Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the apartment, just the DVDs. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.
Paria Paribus Respondere: to return like for like.
NY1990 hadn't emailed her back yet.
Monica scowled at her computer screen.
Well, it wasn't her computer. It was the computer in the library. She didn't have the money for a desktop like Ross. Or the ability to write off the purchase of a laptop on her taxes for work purposes like Chandler. She would have borrowed Chandler's laptop to check her email, he normally leant it to her if she asked, but he was missing at breakfast. His afternoon must have been awful after they'd bumped into each other for lunch yesterday.
It had been a whole day! A whole day with no explanation.
Monica was in the library with the purpose of going through the backlog of job availabilities in the newspaper archives and had moved to the computer to check a couple of websites. She had actually wound up finding temporary employment that morning, in the form of a paying job from her mother, which had Monica feeling as though she was floating but also had her bitting at the edge of her nails and picking at her nailbeds in trepedation.
Monica still wanted to look in the paper for availabilities, despite the one-off catering job, because she knew how unlikely it would be that she was able to continue catering and turn a high profit from it without years of hard labour and experience. So she checked newspapers and then the internet. There was something at a place called the Moondance Diner, which sounded humiliating. And a free spot writing restaurant reviews that she decided to apply for. Monica didn't expect she'd get that job, she'd never been much of a writer, that was always Chandler's forte. Even Ross was more of a writer than she was. Nevertheless, Monica applied for both jobs, hoping she didn't get one of them. After that, Monica hadn't been able to stop herself from checking her email. Double checking her email.
But there was nothing.
She'd been very conscious of becoming the sort of woman that desperately waited for a man to notice her, to deign her with his presence. Monica didn't want to be that woman. She'd been her before. To stop herself from becoming her again, Monica had purposefully and pointedly avoided the computer all day.
She'd spent the morning at brunch with her mother and brother, trying to restrain herself from thinking too much about how NY1990 had not shown up despite being the one who suggested they meet.
Rachel hadn't understood why Monica had been looking so forward to brunch with her mother. She was baffled by Monica's insistence that meeting with her mother, who had a track record of being hurtful and abrasive. Or course, Rachel didn't know that that Monica was definitely smitten with a man she'd never met. She was only aware that Monica was "pretty gone" for a "man she liked" and "had a date with, or was meant to." Monica had left out the part that she hadn't met the man before, or that she was genuinely afraid he'd seen her and bailed.
Judy Geller, for all her parenting faults, was predictable. Brunch with her guaranteed conversation veered constantly and consistently in Ross' direction. Monica could redirect to talk about Ben-who was ever-growing and whose pictures Ross brought with him everywhere. Monica could count on not being the focus and if she was, that would be good too. She could redirect her anger from NY1990 to her mother, take her mind off him for a bit.
Brunch had actually been uneventful, almost lovely, in fact. A nice little distraction from her misery. A reminder that even though the last few weeks had felt like her world was revolving around emailing a stranger and waiting desperately, hopefully, for his witty reply, there were other things to prioritise, other things she could be worrying about. While Monica prided herself on not hanging on the words in those emails, she was bordering on obsessively checking her inbox. She was kidding herself. Those emails were a highlight of her day, her heart pounding when that little notification came up on the screen.
Monica had a fulfilling life, she liked to think.
Even with all that going for her, Monica was conditioned to react with a skip of her heartbeat and a blush in her cheeks whenever she heard that thrilling ping. The only thing that had her heart racing faster was when there were two notifications. Often, that meant he'd sent two shorter emails.
She had her friends, who were more like family, and a brother who was family but more of a friend than he'd ever been before. She had a few prospects with an upcoming job - while she didn't have employment now, she was spitballing going into catering full time, investing in herself. It had been something she'd been thinking about in the back of her mind for a long time, something Phoebe had reminded her about. But it was NY1990 who really encouraged her to invest in herself. "Just try it," he'd told her. Keep sending out your resume but in the meantime, offer to cater one of her mother's luncheons, or her dad's birthday. And when someone asks who provided the food, she could find herself with a paying client.
It sounded exactly like what Phoebe and Chandler would tell her to do. That if she risked putting her name out there, she'd reap the rewards eventually. Only, it was very easy for Monica to ignore what her friends said. They knew her well, but were bias. They loved her and believed she could do anything, and sometimes Monica couldn't tell if that was genuine of a result of their friendship.
But when it came from NY1990, a complete stranger, the suggestion had some weight to it. He said it himself, "I don't know what you're cooking is like but you seem like the kind of person who is dedicated and humble, you probably wouldn't tell me you're a great chef. You might like a friend of mine. She's a chef too, the best I've ever tasted the food of. She'll brag to me and our friends, but to the people she should be loud and proud too, she sort of isn't, if that makes sense. She's happy to toot her own horn except when it counts. She's the kind of woman that should have her own restaurant, her food is that good - she's got great ideas and is really inventive - but in times when she should be shamelessly advertorial, she gets shy. It's like she respects the process of paying your dues and working hard until you're noticed and promoted too much instead of pushing for a chance to shine. It would be wonderful if she was ever actually recognised. But she keeps getting passed over. Quite unfairly."
It was funny. Monica recognised a bit of herself in the friend NY1990 cited. She knew that she worked hard, that she deserved to be more than a line chef, that she could be a sous by now, or deciding menus if she pushed. Everyone Monica knew thought she was pushy, and Monica would happily admit to that. She could be bossy when she knew she was right. But narcissisticly self-promoting? She couldn't do that and actually found herself stuttering when she met the stoner restaurant owner the year before, and biting her lip in interviews when she handed over her resume. She didn't like the attention or the scrutiny and for that reason, Monica had never been able to successfully transition from cooking for her mother to offering her services to one of her mother's friends at the party.
But not anymore. With NY1990's strategic advice in mind, Monica had happily agreed to cook for her mother's upcoming party. For a fee. Less than what most companies asked for, so that Judy would agree to employ her, and discounted from the amount she'd asked for at Susan and Carol's wedding because Judy was family.
Her mother had said yes.
Monica wanted to brag to her friends about the one-off gig. She wanted to see if Phoebe would come with her. As the more adamant and socially unhinged of the two of them, Phoebe would be unafraid of asking for payment of their fee and be more willing to stand up to Judy. Monica might even find herself soaking a little of that fearlessness in from her friend via osmosis.
Moreover, Monica wanted to thank NY1990 for the push towards being a little more outgoing and forward outside of her comfort zone, and his encouragement to be more self-serving. She figured he would have liked to know that she might be moving forward with her career, and that it was thanks to him. At least a little.
Which brought Monica's attention back to the fact that he hadn't emailed her his reason for not showing up yesterday.
She couldn't contact him with great news until he wrote why he had stopped caring about her and their digital relationship.
He hadn't done that yet.
Which was fine by Monica. She didn't need him. Not really. She had great friends. She had Rachel and she had Chandler.
Chandler would be proud of her. He'd beam at her when he heard the news, touching her arm like he couldn't help himself. Or he'd pull her into a quick hug, excited for her and unable to stop himself from jabbering on - questions and suggestions and announcing the sort of things he suspected would come of the opportunity. He'd gesture wildly and smile widely as he crowed, almost as if it was his own achievement. He was sweet like that, supportive.
Monica nodded to herself as she logged out of her email account and headed out of the library. They had a group outing planned for the evening, dinner at a restaurant - fancy but not expensive. She was heading there now, walking straight there from the library.
Monica didn't need NY1990. She could lean on Chandler instead.
He was more reliable and accessible, anyway.
Monica didn't have to wait for him to grace her with his attention, she almost always had it.