Chapter 3
Everyone stayed in their pajamas for most of the morning, lounging around the apartment but keeping mostly to themselves. Once Joey had realized that the storm meant he couldn't go home, either, he had slumped into the armchair in the living room, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a boy. Every few minutes he would sigh audibly, until finally Rachel yelled at him to shut up.
Phoebe had tried to make some kind of breakfast for everyone, but gave up when the only thing she could think of that didn't require cooking was fruit salad, and the only fruit in the apartment was a pair of apples. She tried slicing them extra thin so it would look like there was more apple, but kept narrowly missing her thumb and finally just took a big bite out of one of them.
By noon, everyone was in a thoroughly grumpy mood. And then the general crankiness was bumped up a notch, or 10, when Chandler decided he'd had enough sleep, and joined everyone in the living room, staking out a spot on the couch. Monica conceded to his request only after he snapped at her, hinting that maybe she actually liked keeping him sick because it made her feel needed. She had to remind herself that the nurse said a nasty temper was a common side effect of a head injury.
Once he was settled on the couch, two blankets wrapped around him and his feet propped up on the table, Chandler set about making everyone around him unhappy. Monica had warned everyone else to expect a bad mood, but with all of their tempers flaring, it wasn't a pretty sight. After just 30 minutes, Chandler had managed to offend every one of them, and Phoebe looked like she was going to slap him, concussion or not.
"OK, who's ready for lunch?" Monica announced, just as Phoebe's face was starting to turn a very unnatural shade of angry pink. "I'm making more sandwiches, but everyone has to get into some real clothes." Removing everyone from the scene, at least temporarily, seemed like the best plan, she figured. And it worked. Soon Chandler was alone in the living room, staring grumpily at the black TV screen.
"You hungry?" Monica asked, not at all surprised to win an instant glare from her boyfriend.
"You watched me puke all night. Do you really want me to go through that all over again? Are you just that cruel?" he said.
"How about a little bit of juice then?"
"Fine," Chandler said, slumping down into the cushions. Monica had noticed that he was blinking more frequently, and suspected he'd be asleep soon. And sure enough, when she ducked around the corner of the couch to offer him the juice, he was out cold.
After lunch the gang settled around the coffee table for a game of Monopoly. Chandler was still asleep, so they slid his feet off of the table and onto the couch, then pulled the table out and sat on the floor around it, doling out the game pieces and money.
Monica decided not to play. She had realized while making lunch that her gas stove and oven were still working despite the blackout; they had only lost their electricity. At the same time, she saw in the refrigerator that the salmon she had bought for her dinner with Chandler tonight probably wasn't going to make it through the night if the power stayed off. There were only two slabs of fish, but she figured she could dice them up and, along with some roasted vegetables and some rice, make a decent meal for everyone tonight. For dessert she would make a pie, which she could get started on now.
As she gathered the ingredients, she couldn't help but feel angry and disappointed at the way the holiday was turning out. She was angry at herself, in fact, because she kept thinking about what a waste it was to prepare this dinner for her friends, instead of Chandler. But they were her friends, she reminded herself. Before she and Chandler had hooked up, she would have been secretly pleased at this change of events, to host everyone and treat them all to a special holiday feast. And instead she was mad at them, almost blaming them for spoiling her plans when she knew they couldn't help it. They didn't even know they were spoiling anything.
It just made matters worse, of course, that Chandler was hurt. She hated seeing him sick and in pain, and especially not acting at all like himself. She wanted nothing more than to cuddle quietly with him on the couch, spoiling him with kisses. And instead she had to settle for mothering him in front of everyone. Speaking of which, she turned to remind everyone to keep quiet, then saw that Chandler was so deeply asleep that nothing would jar him. She considered briefly that it might be better to move him back to her bed, but, despite his bad temper from this morning, she could tell that he preferred to stay in the living room with his friends.
Monica sighed as she beat the sugar and butter for her pie by hand. It was probably a good thing she couldn't use the electric mixer, she figured. Maybe the strenuous stirring would use up some of this nervous energy.
It was nearly 6 o'clock before the four players hit their first shouting match over the game.
The game board was lit by six candles set up along the perimeter. Chandler was still dozing on the couch, not quite asleep. He had tried reading earlier but found that he kept looking at the same sentence over and over _ he couldn't get the words to make any sense. Trying to join in on the game wasn't any better. He kept trying to keep track of the money exchanging hands, growing frustrated when he couldn't do even simple math. And offering advice to Phoebe, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, was just making him frustrated. Her strategy, after all, was to buy only the properties named after states.
He was jolted fully awake by Rachel's shouts.
"Joey! You just gave Ross $1,000!"
"No I didn't," Joey said, a little too quickly.
"Yes, you did. I totally saw you. You tried to hand it to him all sneaky, when you shook his hand." Phoebe was staring at both men now, her head swiveling side to side with a shocked look on her face. Joey caught her eye and shook his head furiously.
"No, no, no, we were just, you know, shaking hands."
"Shaking hands over a game of Monopoly?"
"Sure, Rachel. You know, 'Congratulations, Joey, your hotels look spectacular today,'" Ross said, flashing a weak grin at Rachel.
"You two are such cheaters," Rachel insisted. "It's almost Christmas and you're cheating. Well, it's just like Ross to cheat, but I expected better from Joey."
"I cheat? You expected better from Joey? Joey?!" Ross stammered, rising to his knees and leaning over the table toward Rachel.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Joey demanded, standing up. "Are you trying to say I cheat? Do you really want to start with me, man? I just gave you $1,000."
"Oh, come on, Ross, you've always cheated," Rachel said, ignoring Joey. "And I should know that better than anyone."
"Hey, guys, knock it off," Monica called out, walking toward the back of the couch.
"You admit it!" Phoebe said, pointing an accusatory finger at Joey. "Joey Tribiani, I was willing to believe that Rachel made up the whole cheating thing, but you did it! What were you thinking? This is an honest game!"
"You thought I made it up?" Rachel asked, sending a hurt look toward Phoebe before she decided she was still angrier at Ross and shot him another glare.
"What do you mean, you should know better than anyone?" Ross yelled. "I never cheated on you."
"Ross, it's been three years. Can you just finally admit that you cheated on me?" Rachel said. "My God, we could've been over all this by now if you had just admitted it."
"Oh my God," Chandler said, loudly enunciating every word and interrupting Ross's response. "Haven't you two broken up enough already?"
"We're not even dating anymore," Rachel said, still glaring at Ross.
"That's my point," Chandler said, his voice rising in pitch as his frustration grew. "It's bad enough dealing with you two when you're actually going out. Can't you please just get along?"
Ross was about to challenge Chandler when he glanced at his friend and saw how tired he looked, and then noticed the worried, pained faces of the rest of his friends as they watched him and Rachel fight.
"You're right," he said softly. "I'm sorry I cheated. At Monopoly," he added quickly, as Rachel's head shot up.
Rachel, caught off guard by his sudden admission, leaned away from the table and nodded shortly. "I'm sorry too. I mean, you guys were cheating, but I didn't have to make such a big deal out of it."
But before anyone else could say anything, she spoke up again.
"I'm sorry. It's just that this sucks," Rachel moaned. "I should be with my family today. The last few Christmases have been so crappy, splitting time between my mom and dad, my sisters not even bothering to come around. And this year my dad was out of town so for once it was supposed to be just us girls. It's been so long since I looked forward to Christmas, and now I'm just stuck here anyway.
"Sorry," she added quickly at the hurt looks on everyone's faces. "You know I love you guys. But come on, this day was a big deal for me."
"Well, what about me?" Ross asked. "Tomorrow's supposed to be my first Christmas morning with Ben. I even bought a bunch of stuff for his stocking, and I was going to wrap special presents from Santa Claus and get up real early with him. And now I'm like some sort of deadbeat dad or something, won't even pick him up for Christmas."
"Hey, it's not your fault," Phoebe said, patting his arm. "My dad missed all my Christmases, and I don't hold it against him at all."
"Phoebs, you write hateful songs about him," Ross said. "Remember 'Daddy, Why'd You Abandon Me on Christmas'?"
"What, you got from that song that I don't like my dad? What kind of a moron are you?" Phoebe asked, rolling her eyes.
"I want to go home!" Joey suddenly yelled, rubbing his eyes and pouting. "My grandmother makes the best Christmas mashed potatoes. The best!"
"Joey, I'm sure they'll save some potatoes for you," Monica said.
"Besides, you get to see your sisters and your mom every year," Rachel said, pouting herself now.
"What, you think your holiday plans were more important than mine?" Joey demanded.
"It's just that you do the same thing every year, and this year was supposed to be special for me," Rachel said.
"Well it was special for me too," Ross said.
"Yeah, and I was really looking forward to Joey's grandmother telling me I look like a strange hippie again," Phoebe added to the growing uproar.
"We were all hoping to spend Christmas morning with Ben," Monica said, defending her brother. "I even bought him that expensive Lego set he saw on TV."
"You did? Mon, that's so sweet," Ross said, before turning on Rachel and Joey. "You see, very special! We had Legos!"
"It took me two months to find the right sandals for my sister," Rachel yelled.
"I didn't buy my sisters anything," Joey said, just for the sake of yelling.
"And I didn't buy them anything, either," Phoebe shouted.
"Hey, kids, kids, um, excuse me, head injury," Chandler said, loud enough to interrupt the fighting.
"Maybe I didn't have any exciting plans," he added, darting a nervous glance at Monica, "but I think major head trauma wins the title for the crappiest Christmas contest."
"Ha! Major head trauma," Phoebe said. Seeing the shocked looks on her friends' faces, she added, "What? He wasn't even bleeding."
"Besides," Joey said, "you'd just find something to whine about anyway." Everyone nodded, agreeing. Chandler folded his arms and sighed loudly, but didn't bother arguing with them. Raising his voice, he had just learned, landed him with stabbing pains behind his eyes.
"And you already have dibs on all the worst Thanksgivings," Rachel said, oblivious to the fact that Chandler wasn't going to participate in this argument. "It's not fair for you to claim the bad Christmases, too."
"Yeah, what's left for the rest of us?" Ross asked. "What, we get, 'You wouldn't believe the horrible Labor Day I had'? Or, 'Oh my God, my Fourth of July just sucked this year'?"
"Hey, come on, guys, he's got a concussion," Monica said, trying to defend Chandler.
"You don't know that! You can't prove it," Joey yelled back at her.
"Prove it? I shouldn't have to prove it. Just look at him," Monica said, pointing to Chandler, who was looking tired and pale and didn't even bother to open his eyes at the mention of his name.
"Fine, he's not feeling well, but we're all having a pretty bad time, and my poor mom must be worried sick about me," Rachel said.
"Your mom? What about my son? How will he sleep tonight if he's worried about his daddy?" Ross challenged her.
"Ross, he's 4 years old," Joey said. "He won't even miss you. But my grandmother-"
Phoebe let them all argue for another minute before she crossed to the kitchen and grabbed two pots, then walked into the middle of the living room and banged them together three times. Chandler shoved his hands to his ears and ducked his head into his chest, shutting his eyes tightly.
"Sorry, Chandler," Phoebe said, seeing the pain on his face. "Will you guys please stop it. Monica is making this fabulous dinner for us and we're in this terrific, cozy apartment with people that we love. Why the hell are you all complaining?
"Well-"
"It's just that-"
"Phoebe-"
"You don't-"
"I said," Phoebe called out, "why are you complaining?" Her eyes narrowed and she slowly rotated her head, staring down everyone in the room, one at a time.
The oven timer suddenly blared, jolting everyone.
"Well, dinner's read," Monica announced, glad for the interruption. "Ross, Joey, why don't you guys clear off the coffee table. Rachel, Phoebe, you can help me get the plates out."
Everyone grumbled and Ross, Rachel and Joey looked like they were primed for more fighting, but they all set about their assigned tasks anyway. Fifteen minutes later, everyone but Chandler was bunched around the table, which was lit with about a dozen candles whose flames danced playfully from the motion of everyone sitting down and spooning food onto their plates.
Rachel and Phoebe shared the side opposite the couch, Monica sat in front of Chandler and the guys were perched on either end of the table. At first it was unnaturally quiet, the scrape of forks on the plates and the shifting of bowls around the table sounding unusually loud. Chandler, still huddled on the couch with only a bowl of rice in his lap _ he was still feeling nauseous _ was tempted to lighten the mood with a joke, but was a little scared to realize that he couldn't come up with anything. His thoughts just kept flying through his head, things to say flashing by before he could spit them out of his mouth.
But within just a few minutes Joey interrupted the silence with a rave about Monica's food, and then a request for Ross to please, just one more time, explain how she was able to cook when the electricity was out. It seemed Joey had never realized there was a difference between gas and electricity.
Before long everyone was laughing and chatting amicably again. Chandler leaned back on the couch and enjoyed the warm rumble of conversation, finding it too difficult to follow specific discussions. Monica would periodically lean away from the table, pressing her back against the arm lying at his side, so he could reach his hand up subtly and stroke her neck or her hair. Chandler knew he should feel terrible about their ruined dinner plans, but he was frankly too sleepy, his thoughts too fuzzy, to care. He was just enjoying being near her now.
By 9 the dinner plates had been cleared and Monica was in the kitchen tidying up in the spare light she could get from the candles. Joey and Chandler were dozing, Chandler still on the couch, Joey sprawled in the armchair, his head resting against the back cushion and his mouth wide open as though he were stuck in a perpetual yawn. Phoebe had tucked herself on the end of the couch, propping Chandler's legs on her lap while she painted his toenails. Monica had started to stop her from doing that, but then shrugged and just handed her a pink shade of nail polish she thought would look good with his skin tone.
Rachel, seeing that everyone was preoccupied, nudged Ross's shoulder _ he was trying to read a book with the light from one candle near the Christmas tree _ and motioned for him to follow her into the hallway. Monica and Phoebe pretended not to notice them leaving.
The hallway was so dark that Rachel left the door slightly ajar, allowing just enough candlelight to creep out that she could see the outline of Ross's face.
"I, uh, I just wanted to apologize. For earlier. I mean, it's almost Christmas, and I was just being mean and cranky, and you didn't deserve that," she stuttered in one breath. "Things have just been a little difficult, well, difficult lately, and I really was looking forward to getting away for a few days, I thought maybe it would give me some time to think and escape at the same time, and I guess I was just at the end of my patience.
"I just want to make sure we're OK," she continued, looking up at him though she couldn't see the features of his face. "Are we OK?"
"Yeah, of course we're OK," Ross said without thinking. "Rach, you have to know, no matter what, we're always OK. It hasn't exactly been easy for me lately-"
"I know, that's why I feel so terrible," she interrupted.
"No, that's not what I meant. It's just that, these past few months have been really bad, and you've been such a good friend, and you didn't have to. You've been great. More than I could have asked for. So if you want to take a few minutes and explode or something, that's fine. I'm just sorry I got mad at you."
"God, look at us," Rachel said, almost laughing. "A few hours ago I could barely stand to look at you. And now I really can't look at you," she continued, her hands gesturing in the near complete darkness, "and here we are tripping over ourselves apologizing."
"I know, it's kinda silly," Ross said, and she could tell just from his silhouette that he was grinning.
"But I really am sorry," he added, reaching his hand out to touch her face, his thumb tracing her jaw.
"Ross-" Rachel started, almost stepping back even as he moved his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her toward him.
He leaned down to kiss her, but in the dark missed her lips entirely and ended up planting himself on her nose. He started to laugh and back away, but Rachel just grabbed his face between both her hands, and then almost frantically kissed him, pulling him even closer to her and wrapping her arms around his neck.
And then the oven timer went off.
"Dessert's ready!" Monica called from the kitchen.
