CHAPTER TWO

Monica

Ever have one of those days where everything seems to go wrong from the moment you wake up?

Today is that kind of day for me.

First, I had an awful shift at the restaurant―A broken air conditioner meant I had to spend the whole breakfast service in a 120-degree kitchen. Just one of those things no one tells you about in culinary school. I came home with clothes dripping from sweat and a headache the size of Central Park.

Then, I had my weekly lunch date with my mother. My disheveled hair and tired face provided perfect ammunition for her. When she finally could talk about something other than my life choices, it was all about Ross and Carol's recent engagement and the general wonderfulness of my brother's life.

Finally, I got home, ready to take a long, well-deserved candlelit bath, only to hear someone knock on my door and find out it was …. him.

Chandler Bing.

The Chandler Bing.

Yes, it's just that kind of day for an old crush who called me fat behind my back to show up at my door.

The next thing I did is hard to explain. I snapped and closed the door to his face. I'm not sure it was about him. I closed the door because I was just done with this day.

Really, universe?

I admit it's rude, and I regretted it instantly, but he doesn't need to know that. So I opened it after another knock.

How come he's just as aloof and cocky as I remembered him to be? Some people never change.

I let him inside to make a call, trying to ignore his mocking answer to my phone pen warning. I busy myself in the kitchen but when I turn around, I find him on the couch with his feet on the table!

He's unbelievable.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I―I think I'm homeless."

I stare blankly at him, then get closer and move his feet from the table before I can process his statement.

"Homeless?"

"The apartment across the hall," he says, his head in his hands. "It's not for rent anymore, I don't have a place to live."

He looks up at me with genuine sadness washing over his face. Fine, I do feel sorry for him. "You really were going to move across the hall?"

"Well, yeah, it was Ross's idea."

"Ross!" I exclaim―or more like, yell. I couldn't help my rising voice.

Chandler cringes. "Good God, woman, I'm not deaf," he says with his hands over his ears.

I cross my arms. "Are you telling me I'm loud?"

His eyes go wide and I think he got scared from whatever look I gave him. "No, no, no … You have a perfectly normal voice, a great voice … perfect decibel."

I sigh and start to pace around the room. "I can't believe Ross didn't tell me anything about this!"

Chandler gets up and turns to face me. When I stop and look at him, he's sporting the most triumphant, smug look I've ever seen. "And that's a problem, why? Do I need your blessing to move into an apartment across yours?"

I see what he's doing so I simply roll my eyes at him and try to control myself. I reach for the phone and hand it to him by shoving it a little too hard at his chest. "You should call Ross."

"You're so nice! Just what I was going to do."

He starts phoning Ross, glancing very quickly at me and a smile tugs at his lips.

I shrug it off and head to my bedroom. "I'll give you some privacy," I say, opening the door, "no shoes on the furniture!"

"Of course," he says with a polite, sheepish smile, though I can't tell if it's sarcastic or genuine. Why is he so hard to read?

I enter my room and start to clean it compulsively. I need something to do because truth be told, my mind is reeling. I don't understand why Ross thought it was a good idea for Chandler to live across from my place.

I never talked to him about what really happened with Chandler over the two Thanksgivings he had spent at our house back when they were roommates in college. They were traumatic for me―and probably for him too, quite literally―and now he's here, in my living room, and it's bringing up all those memories. They're bad, mostly. I remember my crush on him, when I was fat and clingy and needy. Then, the way he was ogling me a year later after I lost the weight. I was still clingy and needy, but I was also vengeful.

It was an accident, the whole knife-to-toe situation, but my intentions weren't pure when I was flirting with him, and sometimes I feel guilty about it.

I saw him on campus on occasions when I visited Ross at NYU― but made sure to never, ever meet him again. He was Ross's roommate and his best friend, but after that Thanksgiving, Chandler was no longer a guest at our house again.

I can't blame him.

But he still annoys the hell out of me because the pain I felt back then, I still feel it now and I hate myself for being affected by him years later.

And I hate that he's not bad to look at.

And that he needs help and I can't bring myself not to help people.

Just as I'm about to rethink my stance on him, I hear a knock on my door.

"Hey, Monica," Chandler says. "Ross wants to talk to you."

I open the door and I look at him, for the first time today he seems … subdued? He's not snarky or aloof. He eyes me softly, and for a moment, I could see it. I could understand why I tried so hard to please him when I was eighteen, and why I tried so hard to prove this guy wrong a year later.

I keep silent and he makes sure to hand me the phone in an exaggeratedly polite way. I see his point.

"Hey, Mon," Ross tells me on the phone as I glance to Chandler, who's just standing there, shuffling his feet, looking unbearably uncomfortable.

"Hi, Ross."

"Listen, you know Chandler, right?"

"Oh yes, I do know Chandler," I say, my voice unintentionally dripping with sarcasm and Chandler looks at me with panicked eyes. I never thought he could be … so easily frightened.

"Well, he's got nowhere to go and that apartment across your hall turned out to be a bust. Could you, maybe, you know … let him crash at your place for a while?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mon, he's my best friend and needs a place to stay. He's starting his new job next week so he can help with the rent, and may I remind you, you have an empty room."

"That room is for a roommate!" I yell again, then as I realize that Chandler could hear me, I lower my voice and cover the phone. "A roommate I would pick myself, thank you very much."

"Monica, it's been months and you haven't found a roommate. This is a great opportunity. Chandler is a good guy, I promise you."

"But, but … he's a boy!"

"Well, he's not your regular boy … boy. He's my best friend and I will keep an eye on him. You can trust me. Think about it, you said you were struggling to pay the rent on your own …"

I was struggling to pay the rent. Turns out, being an assistant chef at a trendy restaurant wasn't exactly a six-figure job, and even with rent-control, I needed a roommate, except I never found one who was good enough, or neat enough.

"He's clean and tidy," Ross tells me, almost reading my mind. "You won't regret it."

Ross could be very convincing, and obsessive which means he won't let this go. I do trust his judgment. Even if the guy he's vetting is Chandler Bing. The Chandler Bing.

Maybe he changed.

"Fine," I finally answer.

"Great! Love you."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Okay, I have to go. Bye."

I hang up the phone to find that Chandler is still rooted in that spot. I wonder what's that about. He is looking at me expectantly, I walk a little to meet him halfway.

"I guess we're roommates now."

NOTE

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I hope this little story will continue to brighten your quarantine. Having time again to write and interact with the fandom is the best thing about this awful situation.