Reviews are wonnnnddderrrfullll!!! Here's part four, enjoy! I wrote this in like a twelve seconds because it's from Monica's pov, and lets face it, girls just make more sense J please review, I don't know if I'm going to write another chapter or end it here.
disclaimer: I don't own anything.
I've been smiling nonstop for the past twenty four and a half hours. I look like a moron, but I don't even care. Chandler and I are back together.
I was met with an overly excited Rachel when I came home, and the two of us decided to discuss the whole situation over soup and salads at our favorite cafe around the block. After lunching with afore-mentioned squealing roomate, I went through the rest of my day, doing the stupid stuff that I usually do on a Saturday; grocery shopping with Rach, running little errands, and, of course, cleaning up the apartment. And none of these activities had ever been quite as much fun as they were today.
My parents and my brother Ross came over for dinner tonight, and even that was more enjoyable than usual. Of course, my mom set in on me after three seconds, but I've learned how to tune her out after twenty four years.
"Monica, the place looks wonderful," she said while fluffing a pillow. My mother likes her actions to always contridict her words.
"Thanks," I said, serving the lasagne I'd made sometime in between grocery shopping and cleaning on cloud 9.
We talked about me and my job, Ross and his son, Ben, what the two of us had been up to with Rachel, when Ross and Rachel were going to start going out (which made me laugh because the answer to that would be never), and, finally, my love life (or, according to my mother, lack thereof).
"So Monica, I ran into Dan Sherman the other day," she said slyly, as if this was supposed to hold any kind of specific meaning.
"Okay... who's Dan Sherman?" I asked while clearing the table.
"Oh, you remember Dan, you two went to camp together!"
"But I never went to camp," I said.
"Yes you did! You went to Camp Hopatchi for a couple of summers," my mother argued.
"No, that was Rachel, and I wanted to go but you and dad wouldn't let me."
"Oh. Right. Well, anyway, I guess Rachel went to camp with Dan. But you definitely met him once or twice. And he remembers you!"
"Really, well, that's pretty amazing, considering I'm almost positive I never met any of Rachel's camp friends," I said sarcastically, while my brother kicked my ankle under the table, an annoying habit carried from when we were teenagers that occurred whenever I got too "fresh" with the parental unit.
"And he said he'd be interested in catching up with you, over dinner some night," my mom continued, as if she had never stopped talking.
"Mom, I'm not going on a date with some guy Rachel went to summer camp with in fifth grade that I've never met."
"Monica, you don't have to act so haughty about it, it's really not like you have hundreds of prospects lined up at your door," she said, hurt.
"Now, Judy, Monica doesn't need men in her life! She's perfectly content to live alone, aren't you sweetie?" my dad asked, earnestly thinking this was a compliment.
"Thanks for thinking of me mom, but I think I'll pass," I said through clenched teeth.
"Dear, it's just that since you broke up with Chandler you really haven't really put yourself back out there at all." I love how she makes me sound like a prostitute.
"Yes, how is Chandler, have you spoken to him recently?" asked my brother innocently, with a smirk that let me know Rachel had made a phone call at some point during the day to discuss the events of the previous night with my brother.
"It really is such a shame that you couldn't hang on to that one. Chandler was such a nice man," my mother added.
Now this is the kind of comment that makes me want to laugh hysterically and start crying in frustration. My parents did not like Chandler at all while we were going out. They thought he was immature, that his job was boring and that he wasn't interested in a future with me. The entire year that we dated, my mom was secretly still trying to set me up with other men that kept popping up from my elementary school days.
"Mom, you hated Chandler," I pointed out as I passed out dessert forks.
"I most certainly did not!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I may have thought he was a little immature at times, but I liked him very much."
"Oh, well good," I said, "because we've decided to give it another try."
"Oh honey," she said while wincing, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
I excused myself before I lit her on fire instead of the cherries jubilee.
Dinner went on as you can imagine, but even my mom couldn't bring me down from the high I was on. I hadn't expected Chandler to call that day, but I was still a little disappointed as I hopped into bed around eleven thirty when he hadn't. As if on cue, the phone rang. I answered it before it could wake up Rachel.
"Hello?"
"Hey," came Chandler's voice.
"Hi," I answered, inwardly laughing at how shy my voice sounded.
"I wasn't going to call tonight," he started, "you know, I was gonna wait until tomorrow and maybe come off as a little cooler than I am. But I had to hear your voice for a second, to make sure this whole thing is real." Seriously, who says that? Why does he always say the exactly right thing???
"I'm glad you called."
"So... how are you?" he asked hesitantly; I wanted that nervous tone out of his voice.
"Chandler? I'm not going to change my mind. So push that out of your head, okay?" I said. He laughed.
"I'll try harder."
"I had dinner with my parents tonight," I told him after a few moments. He audibly winced.
"Oooh, I'm sorry," he said laughing.
"Yeah I'm sure you're devestated that you missed it," I teased, surprised at how easy it was to slip back into how we used to be.
"And I'm sure your parents have sorely missed me," Chandler retorted.
"Well apparantly my mom likes you as long as we aren't together."
"She has some things to get used to, then, I guess," he said.
"Yup."
"So the reason I'm calling is to ask you out on an official date," he said, his tone changing to businesslike.
"Yes, well, then let's get right down to it," I said mocking him.
"Tomorrow night? Dinner, dancing, strictly no kissing."
"Tomorrow is kind of short notice, don't you think?" I said.
"You have other plans?" he asked, unable to hide the disappointment that crept into his voice.
"No. Just kidding."
"Now was that anyway to start a relationship, Monger?" he scolded.
"Sorry I couldn't resist. Tomorrow's great. Oh and word to the wise- I'd hold off on the derogatory nicknames until at least date three."
"Thank you for your advice. I'll see you around seven?"
"Sounds perfect. Bye," I said.
"Bye."
Neither of us hung up.
"We're both wanting to say it," he pointed out.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"So… maybe I should just do it, ya know, get it over with."
"I think that would be best." I said, grinning.
"Iloveyou," he said quickly, as if it was one syllable.
"What was that?" I teased.
"Don't be a jerk!"
"Love you too," I said quietly. There was a brief pause.
"Think this will get any less awkward?" he asked through a laugh.
"Let's hope so," I said before an onset of the giggles.
Saturday night was perfect. It was the perfect, perfect date. He showed up exactly on time, not five minutes early (over-eager) or five minutes late (irresponsible). I'm a huge fan of puncuality.
He looked… amazing. He had on khakis and this blue shirt that made his eyes stand out and a tie that I gave him once for his birthday. And his hair was all cute he was kind of shy and it was all I could muster not to pull another one of my 2 am make out attacks.
Rachel had ever so kindly decided that nothing I owned was "hot" enough to impress him on our "re-first date", as my brother named it, so we'd spent the day shopping. Shopping for a date with Rachel is very challenging work. The fact that I wanted to avoid invisible skirts and belly button bearing shirts and plunging necklines was a foreign concept to her. We finally decided on what Rachel considered to be a look that said "Hi, I'm Monica, I look sexy in a sophisticated, tasteful way. Also, I really regret missing out on the past ten months with you, but I am not going to sleep with you tonight." What garment could possible have this range of vocabulary, you ask? Apparantly, a red slip dress with paisley embroidery that I ridiculously overpaid for at Bloomingdale's and my strappy burgundy sandals. Go figure.
I'm not sure if he heard the entire message that the red dress was trying to convey, but he did give me an appreciative nod when I answered the door. After catching up with Rachel for a few minutes, we were out on the town.
He took me to our old favorite, this jazz club on ninth, where we had a few drinks and danced and talked for almost three hours. I told him everything I'd done since September, and he told me. I was kind of surprised when he told me he had just broke up with the Jenn person like not even a week ago, but I understood that things had been moving fast and now, we were slowing down, and it was fine.
"So, this Alex guy…" he started. I smiled.
"Yeah."
"Why didn't things work out for you guys?" he asked with a hint of jealousy in his voice.
"I don't know. It was too soon for me. He was a nice guy, but… we didn't fit," I tried to explain. "How about you and, what, Jess?" I said, loathing myself for deliberately screwing up her name. He didn't correct me, which I loved.
"She wasn't you," he said simply, covering my hand with his. I had only had two glasses of wine, but I felt completely drunk. It was a mixture of the alcohol, his hand touching mine, the romantic setting, the fact that our faces were so close I could feel him breathing, the way he looked with the shadows casting on his face from the flickering candle on the table… I was gone.
"Hey," I started slowly, "Remember that whole no kissing thing?"
"Yeah, I vaguely remember something about no kissing," he replied quietly, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.
"I think we might want to re-think that. The no kissing thing," I said moving slightly closer.
"What no kissing thing?" he asked, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine softly, quickly, then looking into my eyes and when I didn't resist, going in for a longer, more passionate kiss.
"Oh my god, I am such a slut," I said, burying my face in his chest the next morning. He laughed.
"Monica, you are not a slut."
"I'm such a slut!" I insisted. "I totally just had sex with you!"
"Four times," he said, beaming with pride. I laughed, then punched him in the shoulder.
"This is serious! I wasn't even supposed to kiss you!"
"Yeah, well, those were stupid rules. Rules that were made for people in easier situations," he said consolingly, rubbing my arm.
"Sure, sure, you'll say anything, you just got some," I quipped.
"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any less of you as a woman," he joked.
"Oh, you're going down," I said, wiggling out and pinning him to the bed before kissing him passionately. He put his arms around me an pulled me closer. I entwined our hands and placed them gently above his head before trailing butterfly kisses from his forehead to his chest. He groaned and tried to take control of the situation.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" I murmered into his ear, planting sweet kisses on his earlobe. As I sucked on his neck, I let him break our hands apart and grip my waist. He turned me onto my back and stopped kissing me for a second as I opened my legs so that he could lie in between them. He brushed a stray lock of hair from my eyes.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered.
"I'm already in bed with you. You don't have to give me those lines anymore," I joked, but stopped smiling when I realized he was staring intently at me.
"I'm serious. I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said before our lips met in a feverish kiss. His tongue roamed my mouth with increasing intensity, and I felt his excitement rise against my leg. I let my hand casually brush up against him, and he moaned his name into my hair.
"I think you've had about all you can take, Mr. Bing," I said with a little laugh in his ear.
"Let's take care of that, shall we?" he said, resting his head in the crook of my neck.
We got up around ten and he jumped in the shower as I started making pancakes.. Rachel came out of her bedroom with a knowing smirk on her face.
"So, have yourself some fun last night?" she asked slyly. I felt my face blush.
"Yeah… about that…" I trailed off embarassed.
"Why Monica, if I'm here, and you're here, then why is the shower running? Who ever could be using our shower?"
"All right, how long is this going to go on for?"
"You little slut! I love it! You need to tell me everything, everything-" she was cut off by the bathroom door opening and Chandler coming out.
"Hello ladies," he said with a grin, "I'll just go get some clothes on, I guess."
"Chandler," Rachel replied with a smile, before retreating to her own room to get dressed. He came out while she was still in there, and wrapped his arms around me from behind while I was flipping the pancakes.
"Hey, gorgeous," he said while kissing my shoulder.
"Hey you." I replied, twisting to kiss his lips.
"You look sexy in the morning," he said. I laughed.
"Yeah, it's the touseled hair and no make-up, I'm sure."
"You're perfect," he replied, kissing me a few times gently and running his hands through my hair.
"Chandler," I said through his kisses, "Rachel will be right out." He gave me an exaggerated sigh and the puppy eyes.
"So last night was fun," he said, changing the subject. He was still attached to my waist.
"Yeah, you could say that," I laughed. "So much for taking it slow."
He gave me one more rather lengthy kiss.
"Slowness is way over-rated," he proclaimed.