Monica was making a habit of slaving away in her own kitchen on the two days she had off from work. She felt guilty about working every weeknight and leaving Chandler on his own for dinner, so she prepared elaborate meals on the nights she was home.
Of course, she realized that some of her guilt wasn't just from not being home, but from the fact that she was actually enjoying not being home. It wasn't so much that she didn't miss Chandler, it was just that she didn't have time to miss him. Sure, she was sad when she woke up in the morning and he was gone. And she missed the talks they sometimes had before falling asleep at night, when he would hold her and they'd share their misadventures from the day. But while she was at work, she rarely thought about him.
And part of Monica felt guilty about Ted. She believed Rachel and Phoebe when they said it was no big deal to have a crush, but she couldn't help but feel as though she was betraying Chandler in some small way. She really enjoyed Ted's company, and she especially enjoyed the attention he heaped on her. He probably was spending more time in the kitchen with her than he was in the dining room. She noticed that he was making excuses to be close to her, leaning over her shoulder to smell a stew or brushing her hip when he picked up a plate. He also had started becoming a little more forward in his complements, extending them not just to her food, but to her appearance.
And she had yet to tell him about Chandler. Not a word.
She hadn't outright lied to Ted. He hadn't asked. But they'd been working closely together for two weeks, and she knew she should have mentioned Chandler by now. She should have told the cute, charming and terribly flirtatious waiter that she was taken. But she hadn't.
Monica wasn't thinking about her omissions, though. Every now and then the thought would just pop into her head, seemingly from nowhere, that she needed to tell Ted about Chandler. But she would squash most of those thoughts before they could gel into real guilt. And what little guilt was left over, she managed to convince herself came from not spending enough time with Chandler.
So on the night before she started her third week on the job, Monica was preparing an elaborate dinner for him: a lasagna that, conveniently enough, would provide him with leftovers for the rest of the week, assuming he could hide it from Joey. So OK, he'd only have it for a day.
"Wow, when did Joey's grandmother move in? It smells amazing," Chandler said as he walked through the front door and was assaulted with the aroma of Monica's baking lasagna. He tugged off his overcoat and scarf, and stepped quickly over to Monica to kiss and hug her. "Mmmm, I miss coming home to you."
"I know. I hate Monday nights. Means I have to go back to work tomorrow," Monica said, returning his kiss.
Chandler turned around and started sorting through the day's mail, absently rubbing at his throat. He'd been feeling tired all day, and his throat was sore and itchy. He was worried he was coming down with a cold. And he hated to say anything to Monica, but the lasagna she was baking didn't sound all that appealing to him tonight.
"You know, you don't have to cook for me like this," Chandler said, putting down the mail and reaching over Monica's shoulder to take two plates from the shelves. "I mean, you have to cook all week. If you want to take a break and just order Chinese or something, that's OK."
"No, I like cooking for you," Monica said, moving to the side so he could grab forks and knives from a drawer. "And I hate to think of that crap you must be eating all week while I'm gone."
"Hey, I was doing OK before we moved in."
"What are you talking about?" Monica said, laughing. "You were so skinny. We were worried."
"Really," Chandler asked, looking pleased at her apparent thoughtfulness. "Wait, are you saying I'm fat now? Do I look fat?"
"Are you a woman?"
"OK, never mind," Chandler said. He grabbed two wine glasses from the shelves and poured drinks for both of them, handing her one glass before sipping from his own, grimacing at his sore throat. "So what'd you do today?"
"Are you kidding?" Monica asked in disbelief. "Did you see that ring of grime in the bathtub? And is it really so hard to wipe up the toothpaste you leak on the counter?"
"Hey, I-"
Monica stopped him before he could apologize. "Don't worry about it. I know you're doing your best to keep the place clean. And thanks for trying," she said, pulling the lasagna out of the oven. She put down her oven mitts and sliced two huge chunks for them.
"So how was your day?" she asked as Chandler sat at the kitchen table and she set a full plate in front of him.
"Oh, fine," Chandler said, waiting for her to sit down with him. "I mean, if you call eight thrilling hours of editing other people's data entry work fine. Which, of course, I do, because that's what I've dedicated my life to."
"Eight hours?" Monica said, lifting her eyebrows in skepticism.
"OK, five hours." Monica continued to stare. "Three hours. But have you ever tried to stare at spreadsheets for three hours? The numbers start taking on personalities. Today the 5s were my favorite. So round and cute, like little fat men wearing baseball caps."
Monica had started to eat. Chandler sighed and picked up his fork.
"Yes, I'm pathetic," he said and started in on his lasagna.
"No, sweetie, you're not pathetic," Monica said, swallowing a mouthful of pasta. "It's just your job that's pathetic."
Chandler rolled his eyes.
"Well, at least I got out of the office for lunch today," he said. "Veronica and I-"
"Veronica?" Monica asked. "Isn't she the one that Joey says has the biggest breasts-"
"Oh yeah," Chandler said, his voice husky and his eyes glazing over. He stopped when he realized Monica was just staring at him. "Yes, they're horrible breasts. Too big. Very unattractive. Some might even say inhuman."
"So, you had lunch with Veronica. Where'd you go?" Monica asked, pretending to be interested in her lasagna again. Chandler felt trapped.
"That Italian place around the corner."
"What? You took me to that place," Monica said, her voice rising. "That was our place!"
"We have a place?" Chandler sputtered, recognizing immediately that was the wrong thing to say. "Mon, I take everyone there. It's practically next door to my office. I go there like twice a week."
"With Veronica?"
"Yes. I mean, no. Today with Veronica. Twice a week with other people. No, not other people, not other women, you know, coworkers, and sometimes, sometimes I go there by myself," Chandler was in full panic mode now, his eyes wide and his arms flailing about his head. Monica stared crossly at him. Then she took another bite of lasagna and sat still, eating it slowly and thoughtfully. Chandler just looked scared.
"You're not mad, right?" he finally asked. "Because, because I didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't a date or anything. It wasn't even fun. It was boring and she talked funny and she didn't laugh at any of my jokes."
Monica was still quiet, looking deep in thought. And she was. She felt so suddenly jealous about this woman, and she didn't know why. So what if Chandler had lunch with a gorgeous coworker? Clearly it wasn't a big deal. But then why was he so upset about it? Why did he seem so determined to make her believe it wasn't a big deal?
'Because it wasn't,' Monica told herself. She finally looked up, and found that Chandler was staring at his plate, a bewildered and hurt look on his face.
"No, of course I'm not mad," Monica said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, it's just I haven't seen much of you lately, so I guess I get jealous to hear about you spending time with some gorgeous coworker." That sounded reasonable, she decided.
"Hey, there's nothing to be jealous about," Chandler said. "All I talked about was you, anyway. And her breasts? Very unattractive. Just wrong. Bad."
"OK, enough with the breasts," Monica said. "Are you done?" She pointed to his plate, which he had pushed away from himself a few minutes ago. He nodded and she got up to dump the plates in the sink.
Chandler's words stuck with her, and not the part about Veronica's breasts. He said all he could do was talk about her. That was very sweet, she thought. And just before another guilty idea could pop into her head, she started scrubbing the dinner dishes. She didn't notice that neither of them had taken more than three bites of their dinner.
+++++
Monica was having breakfast with Phoebe the next morning when she brought up her dinner with Chandler from the night before.
"I was so totally jealous," she said. "I've never been like that before. And I made him feel so guilty about it."
"Yeah, that's because you feel guilty," Phoebe said around a mouthful of cereal.
"What? That doesn't make any sense," Monica insisted. "What do I feel guilty about?"
"The cute waiter," Phoebe said. "And man, is he cute. Don't you just love waiter arms? They're all buff from lifting those trays."
"I don't feel guilty about that," Monica said. "It's just an innocent crush. Not even that much. It's just, just me acknowledging that yes, I work with an attractive man. Yes, he has a nice smile, and yes, he's funny but not in a sarcastic, over-the-top way, and yes, he's a little flirty-"
"And yes, so are you," Phoebe finished for her.
"So am I what?" Monica asked.
"Flirty."
"I am not flirty," Monica protested. "I do not flirt with Ted."
"OK, then why do you think you're jealous with Chandler?" Phoebe asked.
"Well," Monica began, thinking it over, "for starters, he has a history of cheating."
"What are you talking about?" Phoebe sounded incredulous. "Chandler has enough problem getting one girl to go out with him. How would he get two?"
"Remember Kathy? He kissed her while she was still with Joey. And, and Janice? She got back with her husband while Chandler was with her. And there was that married woman who was having all the affairs, he slept with her," Monica said, sounding flustered.
"None of those count," Phoebe said. "First, duh, Janice cheated on him. And as for the other two, the women were cheating on their boyfriends. He wasn't the cheater. He was, you know, the 'other man.'"
"It's the same thing," Monica said. "It's all cheating."
"It is not the same thing," Phoebe insisted. "You have the cheater, and the cheatee, and then the third party cheat...um...cheatant."
"Cheatant?"
"Yeah, you know, like the cheater's assistant. The cheatant," Phoebe said smugly.
Monica just rolled her eyes.
"Whatever. It's still not being faithful," she said. "And I am not flirting."
And it was Phoebe's turn to roll her eyes.
+++++
When Monica got home from work that night it was almost 1 a.m. Chandler, as usual, was already asleep, but she didn't bother waking him up, as she often did so he could say a sleepy goodnight and exchange kisses with her. She woke up early the next morning, but he was already gone. It struck her that for the first time since they'd moved in together, they hadn't exchanged a word in more than 24 hours.
The restaurant that night was unbearably slow. It was snowing, and the weather was keeping most of the customers away. At 9, Monica sent several of the waiters and busboys home early. Ted stuck around, perched on a stool in the kitchen and keeping her company while she practiced some of her more daring recipes.
As she slid a delicate tart into the oven, Monica glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was already 11. The tart needed to bake for just 20 minutes. She could be home before midnight, with plenty of time to catch Chandler still awake. She turned around to find that Ted was now leaning against the sink, not two feet from where she was standing. She jumped back in surprise, and he reached out his arms to stop her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said, holding onto her elbows. Monica rested a hand against her chest and took a deep breath.
"No, no, I've just had a lot on my mind," she said, smiling at him and turning on the water so she could wash hands. He stayed next to her.
"Yeah, I've been thinking a lot too," he said, leaning over the sink next to her so he could rest his elbows on the counter, his eyes now even with hers.
"Really? What about?" Monica asked, turning off the water and reaching behind her for a towel.
"Well, you," Ted said softly. Monica stopped drying her hands.
"Me?"
"Yeah," Ted said, reaching one hand over and rubbing the small of her back. "I've been thinking that maybe, well, maybe I should do this." And he leaned in to kiss her.
Monica stood very still, her eyes open wide in shock. She was very aware of Ted's right hand on her back, of his left hand reaching to cup her cheek and turn her face toward him. She felt hyper sensitive, even noticing his breath on her chin and the calluses on his fingertips.
Worst of all, she felt her own reactions. She hadn't expected this move from him at all, but she felt her legs shaking, her hands gripping the edge of the sink, even felt her eyes sliding shut and her lips parting for him. She wanted this.
And then her eyes popped open in alarm, she gasped as though she hadn't been breathing and she took an abrupt step back, reaching down to push his arm away from her waist.
"What, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice shaky.
"What?" he asked, looking honestly perplexed. "Oh my God, oh God, you didn't want this?"
"No. No. Why would you think that?" Monica said, willing herself to stop trembling and taking another step away from Ted. What had she been thinking?
"Wow. I totally misread that," Ted said, shaking his head.
"Why would you think I wanted that?" Monica asked again.
"I thought you liked me," Ted said. "Oh man, this is so embarrassing."
"Why would you think I liked you?" Monica was starting to panic.
"Look, just forget about it, OK?" Ted said, peering around the room as though looking for an escape route.
"No, I really need to know. Why did you think I liked you?"
At the serious look on Monica's face, Ted finally spoke up.
"I just thought you were flirting with me," he said. "You know, staying late with me, making me try all your food, laughing at all my stupid jokes."
"But, but I do that with all my friends," Monica insisted. "That's not flirting."
"Yeah, but you kept, you know, touching me and smiling at me," Ted insisted. "I mean, you must've retied my apron like six times tonight. Hell, you even brushed the hair out of my eyes. I've seen the movies. When a chick touches your hair, that means she's totally into you."
Monica opened her mouth to protest. Had she really done all those things? Had she touched his hair? She hadn't even been aware of it. She closed her mouth, taking a minute to think before she spoke again.
"But I have a boyfriend," she said quietly.
"What?" Ted said, a bit of anger creeping into his voice. "We've been hanging out for like 10 hours almost every day for two weeks, and you never mentioned a boyfriend. What's up with that?"
"It never came up," Monica said, and her voice sounded weak even to herself.
