stationary and ink and—”

“It wasn’t much time, clearly,” Miranda huffed. “Just enough for a nineteen-word card. From Hallmark.”

“What’d you do,” gasped Andrea, “fucking count?”

“It was a token gesture,” Miranda continued, “after all I did for you. It would have been better if you simply hadn’t done anything at all, really. More tasteful.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Andrea growled, and hauled Miranda forward by the shoulders.

And kissed her.

(And there would be problems after this, of course; horrible, awful things printed in the paper and Daddy suing for custody. There would be fights at school and Patricia dying and screaming matches throughout the house. There would be Andy getting the Goodnights wrong, or forgetting and giving Cass strawberries. There might even be the shadow of the incubator, lurking in corners.

But.)

“See,” murmured Cass. “The Parent Trap. I told you.”

[fin]

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

thelastgoodname.livejournal.com

Wow.

I love this story; I love the style, and the details, and Cassidy and Caroline, and Miranda dabbing at her mouth between births and never shouting and how much she loves Patricia and the purple nail polish and "somehow being naughty by having the same face twice" and Cassidy changing the endings and the paper airplanes and being a cook or possibly a maid and the tiny de-armed letter bomb and Andy doing the Goodnights and can you tell I really, really like this story? I love this story.

From:

Jimmy, if a cow got the chance he'd eat you and everyone you cared about

FIC: 1 + 1 = Window [the devil wears prada, caroline, cassidy] 3 of 3

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