***SIXTEEN YEARS LATER***
"Jesus, Joey, would you PLEASE stop trying to flush sandwich wrappers down the toilet? For the thousandth time, IT WON'T WORK!"
"Well, what else am I supposed to do when I'm eating in the shower?" Joey replied defensively. Chandler sighed in resignation and ran his hands through his dark hair.
"Wow, that IS a tough one," he muttered sarcastically as he sank into his recliner. "So what are your plans tonight?"
"Got a date," he replied happily. "Hot chick... can't remember her name though." He shrugged. "It'll come to me." Chandler nodded absently, trying to remember last time he'd been on a date. Three months ago, he decided. Blind date, total disaster. He looked up as the door opened, and Rachel walked in.
"Hey, guys, whatcha doing?"
"Marveling at the wonder that is Joey," Chandler replied cynically. As Joey beamed proudly, Rachel laughed.
"Well, whatcha doing for the rest of the night?"
"I don't know about you two, but this marvel has a hot date," Joey stated, gloating.
"A hot date with..." Chandler prompted mockingly.
"Gina," he replied without missing a beat. His face lit up. "Gina! Ah-ha! Told ya I'd remember! Later!" With that, he left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Rachel turned to Chandler.
"And what about you... hot date tonight?"
"The fact that you even ask that question proves just how little you know me," Chandler remarked dryly. Rachel looked at him, frowning slightly. She never understood why he didn't have dates... he was cute, smart, and funny, and she knew tons of girls who wouldn't mind dating him. I guess he'd have to actually care for it to work, she thought to herself. She and Chandler had grown close after Monica's sudden disappearance, and although they were practically best friends, he would never let her push him into dating. It had taken a year and a half after Monica left to even get him to go out on a date. She shook her head, jolting back to reality.
"Well, how does pizza sound then?"
"Sounds good," he agreed amiably, getting up out of the recliner and grabbing his jacket. "Are Ross and Phoebe coming as well?"
"Nah... Ross had a convention at the museum and Phoebe's out with that guy again... you know, the one that talks to trees."
"Ah, yes," Chandler replied. "Who knew that there was actually someone else like Phoebe on this earth?" They'd met Phoebe when Rachel had put out an ad for a roommate, much like the way in which Chandler and Joey had met. The two had expanded on the close-knit trio of Chandler, Rachel, and Ross, which had resulted from Monica's departure, and the five had grown close over the years. Rachel laughed, and Chandler helped her into her coat as they left for the pizza place.
"Coming," Chandler called as he got out of his recliner to answer the door. He wondered who it could be, given that no one who ever came to see him actually knocked. He opened the door to reveal a young girl on the other side who stood with her back to him. She spun around and looked at him nervously. Immediately worried that Joey had done something stupid, Chandler broke the short silence. "Are you here for Joey?" The girl's brow furrowed in momentary confusion as she shook her head. Before she could speak, he continued. "Girl Scout Cookies?"
"I'm sixteen," she remarked matter-of-factly.
"Sorry," Chandler replied, blushing.
"No problem," she answered quietly. "I'm small for my age." A moment of awkward silence followed, eventually to be broken by Chandler.
"So... what can I do for you?" The girl seemed to snap back to reality as she cleared her throat nervously.
"I, um... I'm looking for Chandler Bing."
"Well, look no further," Chandler replied, curious as to who the girl was and what she wanted with him. Her nervousness seemed to fade momentarily and then return as she asked the next question uneasily.
"Great, is he home?"
"You're looking at him." The girl froze, and Chandler's slight smile faded as she stared at him. "Are, uh... are you okay?" She nodded and licked her lips, trying to find her voice. Once she had, however, she realized that she didn't have the slightest clue what to say. Noticing how tense she was, Chandler stepped back and opened the door wider. "Would you like to come in?" She simply nodded again and entered the apartment nervously. Once inside, the awkwardness reappeared instantly as they stared at each other uneasily, the girl trying to formulate a sentence and Chandler wondering who she was and what she wanted. She took a deep breath and paused a moment before she spoke.
"I'm Samantha," she said, offering her hand. "Sam."
"Chandler," he replied, accepting the handshake. "But you obviously know that already." She smiled uneasily as she cleared her throat.
"Okay... um... okay." She stammered as she tried to avoid his piercing eyes that were filled with confusion. "You don't know me," she eventually managed. "But I need your help." Chandler nodded, encouraging her to continue. "You don't know ME," she repeated, "but you knew my mother. Monica." Chandler froze at the mention of her name and stared at the girl before him. Sam paused, searching his face for an indication that he remembered the name, and when she was assured that he did, she continued. "Monica Geller." Chandler nodded weakly, leaning against the countertop behind him. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.
"You're Monica's daughter?" he whispered, trying to grasp what he had just been told. The girl nodded, and as she looked at him with an anxious look on her face, he could see the resemblance. She had Monica's crystal-clear blue eyes and her dark hair framed her face. And she was right, she was small for her age... just like Mon had been.
"Yeah," she answered, wondering how she was going to get to the point of her visit. "I'm looking for my father," she added simply, deciding that beating around the bush wouldn't do either of them any good. His eyes clouded as he straightened up, and Sam thought she could see a defensive look cross his face. "Well, I don't know who your father is," he replied coarsely. "I haven't seen her since she was nineteen."
"I know who my father is," she interrupted. "It's on my birth certificate. His name is Chandler Bing. You," she added for emphasis. He froze and stared at her, stunned and blank.
"No," he corrected her. "I haven't seen your mother since she was nineteen," he repeated. The girl looked away.
"Yeah, well, I was born when she was nineteen," she whispered. "March 2, 1990." She searched his face for some sign of understanding, and became increasingly nervous when he maintained the dazed look that had crossed his face when she had first told him. Not knowing what else to say, she stood motionless waiting for him to speak. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz that had taken over. The word "father" swam in his hazy mind as he looked back at the girl standing before him. Taking the eye contact as a positive sign, she continued. "Before you get really freaked out, I want to tell you that I'm not here looking for a long-lost father to take me in his arms and hug me or anything," she said quietly. "I just need you to do something really simple for me, and then I'll be gone and you won't have to see me again. I just need you to sign something." Chandler swallowed, trying to get his voice to work.
"Sit," he managed in a whisper, indicating toward the recliners. Sam nervously took a seat in one as he sat in the one next to her. Wringing his hands, he looked at her intently. She took a deep breath and resumed speaking.
"My mom... Monica... she was in an accident." She saw a flicker in his eyes and she wondered what he was thinking.
"Accident?" he repeated, the first word that he had managed to raise above a dry whisper. Sam nodded.
"Two weeks ago," she replied quietly, her eyes filling with tears. She averted her gaze so that he wouldn't see them. "Drunk driver ran a red light and smashed into her car. She's in a coma." Chandler's breath caught as he tried to let some of what he was being told sink in. Trying to get all of it out, Sam continued. "She, uh... well, we don't have any family, and being that we never saw this coming, there was never any indication made of what should happen to me in the event of her death." Her voice cracked on the last word and Chandler visibly flinched. She cleared her throat and went on. "If she... doesn't wake up, they're going to put me in a state home." Her voice had once again gone back to barely above a whisper and she was watching her hands as she spoke. "The only way I can avoid that is if I get my father to sign the papers saying that they can't do that. And, according to my birth certificate... that's you." She raised her eyes to look at him, praying that he wouldn't turn her down. In an attempt to reassure him, she added, "You'll never have to see me again. You won't be responsible for me or anything... I'll go back and be on my own. You won't have to support me or anything like that... it just makes me independent, saying that even though I'm a minor, I will be treated as legally self-sufficient..." She was cut off by Chandler motioning for her to stop. She quieted and gazed at him intently. After a few moments, just when Sam thought the silence was going to break her, he spoke.
"Where is she?"
"Hospital," Sam replied, confused.
"No, I mean..." he paused. "Where is she? Where in the country?"
"North Carolina," she answered. He nodded and sat in silence for a few moments. He then got up and headed back toward one of the bedrooms. As he got to the door, he turned to face her.
"I can't sign that," he told her quietly. Her face fell, but before she could speak, he continued. "I'm not going to let you go out and live on your own." She looked at him, puzzled. "Just let me pack," he said quietly, "and we'll get on the next plane to North Carolina." With that, he turned and went into his bedroom.
The uncomfortable silence was still present as they sat on the plane, Sam looking absently out the window and Chandler flipping nervously through a magazine. "Drink, sir?" Chandler jumped as the flight attendant hovered over him, her plastic smile fixed in place and her stale perfume overpowering him. He nodded.
"Just some mineral water, please."
"And for you, young lady?"
"Same, please," she answered in a small voice. The woman nodded efficiently and placed their drinks on their trays along with two packages of peanuts.
"If there's anything I can get y'all, be sure and let me know," she said cheerfully as she continued up the aisle.
"Thanks," Chandler replied, but she was gone. He turned to Sam. "Want my peanuts?"
"No, thanks... I was actually going to ask you the same thing." She smiled slightly, and Chandler reciprocated, glad that they had at least managed to momentarily break the silence. Hoping to avoid slipping back into it, he tried to think of something else to say, but he was interrupted when Sam beat him to the punch.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked uneasily.
"Doing what?" he inquired, wondering what she meant.
"Coming to see my mom. Now, sixteen years later... I mean, you could have just signed a paper and been done with it... what are you going to do?" Chandler was silent for a moment. The truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to see Monica again. Even if, God forbid, she didn't get to see him.
"Look, Sam, I --" He was interrupted by the captain's voice over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we ask that you please fasten your seatbelts as we begin our descent to Charlotte Douglas Airport and we thank you for flying USAir." Chandler sighed and complied, snapping his belt together. Sam's eyes once again drifted toward the view as she waited to watch for the runway. As he watched her, Chandler tried to figure out what he was going to tell her... and what he was going to say to Monica, given the chance. He wondered what she had been doing for the past sixteen years, apart from raising a child. He speculated on whether or not that was the real reason she'd left -- because she was pregnant. He'd thought he was over her and had moved on... after all, that was well over a decade ago. But seeing Sam, who so closely resembled her mother, and letting himself think about her again, he realized that an old quote he had heard was painfully true: "Time does not heal, it makes a half-stitched scar that can be broken and again you feel grief as total as in its first hour." Chandler felt as though all of his old emotions had come back in one forceful motion, knocking his feet out from under him and sending him into a spin. The heartache he had lived with for so long after the one and only woman he'd ever loved had disappeared. The anger he had felt toward her for breaking his heart and leaving him all alone. The guilt to which he had become accustomed as he wondered if it was his fault that Monica had deserted not only him but her friends and family as well. The hint of anticipation and trepidation that accompanied the knowledge that he was going to get to see her again, and, ultimately, the relief in finally knowing what had happened to her. He only hoped that he'd be given the chance to talk to her... that she wouldn't be taken from him again when he'd only just found her.
It was well past ten o'clock when they got to Monica and Sam's small apartment. As she fiddled with the lock, Chandler shifted his weight nervously as he stood behind her, wondering whether he should be staying in Monica's home. He didn't have much time to wonder, though, as Sam flung the door open and threw her bag into the apartment. She flicked a light switch as Chandler entered behind her and walked silently into the den, turning on another lamp and bending to check the answering machine. Chandler took the opportunity to look around him and take in as much as he could. The apartment was impeccably neat and yet it still looked comfortably lived-in. There was a wall with a window space that went through to the kitchen, and there was a small hallway that he assumed led to the bedrooms. He turned as a voice filled the room when Sam pushed the button on the machine. "Sam, it's Nicole. I just got your message... listen, I don't know if you've already left for New York or not, and I hope you get this before you go. I'm not sure that it's such a good idea... please call me when you get this, ok? Are you sure you don't want to stay with us for awhile? My mom's worried about you living alone. Okay, well anyway, call me, ok? I'll talk to you later, girl. Love ya." As the machine beeped, Chandler turned toward Sam.
"My best friend," she explained. He nodded. "You hungry?" He shrugged.
"If you want, we can get some take-out or something... my treat. What kind of restaurants do you have around here?"
"There's a Chinese delivery place just down the street," she replied. "They do a really good Szechuan dish." He nodded again.
"Sounds good to me."
Half an hour later, they were seated at the kitchen table eating the food that had arrived a short while before. "So... what do you do?" Sam asked, trying to ease the tension that had settled in again.
"Data processor," he replied. "Really boring... I'd suggest avoiding that if you can." She shrugged.
"I'm going to be a photographer," she replied. "I want to be a freelancer... take pictures of whatever I find. There's just... something captivating about how you can find something through a lens..." she drifted off and blushed when she realized that he was staring at her. "Sorry," she mumbled, taking another mouthful of her dinner.
"No, please, don't be embarrassed," he reassured her. "You were just like your mother then." He mentally scolded himself. "Well, I mean, like how I remember her." He groaned and closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, Sam looked at him gravely.
"What was she like?" Chandler looked at her questioningly.
"Your mother? You mean when I knew her?" Sam nodded.
"When she was younger. What was she like... before me?"
Chandler hesitated, not knowing what she already knew or didn't know about her mother. "Well, what do you know about her past?"
Sam looked at him evenly. "Okay," she said simply. "How about this: I tell you everything that you want to know, and then you do the same for me? I want to know about her past because she never talks about it. And you probably want to know about her life now, right?"
Chandler, surprised at her candor, nodded. "I also want to know about you," he said gently. She looked at him, perplexed.
"Me? Why?"
"Because..." He paused. "I'm your father." He noted how the world caught in his throat and the way in which she tensed when he said it. He waited for her reaction, wondering how she would respond. She was silent. "Do you know anything about me?" he asked, wondering what Monica had told her, if anything. Sam shook her head slowly, not looking at him.
"Like I said, she'd never really talk about it. I didn't even know your name until I found my birth certificate. I remember asking her once when I was ten why I didn't have a father and it made her cry. I always hated seeing her upset, so I never brought it up again." She looked at him, almost demanding an explanation with her eyes. "So?"
Chandler sighed and put down his fork. He wondered if he should fill in the gaps, but when he looked up and into Sam's silently pleading eyes, he realized that there was no way he could deny her requests for information. He took a deep breath and began.
"Well, I first met your mother... Monica... in 1987. Thanksgiving. My parents weren't around, so Ross invited me to dinner."
"Is this the same Ross that was my mom's brother?" Sam interrupted. Chandler noted the fact that she had said "was" instead of "is," and wondered momentarily what Ross would say when he found out what had happened with Monica.
"Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "Your uncle. So anyway, I didn't see her again until the following year. Ross was spending a semester in Egypt, and I decided to take some of his stuff from the dorm back to his parents' house. Your grandparents," he added as an afterthought. She nodded eagerly, waiting for him to continue. "Mon was still in high school... it was her senior year. I asked her out, and we started dating. By her prom, we were pretty serious and she told me that night that she was going to go to NYU in the fall, which is where Ross and I were going to school." He smiled as he remembered how happy he'd been to hear that she would be with him. "Well, we were together for her entire freshman year, my junior year, and we were practically inseparable. Then, when the semester ended, she disappeared and I never heard anything from or about her again."
"Until now," Sam replied in a small voice.
"Yeah," Chandler said softly. "'Till now." Sam sat quietly, letting it all sink in. There was so much more that she wanted to know, but she knew that what she'd been told already was at least a start and she didn't want to press too hard. After a few moments of silence, Chandler spoke again. "So... what's she like now?" Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say.
"Well, she's a chef," she began. Chandler smiled, remembering how he'd told her that she should be one at that Thanksgiving so long ago. "She's a wonderful mother, my best friend... a compulsive cleaner and a stickler for homework." She paused, not knowing where else to go. She didn't want to say anything that she thought her mother wouldn't want her to reveal, and being that she had barely known Chandler for more than 48 hours, she was reluctant to tell him too many personal details. Chandler seemed to recognize this, and so he tried a new approach.
"What about you?" Sam hesitated before replying.
"Well, there's not much to tell about me. I'm sixteen, I like photography, art, music, and poetry. I'm a junior in high school, which I hate, but I can't wait to go to college. Umm..." she racked her brain, trying to think of something else to tell him. Before she could come up with anything, he finished for her.
"You're beautiful," he said quietly. "Just like your mother was." Sam looked up at him, surprised, and then looked away as her eyes filled with tears.
"She still is," she replied softly. Hearing her voice shake, Chandler reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, coaxing her to look at him. As she did, he felt his heart wrench as he saw her blue eyes glisten with tears and a look that seemed to be a combination of fear and hope. He could see Monica in her face, and he felt as though someone were twisting his heart. Sam looked embarrassed and stood up. "Well, you can sleep in my room and I'll sleep in Mom's," she said quickly.
"No, don't give up your room, I can sleep on the couch, it's fine," he argued.
"Trust me... that couch is NOT comfortable. It's fine, really... I'm sorry that my bed's only a single, though." She turned and grabbed his duffel that he had placed by the door and headed toward the bedrooms. "This way." He hurriedly dumped his plate in the sink and followed her toward one of the rooms.
Sam smiled cautiously as he entered the kitchen the next morning. "Morning," she greeted with a small smile. He smiled back.
"Hey."
"Sleep well?"
"Yeah... thanks for letting me use your room."
"Eh, don't mention it... I like my mom's room anyway... double bed." She smiled and indicated toward the counter in front of her. "Want some coffee?"
"Sure," Chandler said, taking a seat at the table. "You drink coffee?"
"Yeah," she replied with a small laugh. "It's one of the few legal stimulants for a minor." He grinned, and realized, pleased, that although it was short, it was the first time he'd heard her laugh. She turned to smile at him and after a few minutes her brow furrowed and she turned back to the counter. "Could this thing BE any slower?" Chandler's eyes flickered when he heard it. She spoke the same way he did. The way that made Ross and Joey poke fun at him. He almost smiled again, but his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of her voice. Her back still turned to him, she spoke in a low voice. "You know, before I met you, I almost hated you."
Chandler's eyes snapped open and he tensed. Not knowing what to say, he remained silent. "I realize that I didn't even know you, but still... My mom never told me who you were or what you were like. She also never told me about the circumstances of your relationship, so I guess I just always assumed that she got pregnant and her boyfriend ditched her. I didn't realize that she was the one who left." She turned to face him again, waiting for some response. She wasn't sure what she wanted to hear, but she at least wanted to hear something. Chandler stood up and moved so that he was in front of her.
"Look, I can understand that. My father ran out on me and my mom, and I still haven't forgiven him for it. I hated him for wrecking my family, for being the reason that I had a dysfunctional childhood. And I'm sorry that you've had to live without a father. But..." he paused momentarily, realizing that although he had to continue, he was afraid of doing so. He took a deep breath and continued. "But you don't have to keep living without one." He searched her face for a reaction and was relieved when she smiled. She dropped her gaze to the floor and fussed with the dishcloth that she was holding.
"Are you sure you want a daughter, though?" she asked him, terrified that he'd say no. "I mean, are you sure you want one who's almost grown already?"
He looked at her sadly. "Just because I missed out on your childhood, doesn't mean that I can't still be your dad," he said softly. "I know that I missed out on a lot, but I don't want to miss out on any more." He stood nervously before her, waiting for a response. Suddenly, he felt her throw her arms around his neck and bury her face in his chest. He timidly held on to her, feeling a wave of emotions so powerful that it wasn't until a few moments later that he realized he was crying, overcome by the emotion that accompanied the first hug between father and daughter.
"Okay... Dad." She mumbled. He felt himself grinning through his tears when he heard the word and silently hugged her tighter.
"Jesus, Joey, would you PLEASE stop trying to flush sandwich wrappers down the toilet? For the thousandth time, IT WON'T WORK!"
"Well, what else am I supposed to do when I'm eating in the shower?" Joey replied defensively. Chandler sighed in resignation and ran his hands through his dark hair.
"Wow, that IS a tough one," he muttered sarcastically as he sank into his recliner. "So what are your plans tonight?"
"Got a date," he replied happily. "Hot chick... can't remember her name though." He shrugged. "It'll come to me." Chandler nodded absently, trying to remember last time he'd been on a date. Three months ago, he decided. Blind date, total disaster. He looked up as the door opened, and Rachel walked in.
"Hey, guys, whatcha doing?"
"Marveling at the wonder that is Joey," Chandler replied cynically. As Joey beamed proudly, Rachel laughed.
"Well, whatcha doing for the rest of the night?"
"I don't know about you two, but this marvel has a hot date," Joey stated, gloating.
"A hot date with..." Chandler prompted mockingly.
"Gina," he replied without missing a beat. His face lit up. "Gina! Ah-ha! Told ya I'd remember! Later!" With that, he left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Rachel turned to Chandler.
"And what about you... hot date tonight?"
"The fact that you even ask that question proves just how little you know me," Chandler remarked dryly. Rachel looked at him, frowning slightly. She never understood why he didn't have dates... he was cute, smart, and funny, and she knew tons of girls who wouldn't mind dating him. I guess he'd have to actually care for it to work, she thought to herself. She and Chandler had grown close after Monica's sudden disappearance, and although they were practically best friends, he would never let her push him into dating. It had taken a year and a half after Monica left to even get him to go out on a date. She shook her head, jolting back to reality.
"Well, how does pizza sound then?"
"Sounds good," he agreed amiably, getting up out of the recliner and grabbing his jacket. "Are Ross and Phoebe coming as well?"
"Nah... Ross had a convention at the museum and Phoebe's out with that guy again... you know, the one that talks to trees."
"Ah, yes," Chandler replied. "Who knew that there was actually someone else like Phoebe on this earth?" They'd met Phoebe when Rachel had put out an ad for a roommate, much like the way in which Chandler and Joey had met. The two had expanded on the close-knit trio of Chandler, Rachel, and Ross, which had resulted from Monica's departure, and the five had grown close over the years. Rachel laughed, and Chandler helped her into her coat as they left for the pizza place.
"Coming," Chandler called as he got out of his recliner to answer the door. He wondered who it could be, given that no one who ever came to see him actually knocked. He opened the door to reveal a young girl on the other side who stood with her back to him. She spun around and looked at him nervously. Immediately worried that Joey had done something stupid, Chandler broke the short silence. "Are you here for Joey?" The girl's brow furrowed in momentary confusion as she shook her head. Before she could speak, he continued. "Girl Scout Cookies?"
"I'm sixteen," she remarked matter-of-factly.
"Sorry," Chandler replied, blushing.
"No problem," she answered quietly. "I'm small for my age." A moment of awkward silence followed, eventually to be broken by Chandler.
"So... what can I do for you?" The girl seemed to snap back to reality as she cleared her throat nervously.
"I, um... I'm looking for Chandler Bing."
"Well, look no further," Chandler replied, curious as to who the girl was and what she wanted with him. Her nervousness seemed to fade momentarily and then return as she asked the next question uneasily.
"Great, is he home?"
"You're looking at him." The girl froze, and Chandler's slight smile faded as she stared at him. "Are, uh... are you okay?" She nodded and licked her lips, trying to find her voice. Once she had, however, she realized that she didn't have the slightest clue what to say. Noticing how tense she was, Chandler stepped back and opened the door wider. "Would you like to come in?" She simply nodded again and entered the apartment nervously. Once inside, the awkwardness reappeared instantly as they stared at each other uneasily, the girl trying to formulate a sentence and Chandler wondering who she was and what she wanted. She took a deep breath and paused a moment before she spoke.
"I'm Samantha," she said, offering her hand. "Sam."
"Chandler," he replied, accepting the handshake. "But you obviously know that already." She smiled uneasily as she cleared her throat.
"Okay... um... okay." She stammered as she tried to avoid his piercing eyes that were filled with confusion. "You don't know me," she eventually managed. "But I need your help." Chandler nodded, encouraging her to continue. "You don't know ME," she repeated, "but you knew my mother. Monica." Chandler froze at the mention of her name and stared at the girl before him. Sam paused, searching his face for an indication that he remembered the name, and when she was assured that he did, she continued. "Monica Geller." Chandler nodded weakly, leaning against the countertop behind him. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.
"You're Monica's daughter?" he whispered, trying to grasp what he had just been told. The girl nodded, and as she looked at him with an anxious look on her face, he could see the resemblance. She had Monica's crystal-clear blue eyes and her dark hair framed her face. And she was right, she was small for her age... just like Mon had been.
"Yeah," she answered, wondering how she was going to get to the point of her visit. "I'm looking for my father," she added simply, deciding that beating around the bush wouldn't do either of them any good. His eyes clouded as he straightened up, and Sam thought she could see a defensive look cross his face. "Well, I don't know who your father is," he replied coarsely. "I haven't seen her since she was nineteen."
"I know who my father is," she interrupted. "It's on my birth certificate. His name is Chandler Bing. You," she added for emphasis. He froze and stared at her, stunned and blank.
"No," he corrected her. "I haven't seen your mother since she was nineteen," he repeated. The girl looked away.
"Yeah, well, I was born when she was nineteen," she whispered. "March 2, 1990." She searched his face for some sign of understanding, and became increasingly nervous when he maintained the dazed look that had crossed his face when she had first told him. Not knowing what else to say, she stood motionless waiting for him to speak. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz that had taken over. The word "father" swam in his hazy mind as he looked back at the girl standing before him. Taking the eye contact as a positive sign, she continued. "Before you get really freaked out, I want to tell you that I'm not here looking for a long-lost father to take me in his arms and hug me or anything," she said quietly. "I just need you to do something really simple for me, and then I'll be gone and you won't have to see me again. I just need you to sign something." Chandler swallowed, trying to get his voice to work.
"Sit," he managed in a whisper, indicating toward the recliners. Sam nervously took a seat in one as he sat in the one next to her. Wringing his hands, he looked at her intently. She took a deep breath and resumed speaking.
"My mom... Monica... she was in an accident." She saw a flicker in his eyes and she wondered what he was thinking.
"Accident?" he repeated, the first word that he had managed to raise above a dry whisper. Sam nodded.
"Two weeks ago," she replied quietly, her eyes filling with tears. She averted her gaze so that he wouldn't see them. "Drunk driver ran a red light and smashed into her car. She's in a coma." Chandler's breath caught as he tried to let some of what he was being told sink in. Trying to get all of it out, Sam continued. "She, uh... well, we don't have any family, and being that we never saw this coming, there was never any indication made of what should happen to me in the event of her death." Her voice cracked on the last word and Chandler visibly flinched. She cleared her throat and went on. "If she... doesn't wake up, they're going to put me in a state home." Her voice had once again gone back to barely above a whisper and she was watching her hands as she spoke. "The only way I can avoid that is if I get my father to sign the papers saying that they can't do that. And, according to my birth certificate... that's you." She raised her eyes to look at him, praying that he wouldn't turn her down. In an attempt to reassure him, she added, "You'll never have to see me again. You won't be responsible for me or anything... I'll go back and be on my own. You won't have to support me or anything like that... it just makes me independent, saying that even though I'm a minor, I will be treated as legally self-sufficient..." She was cut off by Chandler motioning for her to stop. She quieted and gazed at him intently. After a few moments, just when Sam thought the silence was going to break her, he spoke.
"Where is she?"
"Hospital," Sam replied, confused.
"No, I mean..." he paused. "Where is she? Where in the country?"
"North Carolina," she answered. He nodded and sat in silence for a few moments. He then got up and headed back toward one of the bedrooms. As he got to the door, he turned to face her.
"I can't sign that," he told her quietly. Her face fell, but before she could speak, he continued. "I'm not going to let you go out and live on your own." She looked at him, puzzled. "Just let me pack," he said quietly, "and we'll get on the next plane to North Carolina." With that, he turned and went into his bedroom.
The uncomfortable silence was still present as they sat on the plane, Sam looking absently out the window and Chandler flipping nervously through a magazine. "Drink, sir?" Chandler jumped as the flight attendant hovered over him, her plastic smile fixed in place and her stale perfume overpowering him. He nodded.
"Just some mineral water, please."
"And for you, young lady?"
"Same, please," she answered in a small voice. The woman nodded efficiently and placed their drinks on their trays along with two packages of peanuts.
"If there's anything I can get y'all, be sure and let me know," she said cheerfully as she continued up the aisle.
"Thanks," Chandler replied, but she was gone. He turned to Sam. "Want my peanuts?"
"No, thanks... I was actually going to ask you the same thing." She smiled slightly, and Chandler reciprocated, glad that they had at least managed to momentarily break the silence. Hoping to avoid slipping back into it, he tried to think of something else to say, but he was interrupted when Sam beat him to the punch.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked uneasily.
"Doing what?" he inquired, wondering what she meant.
"Coming to see my mom. Now, sixteen years later... I mean, you could have just signed a paper and been done with it... what are you going to do?" Chandler was silent for a moment. The truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had to see Monica again. Even if, God forbid, she didn't get to see him.
"Look, Sam, I --" He was interrupted by the captain's voice over the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we ask that you please fasten your seatbelts as we begin our descent to Charlotte Douglas Airport and we thank you for flying USAir." Chandler sighed and complied, snapping his belt together. Sam's eyes once again drifted toward the view as she waited to watch for the runway. As he watched her, Chandler tried to figure out what he was going to tell her... and what he was going to say to Monica, given the chance. He wondered what she had been doing for the past sixteen years, apart from raising a child. He speculated on whether or not that was the real reason she'd left -- because she was pregnant. He'd thought he was over her and had moved on... after all, that was well over a decade ago. But seeing Sam, who so closely resembled her mother, and letting himself think about her again, he realized that an old quote he had heard was painfully true: "Time does not heal, it makes a half-stitched scar that can be broken and again you feel grief as total as in its first hour." Chandler felt as though all of his old emotions had come back in one forceful motion, knocking his feet out from under him and sending him into a spin. The heartache he had lived with for so long after the one and only woman he'd ever loved had disappeared. The anger he had felt toward her for breaking his heart and leaving him all alone. The guilt to which he had become accustomed as he wondered if it was his fault that Monica had deserted not only him but her friends and family as well. The hint of anticipation and trepidation that accompanied the knowledge that he was going to get to see her again, and, ultimately, the relief in finally knowing what had happened to her. He only hoped that he'd be given the chance to talk to her... that she wouldn't be taken from him again when he'd only just found her.
It was well past ten o'clock when they got to Monica and Sam's small apartment. As she fiddled with the lock, Chandler shifted his weight nervously as he stood behind her, wondering whether he should be staying in Monica's home. He didn't have much time to wonder, though, as Sam flung the door open and threw her bag into the apartment. She flicked a light switch as Chandler entered behind her and walked silently into the den, turning on another lamp and bending to check the answering machine. Chandler took the opportunity to look around him and take in as much as he could. The apartment was impeccably neat and yet it still looked comfortably lived-in. There was a wall with a window space that went through to the kitchen, and there was a small hallway that he assumed led to the bedrooms. He turned as a voice filled the room when Sam pushed the button on the machine. "Sam, it's Nicole. I just got your message... listen, I don't know if you've already left for New York or not, and I hope you get this before you go. I'm not sure that it's such a good idea... please call me when you get this, ok? Are you sure you don't want to stay with us for awhile? My mom's worried about you living alone. Okay, well anyway, call me, ok? I'll talk to you later, girl. Love ya." As the machine beeped, Chandler turned toward Sam.
"My best friend," she explained. He nodded. "You hungry?" He shrugged.
"If you want, we can get some take-out or something... my treat. What kind of restaurants do you have around here?"
"There's a Chinese delivery place just down the street," she replied. "They do a really good Szechuan dish." He nodded again.
"Sounds good to me."
Half an hour later, they were seated at the kitchen table eating the food that had arrived a short while before. "So... what do you do?" Sam asked, trying to ease the tension that had settled in again.
"Data processor," he replied. "Really boring... I'd suggest avoiding that if you can." She shrugged.
"I'm going to be a photographer," she replied. "I want to be a freelancer... take pictures of whatever I find. There's just... something captivating about how you can find something through a lens..." she drifted off and blushed when she realized that he was staring at her. "Sorry," she mumbled, taking another mouthful of her dinner.
"No, please, don't be embarrassed," he reassured her. "You were just like your mother then." He mentally scolded himself. "Well, I mean, like how I remember her." He groaned and closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, Sam looked at him gravely.
"What was she like?" Chandler looked at her questioningly.
"Your mother? You mean when I knew her?" Sam nodded.
"When she was younger. What was she like... before me?"
Chandler hesitated, not knowing what she already knew or didn't know about her mother. "Well, what do you know about her past?"
Sam looked at him evenly. "Okay," she said simply. "How about this: I tell you everything that you want to know, and then you do the same for me? I want to know about her past because she never talks about it. And you probably want to know about her life now, right?"
Chandler, surprised at her candor, nodded. "I also want to know about you," he said gently. She looked at him, perplexed.
"Me? Why?"
"Because..." He paused. "I'm your father." He noted how the world caught in his throat and the way in which she tensed when he said it. He waited for her reaction, wondering how she would respond. She was silent. "Do you know anything about me?" he asked, wondering what Monica had told her, if anything. Sam shook her head slowly, not looking at him.
"Like I said, she'd never really talk about it. I didn't even know your name until I found my birth certificate. I remember asking her once when I was ten why I didn't have a father and it made her cry. I always hated seeing her upset, so I never brought it up again." She looked at him, almost demanding an explanation with her eyes. "So?"
Chandler sighed and put down his fork. He wondered if he should fill in the gaps, but when he looked up and into Sam's silently pleading eyes, he realized that there was no way he could deny her requests for information. He took a deep breath and began.
"Well, I first met your mother... Monica... in 1987. Thanksgiving. My parents weren't around, so Ross invited me to dinner."
"Is this the same Ross that was my mom's brother?" Sam interrupted. Chandler noted the fact that she had said "was" instead of "is," and wondered momentarily what Ross would say when he found out what had happened with Monica.
"Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "Your uncle. So anyway, I didn't see her again until the following year. Ross was spending a semester in Egypt, and I decided to take some of his stuff from the dorm back to his parents' house. Your grandparents," he added as an afterthought. She nodded eagerly, waiting for him to continue. "Mon was still in high school... it was her senior year. I asked her out, and we started dating. By her prom, we were pretty serious and she told me that night that she was going to go to NYU in the fall, which is where Ross and I were going to school." He smiled as he remembered how happy he'd been to hear that she would be with him. "Well, we were together for her entire freshman year, my junior year, and we were practically inseparable. Then, when the semester ended, she disappeared and I never heard anything from or about her again."
"Until now," Sam replied in a small voice.
"Yeah," Chandler said softly. "'Till now." Sam sat quietly, letting it all sink in. There was so much more that she wanted to know, but she knew that what she'd been told already was at least a start and she didn't want to press too hard. After a few moments of silence, Chandler spoke again. "So... what's she like now?" Sam was quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say.
"Well, she's a chef," she began. Chandler smiled, remembering how he'd told her that she should be one at that Thanksgiving so long ago. "She's a wonderful mother, my best friend... a compulsive cleaner and a stickler for homework." She paused, not knowing where else to go. She didn't want to say anything that she thought her mother wouldn't want her to reveal, and being that she had barely known Chandler for more than 48 hours, she was reluctant to tell him too many personal details. Chandler seemed to recognize this, and so he tried a new approach.
"What about you?" Sam hesitated before replying.
"Well, there's not much to tell about me. I'm sixteen, I like photography, art, music, and poetry. I'm a junior in high school, which I hate, but I can't wait to go to college. Umm..." she racked her brain, trying to think of something else to tell him. Before she could come up with anything, he finished for her.
"You're beautiful," he said quietly. "Just like your mother was." Sam looked up at him, surprised, and then looked away as her eyes filled with tears.
"She still is," she replied softly. Hearing her voice shake, Chandler reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, coaxing her to look at him. As she did, he felt his heart wrench as he saw her blue eyes glisten with tears and a look that seemed to be a combination of fear and hope. He could see Monica in her face, and he felt as though someone were twisting his heart. Sam looked embarrassed and stood up. "Well, you can sleep in my room and I'll sleep in Mom's," she said quickly.
"No, don't give up your room, I can sleep on the couch, it's fine," he argued.
"Trust me... that couch is NOT comfortable. It's fine, really... I'm sorry that my bed's only a single, though." She turned and grabbed his duffel that he had placed by the door and headed toward the bedrooms. "This way." He hurriedly dumped his plate in the sink and followed her toward one of the rooms.
Sam smiled cautiously as he entered the kitchen the next morning. "Morning," she greeted with a small smile. He smiled back.
"Hey."
"Sleep well?"
"Yeah... thanks for letting me use your room."
"Eh, don't mention it... I like my mom's room anyway... double bed." She smiled and indicated toward the counter in front of her. "Want some coffee?"
"Sure," Chandler said, taking a seat at the table. "You drink coffee?"
"Yeah," she replied with a small laugh. "It's one of the few legal stimulants for a minor." He grinned, and realized, pleased, that although it was short, it was the first time he'd heard her laugh. She turned to smile at him and after a few minutes her brow furrowed and she turned back to the counter. "Could this thing BE any slower?" Chandler's eyes flickered when he heard it. She spoke the same way he did. The way that made Ross and Joey poke fun at him. He almost smiled again, but his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of her voice. Her back still turned to him, she spoke in a low voice. "You know, before I met you, I almost hated you."
Chandler's eyes snapped open and he tensed. Not knowing what to say, he remained silent. "I realize that I didn't even know you, but still... My mom never told me who you were or what you were like. She also never told me about the circumstances of your relationship, so I guess I just always assumed that she got pregnant and her boyfriend ditched her. I didn't realize that she was the one who left." She turned to face him again, waiting for some response. She wasn't sure what she wanted to hear, but she at least wanted to hear something. Chandler stood up and moved so that he was in front of her.
"Look, I can understand that. My father ran out on me and my mom, and I still haven't forgiven him for it. I hated him for wrecking my family, for being the reason that I had a dysfunctional childhood. And I'm sorry that you've had to live without a father. But..." he paused momentarily, realizing that although he had to continue, he was afraid of doing so. He took a deep breath and continued. "But you don't have to keep living without one." He searched her face for a reaction and was relieved when she smiled. She dropped her gaze to the floor and fussed with the dishcloth that she was holding.
"Are you sure you want a daughter, though?" she asked him, terrified that he'd say no. "I mean, are you sure you want one who's almost grown already?"
He looked at her sadly. "Just because I missed out on your childhood, doesn't mean that I can't still be your dad," he said softly. "I know that I missed out on a lot, but I don't want to miss out on any more." He stood nervously before her, waiting for a response. Suddenly, he felt her throw her arms around his neck and bury her face in his chest. He timidly held on to her, feeling a wave of emotions so powerful that it wasn't until a few moments later that he realized he was crying, overcome by the emotion that accompanied the first hug between father and daughter.
"Okay... Dad." She mumbled. He felt himself grinning through his tears when he heard the word and silently hugged her tighter.