"You are such a little bunny," Monica cooed to her niece as she held her in her arms. "Did you enjoy your first Thanksgiving? Did you?"
The infant looked up at her aunt and smiled, a new trick she'd perfected in the last month or so. It made Monica's heart melt to see that smile and she couldn't help but smile back.
It was Friday night and she was sitting on the sofa in Ross and Rachel's apartment, holding her niece and waiting for Ross to come home.
After the surprise visit at Thanksgiving, Amy had stayed with Rachel for a week and Rachel had finally had enough. She had accompanied her sister to Long Island for the night in an attempt to patch things up between her and their father.
Ross had asked Monica if she wanted to have dinner with him and Emma at his apartment and Monica had quickly agreed. She had worked every evening in the past week, including doubles on Wednesday and Thursday and didn't have to be back at JaVu until the dinner shift on Sunday.
It was going to be the perfect weekend - until she learned her husband wasn't coming home. The year-end paperwork was piling up, he'd said, and he needed to keep his employees on top of it.
Monica sighed. She wasn't at all sure that was the full story.
She wasn't at all sure that he wasn't just avoiding her altogether.
After the "Incident with the Queen's Plates," as he'd dubbed it, she'd really let him have it.
She was livid that he'd broken them - so mad that she didn't even notice when Phoebe and Joey shot him sympathetic glances and left the apartment as she laid into him.
Monica winced at the memory. Despite her legendary Geller temper, she really hadn't meant to come down on him so hard, especially since he'd already been through a lot with their friends that day.
All he kept saying was "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He'd looked like a frightened little boy as she yelled at him, then she had stomped off and slammed the door to their bedroom.
She'd heard him pick up the box of broken plates, his keys, and leave the apartment.
He had been gone for two hours, and when he finally came home he was carrying a small soup bowl and a saucer that somehow had survived in the wreckage.
She was sitting at the kitchen table when he'd entered their apartment. He didn't say a word as he set the two pieces on the table.
"Where'd you go?" she said quietly, finally breaking the silence.
He looked at her warily before he answered.
"I…um, I went out to the dumpster to see what could be salvaged," he replied.
"You were out there the whole time?"
"Yes."
She really looked at him then and noticed that his cheeks were flush, his ears were red and his lips were a little blue.
"Chandler, it's freezing out there!" she said as she got up to put some water in the tea kettle on the stove.
He didn't say anything as he hung up his coat and crossed his arms over his chest.
After putting the burner on under the water she walked over to him, expecting him to wrap his arms around her.
He stood still, looking down, his arms still crossed.
She rubbed his upper arms to try to warm him a bit.
He cleared his throat.
"These two are all that are left," he said, glancing at the dishes on the table. "I…I thought…maybe…we could start collecting some here and there…look on eBay maybe…I don't know."
He wasn't moving and he wasn't making eye contact with her. He felt cold - literally and figuratively - and distant.
She dropped her hands from his arms and turned, glancing at the bowl and saucer.
"It's worth a shot, I guess," she sighed.
"Yeah, maybe," he shrugged as the tea kettle started to whistle.
Monica moved to get it.
"I'm going to take a shower."
"But, the tea…" Monica started to protest.
"I don't want tea, I want a shower," he'd said, with an edge to his voice she wasn't used to. "Is that OK with you?"
She felt herself grow angry, then suddenly realized that's exactly what he was expecting - another fight. Another lecture. Another diatribe about how he couldn't do anything right.
And she stopped herself.
"Of course."
He finally made eye contact with her, a look of mild surprise on his face.
"Thank you."
He went into the bathroom and she made herself a cup of tea and sat down again at the kitchen table. She picked up the saucer and examined it as best she could through the tears in her eyes.
"Hey, Mon," Ross said coming through the front door.
She briefly shook her head, then stood up with Emma and walked her over to her father.
"Hey," she said, handing a smiling Emma to him.
"Thanks so much for staying with her," Ross said. "Wouldn't do us any good to have only one diaper until morning."
"Oh, it was fine," Monica said, gently shaking her little foot and saying to her, "We had a good time, didn't we little bunny?"
Ross looked at his sister and his heart broke a little, knowing how much she wanted a "little bunny" for herself and Chandler. Her smile at Emma was a little sad.
"You OK?"
She looked at him just as a no-longer-smiling Emma let out a long wail.
"I'm fine," she said. "Looks like someone is tired."
"Yeah, I better get her a bottle. Do you want to stay?"
Monica hesitated just a minute, but decided against it.
"No," she said. "Chandler should be off work now and he'll be calling soon. I should head back. Thanks again for dinner."
"Anytime," he said, as Emma's cries grew louder. "OK…gotta run."
Monica quickly kissed hem both on the cheek and made her way out to door and back to her lonely, dark apartment.
###
Monica walked in the door to Apartment 20 and flipped on the light.
She looked out the big window. She waved at Ross, who was feeding Emma her bottle on the sofa. He nodded back, seeing that she was safely home.
She took out her cell phone and then glanced at the answering machine.
Nothing.
It was about 7 p.m. in Tulsa, but she knew he'd been working late a lot.
She told herself he just wasn't off work yet and that's why he hadn't called.
She hadn't seen him since late Sunday afternoon, when he left for the airport. And even though they talked once or twice a day by phone during the week, the conversations had been brief.
The weekend after Thanksgiving had been spent with their friends and family. The tension between them had remained thick Thanksgiving night and was still in the air Friday morning, despite Monica's hope that a new day would alleviate it. Despite the fact that they still had woken up in each other's arms.
They'd gone out to the Gellers on Long Island Friday and then shopping and out with the gang on Saturday.
Chandler had taken the good natured ribbing about the plates from their friends pretty well, and peering in from the outside it looked as if everything was OK in Monica and Chandler's world.
But it wasn't.
Monica walked into their bedroom and opened his side of the closet, trying to decide which of his shirts she'd sleep in that night. She breathed in deeply, letting his scent fill her senses.
She missed him so much it hurt.
And she didn't just miss him being there with her physically, in their bed, though that part was damn near unbearable.
She missed him.
She missed the every-day with the man who had been her best friend for so many years she'd lost count.
She missed the connection she only had with him. She missed seeing him look at her across the room - each knowing what the other was thinking. She missed his jokes, God help her. She missed him drinking coffee with her on the orange sofa at Central Perk. She missed him heading off to work with a smile and a "have a good day."
She missed, with an unbelievable ache, the "hi honey, I'm home" when he would walk in the door when work was over.
She missed being a part of his whole life. She felt like she was missing such a huge chunk of it every time he was in Oklahoma.
She missed Chandler.
RING…
She practically jumped over the bed as she reached across to grab the phone on the first ring.
"Hello," she said, hopefully.
"Hey," he said. He sounded tired.
"Hey," she said, laying on her side on their bed, pulling his pillow to her. "Long day?"
"Yeah," he said, stifling a yawn "And it's not over yet."
"Whatta mean?"
"I just came home to change," he said. "I ordered pizzas for everyone. We're working late."
God, she hated it when he called his hotel room "home." He didn't mean it, it was just a slip-of-the-tongue, but it still hurt.
"But it's Friday night…" she said, sitting up.
"It's almost December," he said. "New York doesn't care what day it is."
And there it was - the "us versus them" dynamic that was playing out in his office. He was caught in the middle of it, but more and more he seemed to be seeing things from a Tulsa point of view.
And if she heard him say "ya'll" one more time she knew she might scream. He'd used it way too much on Thanksgiving Day, watching the band from the Oklahoma high school in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade…
"Mon?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm here," she said.
"So… did you work today?" he asked.
"No. No…I have the weekend off, until Sunday anyway," she answered, playing with the corner of the pillow.
"Oh…" he said, quietly. "I'd forgotten that."
They were both silent for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Monica," he finally said, the warmth she'd been missing since the "Incident with the Queen's Plates" finally coming back into his voice. Her eyes filled with tears.
"I…you don't have anything to be sorry for," she said, her voice thick even though relief flowed through her body. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about last week, I'm sorry that you have to work late, I'm…"
"It's OK," he interrupted her, and she could picture his face as he said it. His eyes were closed, she was certain, and his hand was running over his tie.
She could picture him, but that's all she could do.
"No, it's not," she said, quietly.
"Mon," he said, he voice perking up a little bit, "I knew what I was in for when I married you."
Despite herself, she smiled.
"How you put up with me…"
She could almost hear his lopsided grin come across his face in Tulsa.
"I think that goes both ways, Darlin'."
"Darlin'?" she said, with a laugh.
"Just a Tulsa-ism," he said. She could tell he was smiling and a lump formed in her throat.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you, too," he said, then sighed heavily.
"I…I suppose I better let you get back to work," she said sadly.
"Yeah," he replied. "I guess…I guess the more we can get done this weekend the better chance I have to come home a time or two before Christmas."
"What?!" she said, startled. Christmas was almost a month away.
He sighed again.
"I'm doing the best I can, honey," he said.
"But…" she started, a million questions swimming around in her mind. She almost said 'but, what about when I'm ovulating?' but decided against it.
They'd just moved past the pain of last weekend. She didn't want to lay more guilt on him now.
She sighed.
"I know," she said. "I know you are, Chandler. I just…I miss you."
"I miss you, too," he said.
She closed her eyes.
"I love you," she heard him say.
"I love you, too," she said.
"I'll call in the morning."
"OK," she said, not sure how much longer she would be able to keep it together.
"Bye, babe," he said.
"Bye."
Then she heard a click as he hung up and her connection to Tulsa went away.
She put the phone back in its cradle, crawled back to her side of the bed and hugged his pillow tight for a few moments.
Then she slowly got up and plucked one of his light blue, long sleeved shirts from the closet.
Monica undressed and pulled the shirt over her head, trying to keep the tears at bay.
She made her way to the bathroom, mentally preparing herself for another restless, sleepless night without Chandler.
NOTE: OK, OK, don't get too excited ;) This is just a little Tulsa-era story that came to me recently. It'll be 4-5 chapters long, something like that, and not nearly the angst-ridden drama of "Slow Me Down." But it is gonna be a little different. And, I'm sorry, but real life is going to make updating slower this time. Didn't think I'd post something again so quickly, but oh well, I'm addicted to Mondler (and reviews, btw). What can I say? Enjoy!