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everything you did for Lily。 Tracking me down； helping my
parents； sitting with her for hours on end。 Really。”
“No problem。 It’s what anyone would do when someone they know
is hurt。 No big deal。” Implied in this； of course； was that
anyone would do it except someone who happens to be
phenomenally self…centered with whacked…out priorities； like
yours truly。
“Alex； please； can we just talk like—”
“No。 We really can’t talk about anything right now。 I’ve been
around for the last year waiting to talk to you—begging；
sometimes—and you haven’t been all that interested。 Somewhere
in that year； I lost the Andy I fell in love with。 I’m not
sure how； I’m not exactly sure when it happened； but you are
definitely not the same person you were before this job。 My
Andy would have never even entertained the idea of choosing a
fashion show or a party or whatever over being there for a
friend who really； really needed her。 Like；really needed her。
Now； I’m glad you decided to e Home—that you know it was
the right thing to do—but now I need some time to figure out
what’s going on with me； and with you； and with us。 This isn’t
new； Andy； not to me。 It’s been happening for a long； long
time—you’ve just been too busy to notice。”
“Alex； you haven’t given me a single second to sit down； face
to face； and try to explain to you what’s been going on。 Maybe
you’re right； maybe I am a pletely different person。 But I
don’t think so—and even if I’ve changed； I don’t think it’sall
been for the worse。 Have we really grown apart that much？”
Even more than Lily； he was my best friend； of that I was
certain； but he hadn’t been my boyfriend for many； many
months。 I realized that he was right： it was time I told him
so。
I took a deep breath and said what I knew was the right thing；
even though it didn’t feel so great then。 “You’re right。”
“I am？ You agree？”
“Yes。 I’ve been really selfish and unfair to you。”
“So what now？” he asked； sounding resigned but not
heartbroken。
“I don’t know。 What now？ Do we just stop talking？ Stop seeing
each other？ I have no idea how this is supposed to work。 But I
want you to be a part of my life； and I can’t imagine not
being a part of yours。”
“Me neither。 But I’m not sure we’re going to be able to do
that for a long； long time。 We weren’t friends before we
started dating； and it seems impossible to imagine just being
friends now。 But who knows？ Maybe once we’ve both had a lot of
time to figure things out 。 。 。”
I hung up the phone that first night back and cried； not just
for Alex but for everything that had changed and shifted
during the past year。 I’d strolled into Elias…Clark a
clueless； poorly dressed little girl； and I’d staggered out a
slightly weathered； poorly dressed semigrown…up （albeit one
who now realized just how poorly dressed she was）。 But in the
interim； I’d experienced enough to fill a hundred
just…out…of…college jobs。 And even though my résumé now
sported a scarlet “F；” even though my boyfriend had called it
quits； even though I’d left with nothing more concrete than a
suitcase （well； OK； four Louis Vuitton suitcases） full of
fabulous designer clothes—maybe it had been worth it？
I turned off the ringer and pulled an old notebook from my
bottom desk drawer and began to write。
My father had already escaped to his office and my mother was
on her way to the garage when I made it downstairs。
“Morning； honey。 Didn’t know you were awake！ I’m running out。
I have a student at nine。 Jill’s flight is at noon； so you
should probably leave sooner than later since there will be
rush…hour traffic。 I’ll have my cell on if anything goes
wrong。 Oh； will you and Lily be Home for dinner tonight？”
“I’m really not sure。 I just woke up and haven’t yet had a cup
of Coffee。 Do you think I could decide on dinner in a little
while？”
But she hadn’t even stuck around to listen to my snotty
response—she was halfway out the door by the time I opened my
mouth。 Lily； Jill； Kyle； and the baby were sitting around the
kitchen table in silence； reading different sections of
theTimes 。 There was a plate of wet…looking； wholly
unappetizing waffles in the middle； with a bottle of Aunt
Jemima and a tub of butter straight from the fridge。 The only
thing anyone appeared to be touching was the Coffee； which my
father had picked up on his morning run to Dunkin Donuts—a
tradition stemming from his understandable unwillingness to
ingest anything my mother had made herself。 I forked a waffle
onto a paper plate and went to cut it； but it immediately
collapsed into a soggy pile of dough。
“This is inedible。 Did Dad pick up any donuts today？”
“Yeah； he hid them in the closet outside his office；” Kyle
drawled。 “Didn’t want your mother to see。 Bring back the box
if you’re going？”
The phone rang on my way to seek out the hidden booty。
“Hello？” I answered in my best irritated voice。 I’d finally
stopped answering any ringing phone with “Miranda Priestly’s
office。”
“Hello there。 Is Andrea Sachs there； please？”
“Speaking。 May I ask who’s calling？”
“Andrea； hi； this is Loretta Andriano fromSeventeen magazine。”
My heart lurched。 I’d pitched a 2；000…word “fiction” piece
about a teenage girl who gets so caught up on getting into
college that she ignores her friends and family。 It had taken
me all of two hours to write the silly thing； but I thought
I’d managed to strike just the right chords of funny and
touching。
“Hi！ How are you？”
“I’m fine； thank you。 Listen； your story got passed along to
me； and I have to tell you—I love it。 Needs some revisions； of
course； and the language needs some tweaking—our readers are
mostly pre… and early teens—but I’d like to run it in the
February issue。”
“You would？” I could hardly believe it。 I’d sent the story to
a dozen teen magazines and then wrote a slightly more mature
version and sent that to nearly two dozen women’s magazines；
but I hadn’t heard a word back from anyone。
“Absolutely。 We pay one…fifty per word； and I’ll just need to
have you fill out a few tax forms。 You’ve freelanced stories
before； right？”
“Actually； no； but I used to work atRunway 。” I don’t know how
I thought this would help—especially since the only thing I
ever wrote there were forged memos meant to intimidate other
people—but Loretta didn’t appear to notice the gaping hole in
my logic。
“Oh； really？ My first job out of college was as a fashion
assistant atRunway 。 I learned more there that year than I did
in the next five。”
“It was a real experience。 I was lucky to have it。”
“What did you do there？”
“I was actually Miranda Priestly’s assistant。”
“Were you really？ You poor girl； I had no idea。 Wait a
minute—were you the one who was just fired in Paris？”
I realized too late that I had made a big mistake。 There’d
been a sizable blurb inPage Six about the whole messy thing a
few days after I got Home； probably from one of the Clackers
who’d witnessed my terrible manners。 Considering they quoted
me exactly； I couldn’t figure out who else it could’ve been。
How could I have forgotten that other people might have read
that？ I had a feeling that Loretta was going to be distinctly
less pleased with my story than she was three minutes ago； but
there was no escaping now。
“Um； yeah。 It wasn’t as bad as it seemed； really it wasn’t。
Things got totally blown out of proportion in thatPage Six
article。 Really。”
“Well； I hope not！ Someone needed to tell that woman to go
fuck herself； and if it was you； well； then； hats off！ That
woman made my life a living hell for the year I worked there；
and I never even had to exchange a single word with her。
“Look； I’ve got to run to a press lunch right now； but why
don’t we set up a meeting？ You need to e in and fill out
some of these papers； and I’d like to meet you anyway。 Bring
anything else you think might work for the magazine。”
“Great。 Oh； that sounds great。” We agreed to meet next Friday
at three； and I hung up still not believing what had happened。
Kyle and Jill had left the baby with Lily while they went to
dress and pack； and he had menced a sort of
crying…whimpering thing that sounded as though he was two
seconds away from all…out hysteria。 I scooped him out of his
seat and held him over my shoulder； rubbing his back through
his terry…cloth footie pajama