Shadow of a Doubt
"I don't want to be Batgirl! Can I change to Belle when we go home?"
"Erica, you agreed with Jack on the costumes so you'll keep it."
"Unfair! Superheroes suck."
"Erica," Chandler warned sternly. "That's enough."
Jack turned and looked at his dad, rolling his eyes at his sister's antics. They were on their way back from trick or treating in the neighborhood to the planned Halloween party they were hosting at home.
As Jack and Erica debated the merits of Disney princesses against comic-book heroes, Monica looked at Chandler, holding in his arms a sleepy Andrew in his Robin costume. Chandler looked calm but had been quiet all night. Usually, he'd be there teasing Jack and Erica about their costumes, but today there had been something off about him.
In fact, there had been something off about him for a while now. Ever since Andrew's birthday.
Monica was convinced she knew everything there was to know about her husband. Just like he knew everything about her. She had seen him cry at Finding Nemo and more recently at Up, she could read his facial expressions like a book: the way his eyebrows rose up and his mouth opened when he was confused or titled his head to the right when he was annoyed, or even the way he bit his lip when he was about to say something extremely romantic to her.
It was the result of more than twenty years of friendship, eight years of marriage—even before that night in London. They had been blended, intertwined for so much of their lives, to the point they could read each other's thoughts through one look and finish each other's sentences.
But for the last two weeks, she caught him staring into space a few times, looking preoccupied. It was small moments, imperceptible to the untrained eye, but not to hers. And whenever she would ask 'Are you ok?', he would simply answer 'Yeah, fine' and move on to busy himself with something else, anything else to avoid a longer conversation.
It frustrated her to no end.
Their communication had always been seamless, if not borderline psychic at times. There was nothing they couldn't talk about. From the moment Chandler had moved in across the hall from her apartment in the Village, they had revealed to each other their best and worst selves, their most embarrassing secrets, their most vulnerable confessions.
And they simply worked like that. They were that couple to their friends, annoyingly in-sync, in their little world whether alone or with other people, looking like they were sharing a private joke at all times.
And she could see it now, as they were walking on the sidewalk of their neighborhood block, the autumn air still warm and sweet. His eyes were distant, locked in his own bubble, preoccupied and removed.
She sighed, focusing back on the twins in front of them, chattering and their sentences overlapping over each other, Erica jumping up and down from time to time.
What was on his mind he couldn't tell her about? Work maybe? He always made his feelings about his job, bad or good, clear.
His friends were her friends and they couldn't hide anything from her anyway. Except for Joey, possibly. Even then, he was loyal to Chandler but to a point, he would tell her if it was bad enough.
His parents? It couldn't be, his relationship with them had improved over the years.
Or could it be her?
She closed her eyes regrettably as they reached their house. No, he was still her Chandler. He loved her and cared for her. He always did. She felt guilty even entertaining the idea of doubting his loyalty.
It had to be something, and she had to find out. But not tonight, not during a Halloween party the kids were excited about and she had planned all week.
The living room was full of parents and their kids from the neighborhood. Guests kept telling her how great the party was and how much fun they were having. On another night, she would be thrilled. A perfect party, another one for the books. She took care of invitations, decoration, drinks, and food, while Chandler turned into the perfect host and entertainer—people in the suburbs were charmed by him and his humor, he told her they were an easier crowd than the people in the city, but she knew it was all him. He was maturing into the most charming man she ever knew. She couldn't picture him back to his twenty-something years, awkward and panicking at the thought of tense social gatherings. Now and here, he was running the show. Making conversation, making people laugh and making other women give her "lucky you" looks.
Monica felt reprieve as she watched Chandler in his Alfred Pennyworth tuxedo with a little mustache drawn on his face. He wasn't a fan of costumes, but they had promised Jack during an Erica-breaking-my-toys tantrum they would all wear Batman related costumes: Chandler took the chance to go for the Wayne Manor valet, in a three-piece suit and a black bow tie, and he looked so carefree and happy while talking with Mike, Ross, and Joey.
She smiled to herself, ever since the Velveteen Rabbit costume incident, he made it his prerogative to pick a flattering Halloween costume for himself, and this one was a treat to the eye. She always found him handsome, but at forty-one, her husband was hitting his prime. He had a glow and a charisma about him, helped by his grey-streaked hair, insouciant and slightly spiked to the back, an easy smile with a deep set of dimples, and a suit fitting better than any glove could. Happiness and fatherhood looked good on him.
Monica adjusted her Wonder Woman's headband and sipped her 'adult' punch drink as Phoebe and Rachel approached her, the latter holding her daughter, Emma, dressed as a fairy princess, in her arms.
"Monica, your costume is unfair to the rest of us," Rachel started. "I want to give you my number."
She laughed and shook her hand. "Aw, stop it. I feel so exposed in this tight skirt. This is not a costume you should wear if you ever had a baby."
"Oh no, no, if there was a contest tonight, you would win," Rachel reassured, knowing the mere mention of a win would flatter her friend.
"Well, you definitely wouldn't, that's barely a costume," Phoebe retorted to her.
Rachel gaped, looking down at her outfit then shrugging her shoulders. "I'm Anna Wintour. Isn't it obvious?" She proceeded to shake her short bob-styled hair. "But I can't wear sunglasses. Inside … and at night."
Monica smiled as Phoebe rolled her eyes. She leaned and smoothed Emma's hair falling under her tiara.
"Emma went a little crazy with the candy," Rachel said, kissing the forehead of her sleepy daughter.
"What about the girls?" Monica asked Phoebe.
"Lily is with Mike. I put Frances in the twins' bedroom if that's okay. She didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
"Of course, Pheebs. Thank you for coming over tonight." Monica smiled gratefully.
Rachel returned her smile and Phoebe squeezed her hand.
"If you'll excuse me, I need to save your husbands from Ross. I bet he's still talking about his badass Indiana Jones costume," Rachel said.
"I'll go check on Frances."
Monica nodded and the girls left. She quickly looked over the living room, making sure the party was going well then shifted her gaze towards Ross, Mike, and Chandler. Suddenly, Chandler caught her eyes and he smiled at her. A smile she felt was only for her, and in a moment like that, they could as well have been the only people in the room. The world would stop turning on its axis, time froze, and she would feel an overwhelming wave of love and affection.
One look was enough to comfort her.
It was a certainty, she knew him better than anyone and he knew her better than anyone.
He put down his drink, and she swore she could have predicted what he would do next—he excused himself from their friends, and walked toward her. Immediately kissing her slowly and softly on the lips.
"You know what I wish I could do right now?" he whispered into her ear as he nuzzled her hair behind it.
She shook her head and smiled at the glint in his eyes.
"I wish I could scream that the sexiest woman at the party is all mine," he said in a breathy voice, kissing her again on the lips then his forehead rested against hers, his left hand caressing her back slowly.
"Well, the fact you're feeling me up right now and I didn't slap you for it should be enough to send that message," she murmured into his neck and he nodded with a laugh.
"I want you to wear this in bed," Chandler whispered again.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Is that ok?"
Monica hesitated, grinning at him when she heard noises coming from the baby monitor in her pocket. "I need to check on our son first," she said, wiggling the monitor in front of him.
Chandler slumped his shoulders in disappointment. "Mood killer."
"But later …" She raised her eyebrows suggestively and his eyes went wide as she left him with a kiss on the cheek to go upstairs.
A moment later, she slowly entered Andrew's room and found her son clutching Kenny The Kangaroo, his eyes flat and his face flushed.
"What's the matter, Andyroo?"
He turned and smiled shyly at the sight of his mother. "Mommy, it was under my bed. The midnight monster."
"Oh sweet pea, it was just a bad dream."
Monica lifted Andrew, and suddenly she felt how big and heavy he was getting, and in a flash, she remembered how tiny he once had been. She carried him to the rocking chair and held his hand, caressing his hair. She felt him relax and sighed. He was still wearing his Robin pants, which she was sure he kept by convincing his father.
She remembered their first Halloween at their house, Jack and Erica were less than six months old, they were fussy and not even sleeping through the night yet—Monica and Chandler were tired all the time, but on Halloween night, they dressed the twins up in bodysuit pumpkin costumes, carrying them in their arms for a short neighborhood walk. It had been practically the first time they went out with the children. The twins' mood lifted and they couldn't stop grinning, earning the oohing and awing of their Pelham neighbors.
Andrew's first Halloween was all a blur, however. He was two weeks old and they were wrapped up in trying to get by—barely. The twins' terrible twos were in full swing and Andrew required his mother's constant attention. Chandler still insisted on putting him in a pumpkin costume to take a picture, despite his wailing screams, which were spookier and more terrifying than a haunted house, he joked to her.
The years afterward had turned Halloween into one of their favorite family traditions. It was the opportunity to get the gang all together in their house, Ben and Emma, in particular, deprived of a good old-fashioned trick-or-treat experience in their New York building, loved celebrating it at the Bings. Phoebe and Mike brought Lily and Frances, and after missing it the first two years he was in L.A. Joey finally joined everybody the third year.
For little Andrew, Halloween could be a little overwhelming, like today. He was a playful, happy kid but his energy around people would drain him out and by 9 p.m. he was ready for bed—surprisingly, the usually reserved and shy Jack could go all night long when he was having fun around his siblings and cousins. Even Erica, the star of the show whenever they had a party or guests, was ready to drop a couple of hours before her twin.
Monica looked down at Andrew, he was softly snoring. She stood up and moved stealthily towards his bed, not letting him drop down until the very last second. She let out a sigh of relief as he waggled a little before his face softened into a deep slumber.
She kissed his forehead slowly and turned the light out.
She picked up a few items of clothing on her way, and put them in the laundry basket, having already filled and emptied the washing machine three times that day. In the laundry room, as she opened the machine, she found out it was already loaded and smiled. Chandler was always torn between wanting to help and not wanting to deprive her of her stress-coping mechanism. But once in a while, he insisted, with small gestures like that—loading the machine, decluttering the living room in her absence, emptying the dishwasher before leaving for work—without telling or asking, and once again, she marveled at how good a husband he was.
She quickly checked her make-up in the mirror, then as she was about to head downstairs, something stopped her.
Something unusual and just … off.
She moved by the window of their bedroom and peeped out through it into the front of the house. There was Chandler, on the phone, his hand through his hair and pacing out. Everything about his demeanor was so …. unlike Chandler.
All those strange feelings came back in a rush. She couldn't help the horrible squeezing in her chest. That was the problem, she did know him inside out and this wasn't normal behavior. This wasn't Chandler, Chandler would tell her whatever was on his mind instead of pacing out in the front yard and talk on the phone with an edge to his voice.
She leaned her head against the window, trying desperately to pick up scraps of conversation.
"You don't understand, I'm pinned in a corner," she could hear him say in a tight voice. Almost through gritted teeth.
Pinned in a corner? What could that possibly mean?
But what followed made her heart sink.
"She doesn't know."
Her throat tightened and her heart was thudding. It wasn't something off, it wasn't her imagination, it wasn't her time of the month or her paranoia. He was hiding something. And she couldn't help but assume the worst.
And yet, it was still unimaginable. Not her husband, definitely not Chandler.
In normal circumstances, whenever he acted anxious and worried she would guess he was planning a surprise romantic date and didn't want to mess it up. Because she could read him. Or so she thought.
When she finally went downstairs and met him in the hallway, she couldn't read his expression. His eyes were almost blank and there were shadows on his face, and all she could think about were those damn words. She doesn't know.
"Is Andrew asleep?" he asked her.
Monica nodded, he nodded back and went to the kitchen. She swallowed.
No joke, no witty remark, no flirty comment.
Not tonight.
Monica felt numb as she finished cleaning the living room after the party. Cleaning didn't work tonight. She felt sick to her stomach, anxiety bubbling in her rib cage and a hurricane of thoughts spinning inside her head. Chandler had gone upstairs without offering to help. He would always offer his help though he knew she would turn it down every time. Instead, he told her he was going to check on the twins and go to bed, pretexting tiredness from a long week at work.
While she got ready for bed, he was already sleeping on his side, not turning to meet her as she sat on the edge of it.
"Should I take it off?" she asked him.
"Huh?"
"You know, the costume... Never mind," she said, quickly taking the headband and undressing.
"Oh," he said, as if he had just remembered, and turned to her, his hand massaging his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm really tired."
"Okay."
She avoided his gaze and he went back to sleeping on his side. The longer the silence went on, the more awkward it got for her. She darted quickly to the bathroom, and started brushing her teeth, a count of fifteen for each molar―hoping if she stayed long enough, she would avoid a blow-up. That part of Chandler, when he would get all closed off, was so hard to process.
As she washed her face, she realized whatever was going on shouldn't drive a wedge between them. A long time ago, they promised to talk, to deal head-on with their issues, to never forget how to hold each other. Because marriage needed to be tended to, love alone wouldn't be enough. The perfect embrace was only perfect because they fit and because there was a dance, that harmonious geometry: where the head would land, where his hands went around her, how exactly her head was pressed against his chest. A beautiful, harmonious dance that could turn into a shadow dance if they stopped talking to each other, touching one another.
She came out of the bathroom resolute. Her decision was made, she'd wake him if she had to.
"Chandler," she began, as she slid under the comforter. Chandler groaned in his sleep.
"Chandler, wake up." She nudged his shoulder until he turned, his face a little startled, only opening the one eye.
"Is everything all right?" she asked him, an imploring look on her face. "If there's anything, anything wrong or you're worried about, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"
He frowned his eyebrows, not fully used to her bedside light. "Is everything all right with you?"
"Me? You didn't answer my question! Oh my … You're not sick, are you?" She gasped suddenly.
"Of course, I'm not. Honey, I'm fine, let's get some sleep."
He kissed her cheek and turned over. Within a few moments, he was breathing heavily.
Monica couldn't sleep. She lied awake, staring at the ceiling.
In the morning, she woke up to find that Chandler was ahead of her. He had already gotten out of bed and was showering in the bathroom. She could hear the kids chatting quietly in their bedroom, but guessed it would take them another half-hour or so before they'd start hurling teddies at each other.
As she was about to go downstairs, she heard the home phone ring and went back to her room, wondering who'd call at such an early hour.
It was the restaurant's number, she answered while putting her robe on. "Hello," she said walking over to the twins' room to check on them.
"Hi, Monica. We couldn't reach you on your phone so I thought I'd call your home."
"My phone?" She walked back to her room and found her phone turned off. "Oh, it's off. It didn't charge overnight. What's going on?"
"Well, one of the kitchen's drains backed up and flooded, and we're in the middle of running breakfast service but we can't do any prep or washing. We had to turn off the water."
She exhaled, unable to hide her displeasure in her voice. "Geoffrey, who was it?"
"We don't know what or who caused it …"
"Geoffrey. I swear to God if I come down there—"
"Ok, it was Toby. He jammed a temporary fix with paper towels weeks ago into the drain … and kind of … forgot about it."
"That's not the first time," Monica warned.
"It was an honest mistake."
"I'm coming down there, we have back up clean dishes, you can use those in the meantime but let's call Sal."
She hung up and sighed deeply. It was Sunday and she hadn't slept. When it rained it poured. At least, a restaurant disaster had the merit of making her forgot last night's worriment.
"Honey?"
"Yeah," Chandler answered from the bathroom.
"My phone is dead. Can I use yours to call Sal?"
"Sure."
Monica plugged her phone to the charger and reached for Chandler's phone. She typed his passcode and was about to enter the plumber's phone number when a notification popped up.
A text message.
• • • Went to the doctor, the baby is doing great.
She just stared at it, unable to process the enormity of what she was seeing. Before she could control herself, she checked the previous messages. They were all coming from a "BM" with Chandler answering each time.
• • • I can't talk at home.
• • • Running late, let's meet at Starbucks. 6PM.
• • • Tell me about the baby when you get back.
Her chest was rising and falling, her brain drowned with panicky thoughts. The messages all dated back to right before Andrew's birthday, when she started suspecting something was off. Except it wasn't something off, something she couldn't rationalize. It was all there on a screen and incredulity was winning over.
"Honey, you still there?"
She heard Chandler say, but she couldn't answer, or speak at all. She could only feel the tears rising as she sat down on the edge of the bed, barely able to still hold the phone.
Chandler appeared from the bathroom, his hair still damp and a towel over his waist.
"Mon, is everything—" his voice trailed off as he stopped in his tracks at her sight.
Monica looked up from the phone to stare at him, her breath short and tears rolling down her eyes, no longer able to hold them back. Her life was unraveling, as if the husband standing before her had been kidnapped and replaced by a stranger.
She turned the phone to face him and watched him run his hand through his hair, looking defeated. Secretly, she was hoping for a magical, miraculous explanation but the proof in her hand was too damning, and she couldn't take another lie.
She only wanted the truth now even if she wasn't ready to face it.
NOTE
This is a bit of a bummer, I know. Hopefully, you trust me. *pleasedonthateme*
These chapters were supposed to be aligned with their respective holidays. I'm now endlessly annoyed at myself.
Thanks for reading!
Leave a review if you read this and do indeed hate me.
