Charlie Breaks the Rules
(Chapter Four)
While I was working with Chandler, I let their other friends try to work with Monica. Unfortunately, they only made it worse. Her brother Ross kept telling her that she should have seen it coming; Rachel and Phoebe wanted to know if they were still having Christmas; and Joey kept demanding to know where Chandler had fled.
It amazes me how selfish people can be at times, ya know?
So, I took matters into my own hands. I walked up to her front door, and knocked. When she finally opened the door, she looked at me crossly, but her voice was polite.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Um, yes. I am a writer for the Voice, and I am asking people to share their best Christmas stories."
"I don't think that's a very good idea," she muttered.
"Oh? Why not?"
"Because there is no Christmas here this year," she said solemnly, and moved to close the door.
"Merry Christmas, Miss Geller!" I yelled, as she shut the door in my face. I waited for a moment, figuring that, like Chandler, she would wonder how I knew her name, and would return to the door. But after a few long moments, it became clear that she had not given it a second thought. I turned to leave, all the while wondering what I should do next. I didn't have much time—it was going to be Christmas in less than an hour. As I began to walk down the hallway, the door across the hall opened, and Monica's best friend Rachel stepped into the hallway.
Okay, so technically, we are not supposed to "inhabit" a living person without their consent, and even then, only in dire straights. But I was desperate, and something had to be done. I figured Rachel wanted to do anything to help…plus, I only needed to inhabit Rachel to get through the front door…
~*~
"Hey Monica," Rachel said, as she walked into the apartment.
"Look, Rach, I don't want to—"
"I know, I'm not here about that," Rachel smiled, and there was something in her eyes that made Monica pause.
"What-um-what's going on?"
"Look, I was thinking about what you said—about Chandler not wanting children."
"What about it?" Monica's voice was shaky, and she sunk into the sofa.
"What, um, what did he say—exactly?"
"Well—"Monica thought for a moment, "he said he didn't want to start trying during the honeymoon, because—"
"So, he wants to wait a year or so after you are married."
"Well—"
"How is that not wanting kids at all, exactly?"
"Look, I think I know Chandler a little better than you," Monica said crossly.
"So, the other day, when we were at the coffee house, and Chandler said he thought you two would stay in the city until you were pregnant with your second child—that was just talk?"
"He—he said that?" Monica blinked in astonishment.
"Weren't you there?" Rachel asked, confused.
"No," Monica sighed.
"Look, Mon, I know that you've been stressed about the wedding stuff, but I think you need to realize that the wedding isn't everything. I mean, there is a reason you are having a wedding, right?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Look," Rachel said, and pointed toward the kitchen.
Monica turned, and was astonished to see herself sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a dress catalogue.
"What the—"
"Shhh," Rachel smiled.
The door opened, and Chandler shuffled in, looking exhausted and cold.
"Hey honey," he said, and approached Monica. He leaned over to kiss her, and the snow that was on his shoulder and hair trickled down onto the catalog.
"Chandler! You're getting the catalog all wet!" Monica shrieked, and pushed him away.
"Sorry, sorry," Chandler backed off, and shook out of his jacket, before placing it on the hook next to the front door. He ran a hand through his hair, and turned to look at Monica.
"What are you looking at?" he asked timidly.
"Dresses," Monica answered shortly.
"How's it going? Can I see?" Chandler smiled.
"Chandler, I'm trying to concentrate, okay? There's leftover pizza in the fridge."
"The pizza from Friday?" Chandler asked.
"Is that a problem?" Monica asked icily.
"No, no," Chandler sighed.
"Look, I just want my wedding to be perfect, okay?" Monica said harshly, and moved toward the living room. The Monica that was observing the scene kept her eyes on Chandler.
"Your wedding," Chandler muttered angrily, "Right."
Monica turned back to Rachel, who was sitting on the sofa quietly.
"I remember that night…though I never really saw—"
"What you were doing to the person you were marrying?" Rachel interrupted.
"I—"
"Look, Monica, Chandler loves you. And he wants to spend his life with you, and have lots of kids with you. But if you aren't marrying him—that is, if you are simply going through the motions just to get married—then you should let him go."
"What?"
"He deserves to marry a person who is more excited about the marriage than the wedding, Mon."
Monica looked back at the kitchen, and saw Chandler—the one she had been observing—sitting at the kitchen table, picking at a cold slice of three-day old pizza. He sighed heavily, and pushed the plate away from him, before placing his head in his hands.
Monica looked at Rachel, tears lining her eyes.
"Look Mon, he still has his own issues—it's not all you. But your recent behavior is bringing out old anxieties—and it's making him do and say things he doesn't really mean."
"We all do," Monica said sadly, "But it doesn't excuse my behavior."
"I think…it's time for you to make a decision," Rachel smiled, and walked out of the apartment.
The snow's coming down
I'm watching it fall
Watching the people around
Baby please come home
The church bells in town
They're ringing a song
What a happy sound
Baby please come home
They're singing deck the halls
But it's not like Christmas at all
I remember when you were here
And all the fun we had last year
Pretty lights on the tree
I'm watching 'em shine
You should be here with me
Baby please come home
Baby please come home
Baby please come home
They're singing deck the halls
But it's not like Christmas at all
I remember when you were here
And all the fun we had last year
If there was a way
I'd hold back these tears
But it's Christmas day
Baby please come home
Ohh...
Baby please come homeBaby please come home
Baby please come home
Ohh...
Baby please come home
Baby please come home
It's Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) Written by: P. Spector, J. Barry and E. Greenwich