Didn't Feel Anything at All
Dr. Richard Burke stood outside the small Manhattan café, squinting as he tried to read a sandwich board that had some menu items listed on it. He was normally not in this part of town, and never at this time of day, but he figured to look around for a place to have lunch before he caught a subway back to his office. He shook his head as he made his way down the items on the placard. He grumbled a bit as he slipped a pair of reading glasses from out of his shirt pocket and put them on. Tuna melt, Caesar salad, Santa Fe wrap, three bean soup, Rueben sandwich; nothing seemed to really catch his eye or inspire him to walk in, and he thought the prices were much too high.
He lifted his head and started to look around at the storefronts on his side of the block. Deli "Maybe a sandwich, but there is nowhere to sit and eat", pizza "Lately pizza has been giving me heartburn", a card store "I guess I could just grab a bag of chips.", a travel agency…that Monica Geller was just walking out of…"What?"
Richard couldn't believe his eyes. It has been over two years since he last saw Monica, and yet, all of those familiar feelings he would get whenever they were dating (or even when they were just playing "racquetball"), came flooding back and almost gave him a headrush. Seeing her, here made him think about how serendipitous his run-ins with Monica have been since their initial break-up.
He almost felt guilty, leering at her from a half-block away. He could not help himself. She looked amazing. But then, she always looked amazing. Standing there in this gorgeous form fitting red, silk-printed summer dress. She had a matching cardigan sweater on and her hair was longer than he remembered. He instinctively ran his fingers up above his top lip as he stared at her, still forgetting that he had shaved his mustache.
Would she even recognize him if she turned his way? He hoped so, even though she hadn't noticed him yet, as she stood there, trying to stuff a thin, gift-wrapped box into her purse. She looked around and he could swear she looked right at him. He raised his eyebrows up, almost as a sign of mutual recognition, but she turned away again. Maybe the street was too crowded, or perhaps it has been too long, or maybe it was simply the absence of his mustache; even though he didn't have it the last time they were together either.
He toyed with the idea of waiting to see if she would notice him and walk over. Giving him a little rush of ego as she gushed about how great it was to see him. Maybe she would be nervous at first like last time, but then they would fall comfortably into their old patterns. Laughing, making jokes, flirting.
He couldn't wait. It didn't matter how long it has been since he saw her last, or how much he tried to convince himself he was over her; as soon as he saw her there, he knew he had to talk to her. He had to breathe her in and submerge himself in her. It didn't matter that he was a fifty-one-year-old man, acting like a lovesick adolescent. She had too strong of a hold on him. Maybe she always would.
"Monica!"
He watched as Monica looked down at her shoe and started to twist her foot around, as if inspecting it for something. Trying to find some defect that she sensed.
"Monica!"
He started to step towards her as she checked her bag and pushed a few things around inside. Trying to make room for her slim gift box no doubt.
As he became more frustrated and desperate to get her attention before she walked away, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could. "Monica!"
Finally, that got her attention. As she looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes, she saw him. His heart fluttered a bit but than sank as she offered him what looked like an apprehensive smile. He shoved his hands into his pockets and lumbered over towards her. "Hey, fancy meeting you here." He pointed up at the sign for the travel agency. "Going on a trip?"
Monica looked over her shoulder at where he was pointing and chuckled lightly under her breath. "What? Oh, yeah. Well, it's a gift for Ch…uh, well, it's a gift. How are you?"
Richard bobbed his head up and down slowly. "I'm okay. I've been keeping busy. You?" He was okay, he was keeping busy, but now; it all seemed to be a waste of time to him.
"I'm doing great. You look good." Monica points at him and for the first time it feels almost the same as before, even though she seemed to be distracted. Richard decided though that a distracted Monica was better than no Monica at all. She held her hands down and looked at her feet again. "So, what are you doing here? This isn't really near your office or your apartment."
"Ah, well, I was visiting a friend. He's a patient and we had to dilate his pupils during his visit. He didn't have anyone to take him home, so I brought him back to his apartment. Now I was just looking for a place to have lunch and by some wonderful coincidence, I get to run into an old friend too." He smiled at her, and instantly started to debate with himself if he was overdoing it or underselling it.
Monica did not seem to notice, or, she was at least pretending not to. Instead, she pointed in the direction of the restaurant he was just checking out. "Oh, well the café there has a great niçoise salad."
Richard nodded as he looked back, recalling all of the unimpressive items listed on the sandwich-board. "Oh yeah, that place looked really good. Are you hungry? Want to catch up over a bite?"
Monica looked around for a few moments, and he was almost certain that she was going to turn him down, but before he could come up with a witty comment to disarm her, she relented. "Sure, I am hungry. Sure, let's have lunch."
The two of them sat with their salads and bottles of water at a table near the window. Richard pulled her chair out for her and she smiled. It felt almost normal to him. It felt almost like old times. Yet, something felt off to him. There was something missing that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Well, how are you doing? I heard from your father that you aren't at that diner anymore."
He watched her as she brushed some hair from her face and focused her attention on opening the little foil package of dressing. She looked back up at him and gave him a smile. "What? Oh, no. I work at a new restaurant now. I'm actually a head chef."
"That's what I heard. That's wonderful. Congratulations!"
"Thanks, it was a rough start, but everything seems to be really sailing along there now." She turned her eyes towards the sidewalk outside, almost as if the passersby were of more interest. He knew though, that was probably his imagination getting the better of him. "I guess my dad told you."
Richard winced, he never shied away from uncomfortable topics, but talking about Monica's father always made their age difference take centerstage in his mind. "Actually, I don't see your dad as much as I used to. I think he is still a little mad at me about, well, about us. I'm trying to get a golf game going, but he always seems to have something come up."
Monica patted him on the hand and he could swear it almost burned his skin. She looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. "Oh, well, he'll come around."
Richard watched Monica as she looked out the window again. She was taking small bites from her salad. He studied her jawline and let his eyes slowly drag down her neck. He had almost followed a trail of her freckles down to her chest when he realized what he must look like to her. Why did this feel so strained? "So, uh, where you going?"
Monica turned to look back at him, and her brow furrowed in a familiar way. Something he had seen dozens of times before. "What do you mean?
"Your trip."
"Oh. Vegas. They're a gift."
Richard chuckled to himself as he realizes she had repeated herself. "I know. I saw the ribbon and the wrapping paper. I didn't know travel agents wrapped ticket for you."
He saw a flash of embarrassment on Monica's face, reminding him of the times she would share a small, private piece of herself with him. "Oh no, they don't. I brought my own box, paper and ribbon."
Richard decided to try and put her at ease with an understated chuckle. "Oh, you have a lot of extra ribbon lying around?"
Monica's face lit up, and for a brief moment, Richard wondered if he had broken through. If the rust on their chemistry was finally being shaken off. "Yeah, a whole drawer. I've had it for years. Oh, I guess you never really saw the ribbon drawer."
"A whole drawer just for ribbon? No, I think I would have remembered that. So, who are they for?"
Richard noted that it looked like Monica was becoming uncomfortable. Her eyes flashed a mix of apprehension, and he thought, perhaps; was that also sympathy he detected? "Well, um, they're for my boyfriend. I'm seeing someone."
It felt like a thud against his entire being. He was practically shell-shocked. Even though, it made perfect sense that she would have a boyfriend. This was Monica. Smart, beautiful, amazing. Richard realized he was silent for too long after her admission, and he found himself stumbling to produce a half-hearted "Oh."
Then he saw it. He saw for the first time what was missing. Why he felt off. That sparkle in her eye. The excited tone in her voice. The crinkle that would appear on her nose when she was truly happy. "Yeah, it is actually how we are going to celebrate our one-year anniversary."
Richard knew he looked cool, calm and collected. He had gotten to be an expert at projecting outward confidence thanks to his divorce. Yet, on the inside, he was practically screaming in shock. A year? He barely got five months and some other man has had her for a year? He forced another smile and nodded. "Wow. That's great Monica. Really great. So, who is this lucky guy?"
There it was again. That sparkle. That glow. That undeniable energy she gives off when she is blissful. He would recognize it anywhere. It was as nourishing to him as the sun, yet he knew, it was not for him. He was merely basking in the radiance that belonged to another man now. "Well, you remember Chandler, right?"
"Of course. Does he have a brother or something?"
Monica laughed again, but he could tell it was almost a defensive laugh. "No, actually, it is Chandler. Chandler is my boyfriend."
"Ahh." Richard forced himself to nod again. "That actually kind of makes sense."
"Really?"
"Well, yeah. You two always seemed to get along. He's a great guy. Why not?"
"That is not the reaction most people have when I tell them that."
The rest of the meal gets dominated by small talk. He updated her on his kids, told a funny anecdote about a patient. She told him about Ross and Emily. About Phoebe and the triplets. He could not help but notice that there were more awkward silences than they would usually have had between the two of them. That they both seemed to be straining to reach some sort of common ground, which used to come so naturally to them. And he could not help but feel like she was just running out the clock on this impromptu lunch date.
Richard made sure to be nice, friendly, and interested in all the stories she shared with him about her friends. He even knew the appropriate moments to laugh or to smile. To any outside observer, he would look to have been having a wonderful time, enjoying a casual meal with a friend. Maybe, even to Monica, he would look that way. He was expertly duplicitous, projecting everything he that he was not feeling. Even almost fooling himself.
Because, if he were being honest, he felt like he was at a wake.
They said goodbye outside on the street and shared a half-hug that was devoid of any real warmth. She walked down the street and he watched her, waiting for her to turn around and give him one last smile and wave, but she never did. She slipped around the corner, out of view, and no doubt, back out of his life. For how long this time? A year? Two? A decade? He wasn't quite sure.
He stood there for a moment. Looking around, wondering if he even has the motivation to go back to work or if he should call his receptionist to clear his schedule. He knew he was being ridiculous. He still does not want children, and as long as Monica knows that, she won't want him. And he had come to peace with that. And yet, here he was, his chest swelling as if his heart was ready to explode. He was lingering in the phantom her scent that had already disappeared from the air around him. He still loved her. It made no sense, and he should be mature enough to get past this infatuation, but he could not. He still loved her.
Richard chuckled to himself at how ridiculous he imagined he would look if anyone knew his inner thoughts. Fifty-one, soon to be fifty-two, pining for a girl over twenty-years younger than him. A girl that he has known almost all her life. How can he be in love with a girl he and his ex-wife once bought a doll for? Probably because she wasn't a girl anymore. No. She was now a woman. An amazing woman. He hoped Chandler knew how lucky he was.
When Monica turned the corner, leaving Richard behind, she could not help but smile and giggle to herself. When she first saw him, she had a moment where she was afraid to talk to him. She hadn't seen him since their last night together at his apartment. One last game of racquetball. Then, early in the morning, before he woke up, she slipped out of his bed and out of his life. She purged him from her thoughts after that. If she dwelled on who he was or what she was doing, she might have lost her nerve that day. She already tore herself apart the first time they broke-up, could she really survive it a second time?
Yet she did. It wasn't easy, but she did. And Richard had stopped being a fixture in her mind. If Rachel hadn't had her eye infection earlier in the week, Monica may have never thought of him again. He would still be locked away in some dark corner of her mind. Keeping her safe from her memories of him.
Even then, just the mention of his name from her best friend no longer sent agonizing pangs through her heart like it used to. It didn't flood her mind with doubt over whether she had done the right thing when she ended their relationship. It didn't flash images of the time they were together, like a distorted, torturous home movie. She didn't even remember that Rachel had said his name to her until the moment he was standing in front of her this afternoon.
She remembered every detail of that moment. It now dominated all other interactions with him in her mind. When he called her name and she looked up at him, she caught her breath. She tried to compose herself, prepared for some, if not all, of those old feelings to resurface, and when he smiled that incredibly sexy smile at her, there was nothing. She felt nothing. She might as well have been having lunch with an uncle or an old culinary school professor.
The even stranger part, she did not even have strong feelings about not have strong feelings for him. It was practically a non-event. There was no rush of pride that she would have assumed she would have felt for facing down such a dominating figure from her romantic past and finally being completely over him. There was no parade to mark the occasion. No band played him off stage. There was barely a whimper. It was nothing. She didn't even feel like pumping her fist in victory.
She had to take a moment and search her feelings to figure out when was the last time she even entertained a romantic thought about Richard. He dominated her every thought during the first few months following their immediate break-up. Then, he lingered with her for a few weeks after they tried to be "just friends". There were also a few days after she had broken it off with Pete that she thought of him. Of course, she couldn't keep him from her mind during that regrettable and ridiculous Timothy Burke experiment. There was even a fleeting moment right before she left for London.
London. That was it. She has not thought about him since London. Not in the way she used to. Not in the way that would force her to bury him deep down beneath some other memory in her subconscious. Hidden from her thoughts and dreams. Since London, there was no effort to exorcise him from her mind. Two plus years of him creeping up and invading her thoughts, ended a year ago. Ended in London. Ended with Chandler.
Suddenly, it became so obvious to her. Or course, she didn't think about Richard at all over the course of the last year. Of course, she felt nothing for him today as they had lunch. Why would she? She does not have any love for him anymore. All of her love is now for that goofy, ridiculous, annoying, sweet, wonderful man that she fell into bed with almost one year ago today.
And then, as quickly as Richard had appeared before her on the street this afternoon, he was gone. Gone from her life, gone from her mind, gone from her hear. All she could think about now was one year. One wonderful, surprising, amazing year with Chandler. She could not wait to get home, give him his gift, and start their celebration. She could not help but smile in the knowledge that this was going to be the best anniversary ever.
Chandler stood over his duffel bag that was resting on his bed. He was holding two gift wrapped boxes in his hands. One, a fairly nice if non-descript necklace. "Very versatile" was what the saleswoman called it when she showed it to him. Something Monica could wear casually or when she wanted to dress up. Another piece of jewelry to add to her collection. The other, his pièce de résistance, a Brother P-Touch, state of the art, top of the line, label maker. The Cadillac of label makers. A ridiculously expensive label maker. If this were any other woman, he would probably get dumped the moment she opened it up and saw it. But this isn't any other woman. This is Monica. She will probably throw the necklace over her shoulder and forget it ever existed once she sees this thing. He will no doubt be rewarded with "the good loving" tonight. This P-Touch label maker was a good brother indeed.
Monica. The only woman, no; the only person who could get sexually aroused by a piece of organizational office equipment. One year. He has been asking himself the same two questions all week. How the hell did he manage to keep her around for an entire year? Why did it take so long for him to figure out how amazing she was?
There were days throughout this entire relationship where he actually berated himself for wasting so many years simply being her friend. How was he so blind? How could it have been that he wasn't knocking down her door every day for the last eight years, begging her to go out with him. How could he have watched the parade of stupid men who walked in and out of her life and not grabbed them by their collar and shook them until their eyes rolled back in their heads and they realized that they were walking away from the most amazing woman in the world.
He was glad he never did that. If he had, he may have actually convinced one of those idiots to stick around and he never would have found her. Right there, under his nose the entire time. He had no idea that it could be this good. That love and commitment and being in a relationship could be this good. She's the best thing that has ever happened to him.
He started to stuff the two boxes deep into the sides of his bag, between folded shirts and pants, when he stopped himself and smirked. "Oh no. I'm not falling for that one. She is going to come over here and repack my bag." He took the two boxes and stuck them in his hamper with a plan to retrieve them in the morning. He knew she would not even attempt to go through his dirty clothes between now and then. Satisfied with himself, he zipped the bag up and prepared himself to walk across the hall and have a late supper with Monica. He smiled to himself. He knew this was going to be the best anniversary ever.
