The Twelfth Lasagna

Chandler stood by his door and watched as Monica disappeared into her apartment. He looked down at his feet and smiled as he swung his keys around on his index finger. He took his other hand and slowly rubbed the back of his neck, the lingering smirk on his face betraying some sort of compromise that he made with himself during his walk home with Monica; an accord of sorts, one which he was unaware had even existed. A bargain he had unconsciously agreed to, one that said as long as he and Monica were together, he would forgo dwelling on his inner turmoil and discontent; forget all about his mother and Ross, and let the world shrink down and disappear out of view. Every bad thing in the world blurred in the background and swallowed up whole by her illuminated presence.

He shook his head as he turned to face his own door and slid his key into the lock. He paused before turning it and entering his apartment as he reflected on his uneven night of highs and lows. Anger, frustration, bewilderment and despair juxtaposed with laughter, warmth, comradery and tenderness. As he dissected his mood swings, he realized that every time his spirits were lifted, Monica was there. Every time he smiled; she was smiling back. He felt good when he was with her. He felt like he was safe. He felt like he was home.

He looked back over his shoulder one more time and wondered if he should walk across the hall, slip inside and continue their night together. Breathe in deep her companionship, fill his veins with her presence, and perhaps vanquish any other demons that might still be crawling around in his head, born from seeing his best friend kiss his mother. He shuddered at that image for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. He was tired. Still drunk from tequila, it's scent still pungent on his breath. It's flavor still sharp on his lips. He dismissed his impulse almost as quickly as he entertained it. He knew that she was no doubt already slipping under her sheets; halfway to dreamland herself.

Sleep.

That's what he needed.

That was his plan. A good night's sleep and then maybe a few cups of strong coffee in the morning to scratch away at the cotton that would no doubt cloud his mind tomorrow as he recovered from a night of boozy regret.

He turned the key and quietly entered his apartment. Mindlessly, he emptied his pockets onto the counter before looking up. When he did focus his eyes on the living room, he scowled at its occupant.

"What are you doing here?"

Ross stood up quickly from the recliner and popped over to the counter. "Dude. We have to talk about what happened."

Chandler shook his head and started to move around the counter as he made his way past Ross. "No. We really don't. I actually think no one should ever talk about what happened tonight ever again."

Ross grabbed Chandler's arm and spun him around so that they were facing each other. "Come on Chandler. You have to let me apologize. I feel terrible about this."

"You should feel terrible."

"I do. Please. Can you just listen to me for one minute?"

Chandler folded his arms and smirked. "Okay. I'll listen. What are you apologizing for?"

Ross's brow wrinkled as he began to stammer, tripping over his own tongue as he tried to think of the right words to say. "For, you know, uh, accidentally, me, and uh, your mom, well, truthfully…uh…there was a little nothing of a peck of a kiss. You could hardly even call it that. I mean, it was like kissing an aunt."

"Oh yeah? And what kind of aunt kisses on the lips?"

Ross put his hand on his stomach and his face twisted up as he looked like he had fallen ill. "Aunt Millie."

Chandler huffed as he shook his head and turned around to walk to his room.

"Come on Chandler. I'm sorry for kissing your mom."

Chandler turned to look back at him and arched his eyebrow. "And?"

Ross looked over towards the bathroom. "And, I also might have thrown up in your sink."

Chandler groaned and then collapsed onto the reclining chair.

"Look, I wish I could take it back. I do. I was really drunk and really stupid and I guess I just wanted to feel good about myself. I know that sounds dumb, but your mom said all these nice things about me."

"Well, you could have tried saying 'thank you'. That always works. You know, the classics."

"I know. I didn't mean to do that. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I got carried away. I promise. It didn't mean anything. I'm not into your mom."

Chandler eyed Ross for a few moments, he tried to hold onto his indignation, but he simply could not find it within himself to be angry anymore. His time with Monica wringing the discontent from his psyche. He settled back into the chair and weakly nodded his head.

"All right."

"Really?"

"Yes. If it really didn't mean anything."

"No. I mean, obviously your mom is super sexy and so hot. She looked so good tonight."

Chandler gestured his revulsion with his hands. "Eww!"

Ross slumped down and leaned back onto the counter. "I'm really drunk."

Chandler rolled his eyes and shook his head in defeat. "All right. Let me get you a pillow and a blanket. You can sleep it off here."

Monica turned off the faucet once she finished cleaning and rinsing the breakfast dishes. She hummed as she started to dry them before putting them away. There was a bounce in her step as she glided back and forth between the sink and the cabinets. Almost as if she were performing a choreographed dance where one foot spoke and the other answered. She ended with a spin as she turned to take off her apron, a smile of unknown origin plastered on her face.

Phoebe eyed her suspiciously from the kitchen table until her eyes went wide with discovery.

"Oh my god! You had sex!"

Monica lifted her gaze towards her friend and raised an inquisitive eyebrow; confusion riddled across her face. "What?"

"You had sex last night!"

Monica opened her mouth wide with shock and shook her head in disbelief. "Phoebe, I did not have sex last night."

Phoebe began to gesture mockingly with her arms. "Then what's with all this Mary Poppins stuff going on here?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're all like," Phoebe stood up and mimed drying a dish as she began to hum a jaunty tune. "La-la-la-la-la-la!"

Monica finished folding her apron and placed it on the counter. "I don't know what you are talking about. The only one around here getting any sex is you."

Phoebe smiled smugly as she sat back down. "I know."

Monica leaned back against the counter and smiled. "So, are you and Paolo getting serious?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't know. I mean, on one hand, Paolo is great, and he helped me remember that I know how to speak Italian."

"You speak Italian?"

"Well, back in the 1930s I lived in Sicily." Phoebe paused for a moment and looked off to the side contemplatively. "Wait. No, that wasn't me. That was my grandmother's lover Sergio who lived with us for a few months back in eighty-nine."

Monica shook her head as if it would steer the derailed conversation back to its original topic. She squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and sighed. "Do you see a future with you two?"

"I'm not sure. Every time I think about stuff like that, and I imagine my life; you know, settling down, I keep seeing David."

"Who's David?"

"You remember, the scientist guy."

"Oh, right. David."

"I don't know what to do. I like Paolo, really, but he isn't David."

"Really? The scientist guy?"

Phoebe changed her inflection to mock Monica's tone. "Really, the, uh….who are you dating now?"

"No one!" Monica huffed in frustration.

Phoebe allowed a smug chuckle to roll under her breath. "It's just, when I was with David, he was so sweet. But Paolo has this, raw sexuality." Phoebe held out one hand. "Sweetness." Then held out the other. "Sex. It's a hard decision to make."

Monica rolled her eyes and turned back towards the sink.

Phoebe shook her head and stood up. "Okay, I have to go. My grandmother needs a ride to the taxidermist this morning and I promised I would take her there."

"Wait!" Monica reached into her freezer and took out a wrapped tin foil tray. "Please, take this lasagna home."

"Okay." Phoebe looked down at the tray and eyed it suspiciously. "This is vegetarian, right?"

Monica shrugged her shoulders. "Sure."

Phoebe nodded and smiled as she bounced her head side-to-side. She grabbed her purse, and before she could approach the door, it swung open wildly as Chandler, Joey and Ross bounded in. Each one quickly making themselves comfortable at the kitchen table.

Joey looked over at the stove. "Hey Mon, what's for breakfast?"

Monica reached into the freezer once more and dropped a second tin foil tray in front of Joey.

"How about a lasagna?"

Ross clutched at his stomach and looked as if he were about to turn green. "Ooo, that does not sound good. Maybe some black coffee?"

Monica raised an aggrieved eyebrow, admonishing her brother with her tone at his perceived insinuation that she would serve him at his leisure. She jabbed her thumb behind her. "You know where the coffee machine is."

Ross groaned and shook his head as he walked over to the counter and started to prepare a pot of coffee.

Joey grabbed a fork from a place setting and smiled. "Lasagna for breakfast sounds good to me." He yanked off the cover and jabbed his fork at the dish, only to find it frozen solid. "Hey, uh, Mon, I think your lasagna is broken."

Chandler looked over at Joey with incredulous eyes. "You have to cook it first."

"Oh." Joey sat back and smiled sheepishly. "I knew that."

Monica looked over at Chandler and then at Ross. "So, I take it you two made up?"

Ross and Chandler looked at each other and quietly nodded in agreement. Ross reached into the kitchen cabinet and began pulling out mugs.

"I just made a stupid mistake."

Joey, still eyeing the lasagna, crooked his neck and arched an eyebrow. "What was a mistake?"

Chandler shook his head and huffed. "Ross kissed my mom."

Joey looked up; his eyes went wide. 'Dude; we're allowed to kiss your mom? Because I gotta say…"

"No." Chandler cut him off as he gestured with his hands. "No, no. You don't gotta say. There will be no mother kissing."

"So, why'd you let Ross do it?"

"I didn't let Ross do it! You know what, just eat your lasagna-cicle."

Before Joey could respond, Rachel's bedroom door swung open with a loud crash as she charged into the living room, her worried, nervous eyes darted around the apartment.

"Is Phoebe here still here?"

Monica shook her head. "You just missed her."

"Oh thank god. I have to talk to you guys. It's about Paolo."

Rachel rushed into the kitchen and sat down. She looked around at everyone nervously and then brought her hands together as she focused her eyes on her entwined fingers. Monica stepped behind her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Honey, you look awful. What is it?"

Rachel took a deep breath and looked up. "Last night after we got home, Sarah called, from the Central Perk. She said she wasn't feeling well and wanted to know if I could come down and close up for her so she could go home. When I got there, there were a couple of customers left, and one of them was Paolo. So, I made some small talk with him, which he did not understand, and slowly, everyone left until it was just the two of us, and then, he, uh, well, he made a move on me."

Monica covered her mouth as her eyes went wide. "Noooo!"

Rachel looked up at her and nodded. "I know!"

Joey wrinkled his brow. "Are you sure? I mean, the guy hardly speaks any English. You don't think maybe you misunderstood him?"

"Well, his handprint is still on my ass. So, no, I don't think I misunderstood."

Ross leaned over and looked down at Rachel's backside, almost as if he were trying to inspect it for any lingering evidence of Paolo's transgression. Monica glanced at her brother with a pair of incredulous eyes and he quickly returned his focus to the coffee machine.

"What do I do?"

Chandler looked at Monica and they shared a glance, both nodding in agreement. Monica sighed and flashed Rachel a sympathetic look.

"Honey, I think you have to tell Phoebe."

"Okay, but how do I do that, without actually telling her?"

Monica looked around the table and Joey looked down at his lasagna. "Oh man, I better go back to our place and heat this thing up."

Chandler stood up quickly and gestured wildly. "Oh, well, I probably should help you out there, buddy. You know how tricky our oven is."

Ross nodded. "I'll join you guys."

He stopped in his tracks as he became caught under the oppressive weight of his sister's steely glare.

"I have to go because, uh…" he looked between Rachel and Monica and charged towards the door, following Chandler and Joey as they evacuated the apartment.

Monica let out a growl of frustration. "Ugh! Men! Here for the gossip, gone for the hard part."

"Oh, wow. Don't even get me started on Paolo's hard parts."

Monica slowly opened the door to Chandler and Joey's apartment and looked around as she deposited a frozen lasagna onto the kitchen counter. She glanced over at the foosball table and smiled as she let her fingers glide across the edges until her hand fell to the pommel for the three-man rod. She spun it a few times and then nervously glanced at the livingroom to ensure no one was watching her.

"Chandler? Joey?"

She craned her neck as she waited for an answer to her call, but there was no reply. She reached down and grabbed the plastic ball, dropping it through the serving hole and down and began to twist the poles, spinning the tiny wooden players around, kicking the ball back and forth between two rows. She spun the handles quickly as she batted the ball, playing offense and defense almost simultaneously.

"Okay Geller, this is what you've been preparing for your whole life. You're greatest competition. You."

She continued to furiously volley the small white plastic ball back and forth, feverishly charting its course with her eyes. She seemed determined to play this out, trying to discover some weakness she may have, so she could ensure no one else could exploit it. As the ball stayed within the playing field, she smiled at her efforts.

"I am good!"

Suddenly, the apartment door opened, causing her to jump back, the pole of players continued to spin wildly, and the ball was kicked hard. It struck the frame near the far side goal and bounced back, making its way to the end closest to her until the ball sunk into the goal. Monica pumped her fist.

"Yes! Monica Geller one, Monica Geller, zero."

Chandler stared at her in bewilderment as he wrinkled his brow, his confused eyes then fixating on the table.

"What, uh…are you playing yourself?"

Monica began to protest, gesturing wildly with her arms. "What? Nooooo." She then stopped her motions and sheepishly dropped her head into her shoulders. "Okay, maybe."

Chandler dropped his keys onto the counter and chuckled. "Oh my god. You have a sickness. An actual sickness."

Monica gestured towards the frozen tin sitting on the counter. "I brought a lasagna."

"Please, no. No more lasagna."

Monica stepped over and turned the oven on. "Well, I didn't know what else to do. Rachel is over there telling Phoebe about Paolo, and I figured they needed some privacy."

Chandler craned his neck, as if he were trying to eavesdrop on his friends from the other side of his apartment door.

"Anyway, this is my last lasagna. We can eat and play some foosball."

Chandler waved his hand to dismiss her. "Oh, no. I am not going to enable your sickness."

"Sickness? Pfft. You're just scared. What's the matter, afraid to lose to a girl?"

Chandler nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, look, I'll play with one hand behind my back."

Chandler looked up, as if contemplating her offer. He then snapped back and shook his head.

"No. No thanks.!"

"Chandler!" Monica glanced at the table once more and then over at the lasagna on the counter. "But, I specifically saved this lasagna for you."

"Really?"

"Sure. I thought, we could eat it, play some foosball, maybe watch a movie. Really take this time to strengthen our friendship."

"Oh yeah?"

"Sure."

Chandler nods and smiles as he stepped towards the table. "Okay. Wow." He gestured with his hand between the two of them. "I had no idea our friendship meant tat much to you."

"Of course it does."

Chandler gave her a sweet smile and then dropped the ball through the serving hole. He grabbed at one of the handles, but before he could focus on the playing table, Monica had already spun a row of players fast and sent the ball down through Chandler's goal.

"Ha! One zip." She pointed triumphantly at Chandler. "You suck!"

Chandler dropped his hands from the pommels and gestured towards his door. "Get out."