Rachel rolled over in bed, ducking her head into the pillow as her closed eyes fell into an unfamiliar patch of morning sunlight. She woke up slowly. She hadn't forgotten where she was. She didn't feel the usual disorientation from waking in a strange bed, opening her eyes to a strange room. She stayed lying on her side, staring out the window. They'd left the blinds open all night.
It had been two weeks since Chandler had proposed, and everyone had seen it coming, but Rachel still couldn't believe they were engaged. Over the past six years, everyone in her close group of friends had grown so comfortable in their well-established roles. Even when Monica and Chandler had coupled off, not a lot had changed. She had barely noticed the closeness, the intimacy, growing between them. She wondered if that was how the others had felt about her and Ross.
But everything had been different then. They'd been so much younger. She could see that now. It wasn't so much a matter of maturity; it was expectations. Monica and Chandler hadn't just grown up. It was more that they simply had a better idea of who they were and what they wanted. What they expected. And as she lay in bed, staring out the window, Rachel wondered what she expected.
She was grateful when her thoughts, which were about to take a sour turn, were interrupted by a sleepy grunt from behind her. She didn't turn toward the sound, but accepted the arm that wrapped itself around her chest.
"Morning," Ross mumbled into her back.
"Mmm, morning. What time is it?"
"Who cares? It's Saturday."
"I know. But if I don't get back before Joey wakes up, I'll never hear the end of it." She didn't make any move to get out of bed.
"So he thinks you got some action. What's the big deal?" Ross asked, pulling her closer to him and kissing her neck.
"He'll want details. He'll bug me until I tell him how good the sex was."
"And," Ross started.
"You're not going to ask me how good you were. I think I made it pretty obvious how good you were."
"I think the neighbors know how good I am," Ross said. "In fact, if Monica and Chandler left their windows open, they probably know how good I am."
Rachel rolled onto her back and glanced sideways at Ross. His eyes were closed and his fingers played lightly across her stomach. She kissed him once on the mouth then pushed his hand away and sat up, pulling a blanket at the end of the bed around her. Ross opened his eyes.
"No, don't go yet," he said, his fingers sliding around her forearm. "Come on, stay a little longer?"
"Ross, I wasn't even supposed to spend the night," she said, standing up and picking up clothes that were scattered around the room. "It was just supposed to be a few hours of fun." She didn't add what she was thinking. He took care of that.
"I know, no attachment, just sex." They both knew it wouldn't be that easy. Already she'd spent the night. One rule broken.
"That's right," Rachel said firmly. She conceded a glance to him then ducked into the bathroom to put on her clothes. Ross collapsed back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, at the dark water stains from a leak that must have occurred years ago. He'd never noticed the stains before, but in the bright sunlight, they were obvious.
Rachel came back out a few minutes later, the skirt and tank top she'd worn the day before wrinkled from a night on his floor. But she looked stunning, he thought. She smiled at him.
"Well, that was fun," she said, sitting on his side of the bed. "Thank you."
Ross nodded. "You're right about these fingers," he said, splaying his hands out in front of them. "They're near magical, aren't they?"
"Mmmm, yes they are." Rachel closed her eyes and sighed.
"Did I ever tell you what my piano teacher said about my fingers? In the sixth grade? She said I could've been a pro with these fingers." Rachel laughed.
"Yes, you told me. But I'd rather not think about 12-year-old Ross with those fingers. Not after what they did last night."
Ross smiled sheepishly at her and they sat in a moment of comfortable silence.
"I've really got to get going," Rachel said suddenly, glancing at Ross's alarm clock. It was a little after 8. "I'll see you later?"
"Yeah, of course," he said. "And thanks. I had fun too."
Rachel smiled and left.
+++++
When Rachel showed up at Monica and Chandler's a few hours later, she was surprised to find them lounging with Phoebe in the kitchen over a late breakfast. It wasn't like Monica to sleep in.
"Guess we weren't the only ones who had a late night," Monica said to Chandler, as Rachel sat at the table and helped herself to a plate of pancakes.
"Oh, you're finally having sex again?" Phoebe asked. "Good for you."
Rachel laughed. "You make it sound like a conscious decision, Phoebs. Like I decided to rediscover my virginity. But actually, no, I'm pathetic. I just got caught up in the book I was reading and didn't get to sleep until like 3 or 4." She'd already come up with her excuse, so it hardly felt like lying.
"Well, reading is good, too," Chandler said, patting her hand. "Sometimes, you know, a good book can be better than sex."
"Yeah, especially the kind that Rachel reads," Phoebe said.
Everyone laughed but Rachel, who ignored them and flooded her plate of pancakes with syrup.
"So, what are you all up to today?" she asked.
"I'm watching the game over at Ross's," Chandler said.
"What game?" Phoebe asked.
"No idea," Chandler said. "It's spring, so, what, tetherball?"
"Oooh, I was the tetherball champion in the third grade," Monica said.
"Is that even a televised sport?" Rachel asked. "It's probably a baseball game today."
"Yeah, sure, could be," Chandler said. "I don't know. Does it really matter? Basically we're just going to drink beer and watch TV. What about you guys?"
"Well, let's see, it's May 31st, that's the last day of the month, so of course Monica's sorting the mail and paying bills," Phoebe said.
"I can answer for myself," Monica said indignantly.
Rachel offered her a sly smile. "OK, Mon, what are you doing today?"
Monica glared at her then stood up and started clearing the dishes without answering the question.
"What about you, Rach? Any plans?" Chandler asked, smiling as he handed Monica his plate.
"Eh, not really. Maybe I'll just hang out here today. Watching Monica be productive makes me feel useful."
"Oh, oh, I know what you can do," Phoebe said. "You can help me pick out a turtle."
"A turtle? You're bringing it here? What are you gonna do with a turtle, Phoebe?" Monica asked, trying to keep the edge of panic out of her voice. Chandler laughed and joined her at the sink, giving her a quick hug to calm her down then grabbing a towel to help dry dishes.
"I think what Monica's trying to say, Phoebe, is that there's no way in hell you're bringing a turtle into her home," he said.
"What's up with people acting like they know what I'm thinking today?" Monica demanded. "I do have a voice, you know."
Chandler patted her hand and said, "Of course you do, sweetie." Monica frowned at him and swatted his hand away.
"So I can get a turtle?" Phoebe asked.
"No way in hell."
+++++
When Chandler got home later that afternoon, he found Monica sitting at the kitchen table, even stacks of mail surrounding her, a checkbook and calculator at her side. She looked up and smiled at him.
"How was the game?"
"It was great. This one guy chopped a log in half in six seconds. Six seconds!"
"What were you watching?"
"Timber sports. You know, we really need to get the Nashville network." Chandler dropped his keys next to the phone. An envelope on the counter caught his attention.
"I love the lumberjack competitions. Did they do that thing where they race to climb a tree?" Monica asked, punching at the calculator with the end of a pencil.
"Huh? Oh, um, they cut down the trees," Chandler said absently. He picked up the open envelope and pulled out the card inside.
Monica put down her pencil and stared quizzically at him. "Yeah, I know how timber sports work. Did they have tag-team sawing?"
Chandler glanced up at her. "What? Oh, I don't know. Where'd this come from?" He held up the envelope.
Monica looked up again and squinted at the paper in his hand. She grinned at him. "It's a wedding invitation. Somehow it ended up in the junk mail. Good thing I always sort through the piles before throwing it all away."
"Yeah, good thing," Chandler muttered. He knew exactly how the envelope had ended up with the junk mail.
"So who's Eric, um, what was his last name again?"
"Kittredge. We used to call him Kit," Chandler said. "Why are you opening my mail anyway?"
Monica laughed. "Take a look at the envelope, smart guy. It's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Chandler Bing. Usually I don't like it when people leave out the woman's name, but you know, that has kind of a nice ring to it."
Chandler didn't say anything. He nodded, touched Monica briefly on the shoulder as he crossed the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.
"So this groom, who is he?" Monica asked. "How do you know each other?"
"High school," Chandler said simply, still digging around in the refrigerator.
"How'd he know we were engaged?" Monica asked. She couldn't recall Chandler calling any friends to tell them the news. As far as she knew, he hadn't even told his family yet.
"He doesn't," Chandler said, popping open a Snapple and leaning against the counter. "I think it's supposed to be a joke. I used to always say I'd never get married."
"Well then, Kit will be in for quite the surprise when we see him at the wedding."
"What?" Chandler said, choking briefly on his drink. "We, um, we can't go to the wedding. It's in two weeks. We should've RSVPed a long time ago. Right?"
"No," Monica said, turning back to her bills. "The invitation says to let them know by Monday. We could send it in today and be OK."
Behind her, Chandler looked desperate. He set his drink on the counter and swiped a hand across his mouth. A few moments passed before he spoke up again.
"I forgot," he announced. "I have plans that weekend."
"You do not," Monica said.
"How do you know?"
"Because you never have any plans. And if you did, they'd involve me or our friends, and I'd know about them."
She had a point. Chandler sighed loudly and closed his eyes, hunting for more excuses. Just as he started to try another one on her, Monica cut him off.
"Do you not want to go to the wedding?" Chandler nodded. "OK, if you don't want to go, we don't have to."
Chandler's face fell into a relaxed smile immediately, and he stepped over to Monica and kissed her before practically skipping out of the kitchen. He plopped onto the couch and picked up a magazine. Monica waited a few seconds then followed him, sliding next to him on the couch.
"Come on, let's go," she begged.
Chandler sighed and looked up at the clock. "Thirty seconds. That's pretty good, honey."
"It'll be fun," she said, ignoring his comment. "I can finally meet some of your friends."
"I have five friends, and you know all of them very well," Chandler argued.
"You know what I mean," she said, tucking a leg underneath her and turning so she could face him. "Your old friends. High school friends. Maybe this'll be like a high school reunion."
"There's a reason I didn't go to the real high school reunion," Chandler said. "I went to an all boys school, remember? It wasn't like I could gloat in front of all the girls who wouldn't date me back then."
"And what exactly would you have been gloating about?" Monica teased. "It's not like you had me to show off."
Chandler frowned at her, so she continued in a more appeasing tone. "Come on, I just want to meet some of your old friends, find out what you were like in high school. I feel like I don't know anything about your past."
"You know plenty about my past," he argued. "My God, isn't a cross-dressing father and a sex-addict mom enough for you? Or, or, couldn't we just look through my photo album again?"
"Chandler, your photo album is just sad. It's only half full, and it ends at your 10th birthday party."
"Ah yes, the big 1-0," Chandler said, his lips pulling into a thin smile. "Dad's date was my babysitter, who also happened to be a linebacker on the high school football team. Yeah, that was the year Mom decided we were better off not taking any more family pictures. Ever."
"You know all about what I was like in high school," Monica said, ignoring his last comment. "I mean, you've seen the live-action videos of the fattest prom ever. Now it's my turn to find out about you. Please, let's just go."
"You already sent in the RSVP, didn't you?" Chandler said, his eyes crinkling in suspicion. Monica looked shocked and offended for a moment, and then nodded.
"All right. Yes, I already sent it in," she said. "I'm sorry. I really didn't think you'd mind. And it sounds like fun. Besides, you said when you proposed to me that you'd do anything to make me happy, and this would make me very happy."
"How long are you going to hold that over me?"
"For as long as we're married."
"Thank God the divorce rate is like 60 percent," Chandler said under his breath. But then he sighed and pulled Monica into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "This is important to you, huh?"
"Yeah, it is."
"OK then," he said. "We can go."
Monica wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, settling her head into his chest.
"I promise, this'll be fun," she said, looking up at him and grinning. "We can make fun of her wedding dress and the reception decorations, which will probably be really tacky. I mean, it's at a rec center. How lame is that?"
"You sure you don't want to just go with Rachel?" Chandler asked, not entirely kidding. "You two can rip apart the whole bridal party. Might be more fun than meeting a bunch of my high school band friends."
"Are you kidding?" Monica asked, kissing him briefly on the lips and standing up. "I wouldn't miss band camp stories for the world."
+++++
Monica repeated her sentiment the next day to Rachel and Joey over lunch in their apartment.
"I just don't it get it," she said. "Why wouldn't he want to go to his friend's wedding?"
"I don't know, Monica. Maybe they weren't that close," Rachel said.
"They were close enough for him to get invited. Which means, closer than you and me." Monica smiled bitterly at her.
"Oh, come on, is it my fault we drifted apart?"
"Actually, yeah," Monica said. "I tried calling you, and writing you, and-"
"OK, never mind, it doesn't matter now," Rachel bristled. "Besides, would you really have wanted to see me leave some guy at the altar? It wasn't exactly one of my shining moments."
"Are you kidding? That would've been the best non-wedding ever."
"Yeah, even I'm a little mad I didn't get invited," Joey said, his words muffled over a bite of sandwich.
"Joey, I didn't even know you then."
"Look, back to Chandler," Monica said, interrupting Joey's reply. "Joey, do you know any reason why he wouldn't want to see his high school friends?"
"Honey, everyone has horrible stuff from high school they don't like talking about," Rachel said, answering for Joey.
"But he knows everything about me."
"Everything?" Joey asked.
"Yeah, uh, Mon, does he know about that time the cop came up to you on a Friday night in the park? He thought you were parking with a boy, but you were actually alone in the car, just you and a large pizza?"
"That happened?" Joey asked. Monica cringed and nodded. "Dude, that's sad."
"Or the time you thought Jamie Whitmore had asked you out, but he really just wanted to-"
"OK, OK, I get the idea, he doesn't know everything," Monica conceded.
"But he will," Joey said, laughing.
"Thanks, Rachel."
"Look, I'm just saying, from the little bit Chandler has told us about his teen years, it doesn't sound like there's a lot to brag about," Rachel said.
"You're right, I'll go easy on him at the wedding."
"God, no, that's not what I meant," Rachel said. "I mean, as long as you're there, get as much dirt as you can."
+++++
Alone in her apartment later that night, Rachel sat on Joey's recliner, phone in hand.
She really wanted it to have just been one night with Ross. She had been serious when she told him it was supposed to be just a few hours of fun. But barely 48 hours after their bonus night, she was about to suggest another round.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Ross."
"Oh, hey. What's up?"
"Nothing," Rachel said. "What are you doing?"
"Just ironing a shirt for work tomorrow."
"Really? So, it's pretty hot, right?"
"The iron? Uh, yeah."
"Mmmm. And what're you doing now?"
"Spraying starch on it."
"So it's really stiff?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Oooh, I like it stiff. Do you like it stiff?"
"Not really."
"Too bad. I like it nice and stiff and hard."
"You like your shirts stiff and hard? Isn't that uncomfortable?"
"Not if you do it right."
Ross sighed. "Wanna come over?"
"I'll be right there."