The Baby With The Bathwater
A long time ago, Chandler thought that marriage was a flawed system. The idea of committing to forever absurd. Who can commit to doing something forever? He would ask himself. People changed, lives changed, circumstances changed.
As far as he was concerned, marriage was a lie. Till death us do part was an arrogant, presumptuous promise. A gamble with bad odds.
Till thy partner's cheating ways thee do part. Till thy houseboy us do part. Those were the more likely scenarios from his own experience.
The marriages he witnessed growing up had inflicted permanent damage to his psyche, that was easy to self-diagnose, he admitted—it scarred him with the bone-deep conviction that husbands and wives were liars and marriage a cruel joke, the punchline of which often came at the expense of the kids.
He also knew deep down it was a fear of rejection. Marriage meant love, love meant vulnerability and vulnerability lead inevitably to hurt and pain, and he thought he had been through enough of hurt and pain in life, and a whole bunch of embarrassment and humiliation in addition to that.
So, when he loved for the first time, it was out of fear of dying alone, then he loved out of infatuation but it wasn't until he fell in love with Monica that he grasped the true meaning of the word.
Monica was so sure about so many things. She had an unwavering belief in herself and in her goals, what she had to do and where she was going. It was so easy to get swept up in her faith about love, marriage, kids. It was infectious.
By the time they got married, he still didn't know if he believed in marriage as an institution, but he believed in Monica, their union and their love, their forever. That was enough.
If anyone in the world could make marriage work, it would be Monica. And if she married him, then it would be them. Because she always won, conquered whatever she tackled. And his love for her was the one thing he was always sure of.
Monica made it so much easier than he ever expected it to be. Relationships take work, she often said, as if not to jinx it, not to take what they had for granted, keeping him on his toes but he knew and she knew, it was never an issue to make marriage work for them. In fact, even before they exchanged rings and vows at the altar, they were more married than most married couples.
There were some things they kept from each other—the location of her candy stash and his cigarettes stash—but from the start of their relationship, they never kept dark secrets from each other, they didn't say things they couldn't take back to hurt one another. They had fights, bickered, got jealous; when they got on each other's nerves or when one of them was simply itching for an argument but they would always cool off soon after, and come back to find a way.
Their love always found a way.
He wanted to keep that in mind at that moment, as Monica was holding his phone to him, in tears and a look of hurt and disappointment in her eyes. A look he wished he'd never see in her eyes ever again. Though he knew he had the truth on his side, and it would relieve her pain, he wasn't sure the disappointment would completely go away. Albeit forced, unwanted, imposed, a lie was a lie.
"What is this?" she asked once she regained control of her breathing.
It was this horrible cloud of tension that suddenly appeared before him. "What?" he instinctively asked, he got closer as she started scrolling through his text messages.
"Who's this 'BM' and why are you texting her about meeting in secret and a baby?" she persisted, her voice more controlled now, but her shaking chin betraying her.
"Monica, why are you reading my messages? Do you not trust me at all?"
"No, no, don't do that ... I found this text message and you've been acting weird all week. Don't pretend otherwise. What the hell are you hiding, Chandler? Is it what I'm thinking?"
"Oh yes?" He said in an ominous tone he instantly regretted. "What is it that you're thinking?"
"You know what I'm thinking."
Chandler's eyes widened. "What? God no, Monica!" he snapped. "Would you stop that! Is it too much to ask that you don't assume the absolute worst of me?"
He could see her breaking off and panting, and the vein in her forehead twitching, it was as if she realized she had crossed a line and was terrified. She stared at him for a few silent moments, and he could see a million things passing through her eyes until she sat down, leaving the phone on the bed and holding her head down in her hands.
Chandler sighed. He got rid of the towel around his waist, reached for his pajama pants and quickly put them on then sat on the bed beside her.
"Erica got in touch with me," he said in a quiet voice.
Monica looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowing, unable to speak for an instant. "Erica?"
"Yes. Erica."
Chandler tentatively reached out a hand, landing over hers. "BM is for Birth Mother. The other day, she responded to our email and called me to talk in person, and made me promise not to tell you."
She blinked and took a deep breath at the revelation. "What?"
"Monica, listen to me. I know I should've told you, she made me promise because she didn't want to hurt you," he insisted in a distressed tone then sighed, running a hand through his still-wet hair. "I―I'm sorry."
"I don't understand." Her voice burst forth in a roar. "Why would you promise that?"
"She needed help, so she called me. She wouldn't―couldn't tell you because she thinks you'd be hurt."
"Why would I be hurt?" She stared at his face again, her chest falling and rising, waiting for an explanation.
"Erica's pregnant," Chandler said, and paused to gauge her reaction. He could see her head spinning like a kaleidoscope. "She's keeping it and needed help. She has no one. But she doesn't want to see the twins again … And she didn't want to, I guess, disappoint you. I didn't know what to do, I was going to tell you, believe me, it killed me inside, I just―"
"She's here? Pregnant?"
"Yes. She doesn't know anybody in New York, the father is a deadbeat and she ran away from him … She needed money and help."
"Oh, God. She didn't want me to know?"
He just shook his head sadly. "To avoid hurting your feelings."
"To avoid hurting my feelings?" Her voice rose shrilly, and a nervous, caustic cackle followed. "Well, that didn't work then."
"Monica," Chandler said, leaning to hug her or really, to make any kind of physical contact that would soothe her, but she cut him off and stood up, pacing around the room.
"I―" she started to say when her phone rang. "I have to go to work, there's an emergency and I have to drop the kids at their soccer practice."
"We need to talk about this, Mon. You're not in a state to drive."
"Talk? I wasn't supposed to know, remember?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You're not going to drive the kids, Mon. Look at your hands, they're shaking."
"Oh, aren't I a poor fragile thing? You know what, I'm not driving the kids to soccer, you can do that. I'm taking the Porsche."
"Monica, would you stop being so stubborn and listen to me?"
She opened the first drawer from her bedside table and took out car keys, another flare of anger shooting through her while avoiding to look at her husband. "I need to go."
She left, slamming the door to their bedroom on her way out.
"Damn it," Chandler muttered. He reached for his phone and threw it on the bed.
• • • I don't like the way we left things. We need to talk about this.
Chandler sent yet another text message to Monica. The fifth one since he arrived at the soccer field with the twins and Andrew, and still no answer. He sighed and focused back on Andrew who was playing in a chaotic drill with the under four-years-old section, his son was running in the wrong direction but grinning like a Cheshire cat until the referee came over and turned him around, sending him heading in the right direction without Andrew realizing he'd been turned. Chandler allowed himself to laugh for the first time of the day, then he looked at Jack, playing with the under-six boys. Jack didn't run a lot, instead, he waited for the ball to come at his feet before deigning to contribute to the game. Chandler knew he would rather be staying home playing with his trains sets or reading about planes and he couldn't blame him. Monica insisted their kids needed to try a little of "everything", including team sports, to raise well-rounded children. Or at least, as well-rounded as kids with skinny legs and bad coordination could be.
He switched his attention to Erica, who was playing a real game of soccer compared to her siblings. She was captain of her team, constantly with the ball, and he couldn't help but feel stupidly proud, watching her with her ponytail bouncing as she pelted across the grass. Truthfully, he wasn't a fan of soccer practice, driving kids on Sundays at ungodly hours went against everything he stood for, but Erica loved soccer. It didn't matter if kids' soccer was more like a drunk, uncoordinated version of the sport, it made his little girl happy, and that was well worth the sacrifice.
The kids didn't seem fazed by the absence of their mother who usually took Sunday off from work for their soccer games. The title of Soccer Mom didn't do Monica justice. She was also the Snack Mom, with orange slices in Ziploc bags and homemade lemonade ready to refresh the kids at the end of games. She was the Volunteer Coach, and pretty much the only one who could get a bunch of five-years-old to run in the same direction without hitting each other in the head with the ball when her predecessors were reduced to tears by that challenge alone, and she was the first and foremost Cheerleader Mom of the Pelham Pelicans, designing the team's new outfits, caps, and handing out foam fingers for the other supporting parents.
Chandler was delighted he had remembered the oranges Monica had prepared and the water bottles. It wasn't half of what Monica achieved, but judging by the other parents, it was a solid effort on his part. Thankfully, the kids were too busy to notice. Andrew was now running in yet another different direction, Jack changed positions to be his team's goalkeeper and barely paying attention to the game at this point while Erica had scored yet another goal.
Multiple whistles were blown to signal the end of games, Erica was the first to flung herself at her dad, nearly knocking him down.
"All done, we won! Again!" She was grinning like a puppy, followed by her twin brother who was dragging himself across the field.
"We lost, I think", Jack said. "I'm not sure, can we have ice cream now, Daddy?"
Chandler smiled at their antagonistic reactions, and at their hair flopping around and the sweet smell of kid sweat still enjoyable at their age. He waited and finally, Andrew joined them. He immediately sat on the grass and started tugging off his shoes.
"Where is Mommy?" he asked as he struggled with the laces.
Chandler looked over at his three children now all sitting on the floor, quietly eating the orange slices he handed to them. Yes, it was far too early for a Sunday and soccer was boring, tiring and all the adults at the field that day were most likely seething inside, longing to be home savoring a lazy weekend morning. But he was enjoying it, there wasn't a better way to get to spend weekends and getting to know his children's personalities around other kids and without parents.
He just wished Monica was there with them.
It was true for a time―a very long time―he was scared of long-term relationships, marriage and kids but secretly he knew he wanted it, all of it, but had bought into the idea that the problem had to be him, that there was some essential unfixable flaw. Whether it was his fear of commitment, his feeling of being inherently unworthy or that he could never find one person who would understand him, understand his wounds and where they came from. Safety, love, comfort seemed to escape him, in family and in love.
But looking down at his children, sweating, panting, having fun together, he had achieved that for him and for them. It was a miraculous thing, and it was all thanks to the first woman to give him that confidence, comfort, and self-belief.
And he realized how far he had come, how she had redefined what marriage meant to him. Now they were Chandler and Monica, the all-new and improved version of the Bings. The Bings 2.0 didn't let fights fester and bitterness take over love. He wouldn't let that happen, but he also knew she needed time and space to process the bombshell he dropped on her.
"Mommy's working today. Let's get ice cream."
Back home, Chandler gave the kids a bath, then dropped Jack at Boy Scouts and Erica at her dance school before putting Andrew down for his afternoon nap. He tried to watch TV but kept checking his phone, all his messages were still left with no answer. She could be busy he reasoned, but truth was, they usually exchanged texts all day, and he was aching to see his wife and talk to her.
After a moment, he turned the TV off and called their babysitter.
An hour later, he was on Park Avenue, after stopping by a coffee shop to order two Decaf Cappuccinos before entering Javu, the restaurant was quiescent at this time of the day.
He took a deep breath before addressing the Maître D' at the reception desk. "Hi, Geoffrey."
"Chandler, hi." Geoffrey extended his hand and Chandler reluctantly shook it after a moment of hesitation. "Monica's busy in the kitchen, we had a―"
"An emergency, I know."
Chandler knew he was being unfair to the guy, he hadn't done anything wrong but still, he just couldn't like him.
"I wouldn't go in if I were you," Geoffrey added. "She's not in a great mood." He then proceeded to make some kind of cutthroat gesture around a laugh.
Chandler couldn't believe his wife ever found this guy funny once upon a time. "Right. I'll go in."
He ignored Geoffrey and walked to the kitchen, he crept into the room and there she was, in a crouched position, handling some kind of tool and working on one of the pipes as the plumber, Sal, was standing beside her, looking miffed.
He coughed exaggeratedly, and she turned back, a surprised look suddenly appearing on her face.
Without a word, she stood up and smoothed her apron, turning to Sal, "Um, Sal, I'll let you finish, I think it's pretty much fixed."
Sal grumbled something under his breath and Monica motioned for Chandler to follow her as she took off her apron, and they went outside through the back door. She sat on the fire escape staircase.
"Sometimes I feel like I need to do everything around here," she said, tilting her head toward the kitchen.
Chandler nodded with a smile and handed her the coffee cup. "Your favorite."
She accepted it and smiled shyly as their eyes met. Chandler took it as a sign and sat beside her. Usually, after arguments, she'd give him the cold shoulder for a while as they went on about their day separately but once she saw his face, she would find it hard to stay mad at him. It was a loophole Chandler was more than happy to take advantage of.
"Monica, I'm sorry, I should have told you, I―"
"So she's pregnant?"
"Four months."
"I had the right to know."
Her straight-to-the-point and no-nonsense attitude was one of the things Chandler loved about her. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Stop saying you're sorry."
And her honesty, Chandler enjoyed that, too. "Not until you forgive me," he said, shifting his head to meet her eyes.
Monica pursed her lips. "Of course, I forgive you. You know that."
She smiled a small smile, which broadened once he'd bent down and kissed her.
"That would be Jack and Erica's brother or sister," she said in a thoughtful tone.
Chandler smiled. "That's what I told her too. I wrote her a check to help with the doctor's visits."
"Good. You did the right thing."
Chandler felt a sudden swoon of gratitude that they were always on the same page when it mattered. Monica held her cup with both hands and looked down. "I still want to see her and I want to help. I want to be involved."
He sighed. "Monica, I'm not sure …"
"It's ok if she doesn't want to see the twins again. I can't just … do nothing. I have to help her. Please?"
"We will help her."
After a pause, Monica reached for her husband's hand. "I'm sorry for assuming the worst this morning, that was unfair."
He shook his head and his fingers curled around Monica's. "I shouldn't have given you an excuse to doubt me. Monica, listen to me," he said, lifting her chin. "I would never ever risk what we have."
Monica blushed then leaned to kiss him on the lips, firmly. "I hate it when we fight," she said around a small laugh.
"I do too. It's not a good color on us, is it?"
She snorted. "Definitely not on me. My staff wasn't too thrilled this morning."
"Did you rip Funny Geoffrey a new one?"
"He was on the receiving end for most of it."
They laughed together.
"Mon, we'll get through this. Together. Okay?"
"Okay."
Chandler squeezed Ken The Kangaroo into the swing next to Andrew's. Once he got it jammed to his satisfaction, he began pushing both swings, on his son's insistence. It seemed to Chandler, Andrew was convinced he and the stuffed animal held equal claims to his parents' attention. Monica was standing in another swing on her son's side while Chandler was between Andrew's and Ken's swing. Soon enough, both Andrew and Ken The Kangaroo were swinging in near unison, Andrew laughing as his strands of brown hair were spiking in the air.
"Daddy, I'm flying!" Andrew shouted, hypnotized and thrilled by the motion.
"You're flying, buddy. But hold tight to the rope, ok?"
"But I want to fly."
Chandler shook his head and slowed down the swing as he looked over at Monica.
"Mommy, push Kenny higher!"
Monica stood and went over Ken's swing. "What do we say first?"
Andrew grumbled. "Mommy, please push Kenny with me, please, please?" he repeated with a little pout and sad eyes, the kind that would melt icebergs.
Monica pushed the stuffed kangaroo's swing as Chandler pushed Andrew's. They looked at each other and smiled.
Andrew continued to soar to greater and greater heights, with a delicious mixture of glee and enchantment on his face, his laughter resounding with peals of childish joy.
"I think Andrew is going to want to be a pilot when he grows up or you know, a base jumper. He knows no fear," Chandler said.
"Oh God, I don't want to even think about it."
"We should consider investing in some wine and Prozac."
Monica stopped the swing motion. "Andy, sweetie, let's slow down, all right?"
"No, faster, Mommy! I want to go higher!"
"This is my worst nightmare," Monica told Chandler as she resumed pushing her son.
Chandler laughed. "Well, I was a wimpy kid―and still am―so this is all on you."
"Oh, so it's my fault?"
"Just be glad when he climbs to the top of the Everest, he'll thank his mother on national TV."
"At this rate, both Erica and Andrew are going to make our hair go very grey very soon. At least, Jack prefers the quiet."
Chandler nodded. "You know, his teacher still thinks he's gifted. Like really, really smart."
"Well, Jack has always been smart. Erica is smart too."
"I know she is, honey."
"So what does she say about her? Is Erica doing ok?"
"Yes, for the most part, she's a little too competitive she said."
Monica turned and pointed her finger at him. "Don't give me that look!"
"Her words, not mine, honey," he said, kissing her temple. "She said that Jack gets easily bored because it seems too easy for him. I mean, I kind of see it. Do you remember that one time I thought he was already asleep and I read him a Dylan Thomas poem because I couldn't stand reading The Story of Babar one more time? And the next morning, he came down to breakfast reciting the whole thing back almost word by word? He's always had a great memory."
"Yeah, I guess. He does love doing homework. Erica always forgets about school the moment she sets foot home." Monica said thoughtfully.
Chandler nodded, then looked at his watch. "Speaking of the little devils, we should go get them."
As Chandler was driving, he glanced at Monica and found her in deep thought, a wistful look in her eyes.
"I don't like the idea of splitting up Jack and Erica. It's too soon," she said.
"I know," Chandler agreed. "We'll find a solution, we'll check that advanced program, they'll just be in a different class a couple of days a week. So, are you ok with Jack doing the test?"
"I guess. I have to be, right? I don't want Jack to be bored in class. It's just―"
"Erica."
Monica sighed and nodded. "I know what it's like to have a smarter sibling. I never felt smart enough because well, nobody cared that I made the best cookies. It was all about how Ross was brilliant and I was desperately trying to even the field. I still do," she said, frowning her eyebrows. "I don't want Erica to feel like that."
"Monica, we'll never let that happen. Jack being advanced doesn't make him better or worse than Erica or Andrew. Erica will find her spotlight and when she does—and you know she will, she is a star—we will support her and praise her for that." He reached his hand to hold hers. "Like your parents should have encouraged you and your cooking because you were a star."
Monica's eyes were shining at his words, full of affection. "You're so sweet," she said, blinking to retain the tears and kissing his hand. "And wise! When did you get to be so wise?"
"Somewhere between reading The Story of Babar for the hundredth time and that Dylan Thomas poem."
She laughed as they arrived at Erica's dance school. Chandler parked the car and Monica opened the door but Chandler reached for her hand before she left.
"You know, you will always be their mother."
"I know," she said, smiling softly. "Chandler, I need to talk to her. I have to."
He nodded.
He would make it happen.
NOTE
Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it and happy normal Thursday to the rest of us!
Don't be peeved if the next chapter is Thanksgiving-heavy when all you can think about from now on is Christmas.
Thank you for reading! Don't hesitate to tell me what you think, or validate me, or just yell at me.
