Thanx for the reviews J Keep em coming if you want me to keep writing!!! This picks up pretty much where we left off. Maybe a week or so later.
Disclaimer: NOOOTHING is mine okay? Seriously. Not even the computer, it's my sister's old one. Cool.
ANYWAY. On with the story.
~Maddy~
Monica was folding sweaters meticulously with a cardboard square as a guide, a little trick she learned from the Gap. The box next to her was filling up with perfect stacks of colorful wool, cashmere and cotton, reds, blues, blacks and every color in between. Chandler called her "The Sweater Queen."
"You don't need to take everything, you know," Phoebe said, perched on the corner of her bed watching. "It's mid July. You're not going to need those for at least two months, and you better believe I'll see you before then."
"I don't want to leave all my stuff crowded in here. It's your apartment now," Monica said with a smile, knowing that would make Phoebe gloat. Which it did, for maybe five seconds.
"Mon, you know your room is always going to be here. Untouched. Empty. Waiting for you to-"
"I know Phoebe. Thank you," Monica cut in, giving her best friend a hug. She couldn't let her say "waiting for you to come back". If she went to Boston knowing that, she'd never last a week.
"Hello? Girls?" they heard Chandler enter.
"In here!" Phoebe yelled back. Monica went back to folding. "How's he taking this?" Phoebe whispered as Chandler crossed the living room.
"We'll see," Monica said with a shrug.
"What are you guys- oh," Chandler said as he came into the bedroom.
"We're getting Monica's clothes together," Phoebe explained, picking a piece of lint off the sleeve of the sweater Monica was folding.
"I can see that," he said sadly. Monica looked up and caught his eye. She gave him a weak smile.
"I'm just getting a head start. I have more clothes than I thought."
"Yeah. How many sweaters ya got in there? 20? 30?" he joked. "I don't think there's a single color you haven't covered."
"And there's about five black ones," Phoebe added, smiling, happy that the conversation was light and breezy again for the first time in days.
"Shut up," Monica said grinning. "Or we'll clean out your closets next."
"Not saying a word," Phoebe said quickly.
"I think you have the perfect amount of sweater type garments." Chandler added.
"That's what I thought," she said with a dry smile, back at work. "Hey, you want this?" she asked, holding up a lavender cashmere turtleneck.
"It's not really my color," Chandler quipped. Both girls rolled their eyes.
"Hey, Phoebs, you want this?" she tried again.
"Oooh cashmere! Kay!" she squealed, clutching her new possession to her chest.
"Do you have anything in more of a winter weight, maybe a salmon?" Chandler teased.
"No, but I think Ross does," Monica answered, and the three of them laughed. Monica grinned. Laughing, joking and hanging out. That's how it was supposed to be. This is how she wanted the last few weeks to be with her friends.
She rolled over for the eight thousandth time and checked the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. 2:38. She was leaving tomorrow afternoon, and was restless with anxiety and anticipation. She sighed in frustration, kicked her legs around for a few seconds, then threw the covers off of her and got out of bed. Wandering into the living room, careful to be quiet and not wake Phoebe or trip over the pile of boxes in the middle of the kitchen, she began doing menial tasks that she hoped would lull her to sleep. After emptying the dishwasher, organizing the photographs on the refrigerator and alphabatizing the rest of Phoebe's CDs, she grabbed the trash and headed for the chute. A stream of yellow light peeked out from under the door to Apartment 19. Chandler was up. She disposed of the garbage and knocked gently three times. He answered almost immediately.
"Hey, you," he said with a smile. She smiled back. His hair was kind of messy, and he was wearing boxers and one of his NYU t-shirts. To her surprise, she found herself looking him up and down and deciding he looked hot.
"Couldn't sleep," she finally offered weakly. "And I saw your light was on when I took out the trash." She explained, following him into the kitchen. He laughed.
"Only you would take out the garbage when you can't sleep, Mon," he said shaking his head.
"And what about you? What are you doing awake?" she asked, ignoring his teasing remark. He shrugged.
"I haven't been sleeping well lately. I was just doing some work stuff," he said, indicating his computer.
"Well, I know soemthing's wrong when you're doing work by choice," she commented, only half kidding. She hopped up on the counter and gave him an inquisitive look. "What's going on?"
He looked at the ground, the wall behind her, the refrigerator. Anywhere but in her eyes; those dark blue sparkling eyes that always made him tell the truth. He looked anywhere but at her concerned face, her silky dark hair, wild from sleeplessness, her long legs swinging carelessly beneath her perch on his countertop. If he focused on any of that, on her porcelain skin with just a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her shoulders beneath her clinging blue t shirt, or on the way she bit her lower lip when she was trying to figure him out, he'd lose it. It was late enough, and he was tired enough, that if he looked at any of that, he'd tell her the real reason he hadn't slept in three nights.
"Nothing, I just have some stuff on my mind," he finally spoke. Her legs stopped swinging.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
"No, not really. Nothing important," he said casually. She reached out and touched his shoulder.
"If it's bothering you, it's important," she said, softly but firmly. He looked away.
"You have a big day tomorrow. You should get some sleep," he said quietly. She stared at him, willing him to tell her what was going on in that head of his. When it didn't work, she hopped off the counter in one fluid motion.
"I guess you're right," she said, making her way towards the door. Her eyes stung with tears as she reached for the doorknob and realized that next time she couldn't sleep, he wouldn't be there. She turned around to find him staring at her.
"Next time… next time I'm awake at three o' clock in the morning… I can't go across the hall," she said, trying to hold back her tears.
"Well… you could, but I'd probably wait until you introduce yourself to the neighbors," he joked, trying to make her laugh. She gave him a weak smile.
"Don't make jokes."
"You know I'm no good otherwise," he said. She crossed the few steps between them quickly and caught him in a tight embrace.
"I'm going to miss you so much," she said, choking on the last word as the tears began to flow. He sighed.
"I'm going to miss you too. More than I think you can ever know," he whispered. She composed herself as quickly as she could and walked to the door again.
"Sorry," she said, "I'm overtired or something."
"Mon?" he called to her as she was halfway through the doorway.
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about that three in the morning thing. I'll sleep with the cordless on the nightstand."
She grinned widely.
"So will I."
Cause I remember how we drank time together
And how you used to say the stars are forever
And day dreamed about how to make your life better by leaving town
Leaving town…
Okay that was kind of filler material to bridge into the real story. Love it? Hate it? Let me know.
