Monica stood at the counter of Dean & Deluca, revising menus in her head. If they were out of the beluga, maybe she could serve it grilled instead of...

"Monica? Um, Monica Geller?"

She whirled, eyes widening. "Kip! Wow, Kip... I haven't seen you in forever. How's the wife?"

"She's good, she's excellent. We have a little girl who's two, and -- whoa, look at the rock on *your* finger! Who's the lucky guy?"

"Actually, it's Chandler."

Kip laughed. "You know, I've missed your sense of humor. How is old Chandler, anyway? Does that creep still have my hibachi?"

"I think so... but Kip, I wasn't kidding. Chandler's who I'm engaged to."

"I hate to think anyone else would do that to their kid, but... you are speaking of Chandler Bing, right?"

"Yes, of course... why?"

"Well, it's just... I totally can't imagine you and Chandler together. Did you have some kind of 'if we're not married when we're thirty' pact?"

"Did you walk all the way over to the caviar section *just* to offend me?"

Kip's face softened. "Hey, Mon, I'm sorry. It's just a little unbelievable. Make it up to you... I'll buy you a cup of coffee. You guys still drink coffee all the time, right?"

***

"So, how are Ross and Carol doing? Any kids for them yet?" Kip asked, somewhat muffled by his latte.

"Ah, well, yes... they have a son named Ben."

"That's great!"

"Which Carol raises with her lesbian lifemate Susan."

Kip grabbed a napkin to clean up the coffee he'd just spit all over himself. "You *wanted* me to do that."

"It's been like... six *years* since I got to do that to someone, c'mon, can you blame me?"

"So... you're seriously marrying Chandler, you weren't just trying to make me spit something?"

"You didn't have anything in your mouth at the time. C'mon, what's so hard to believe about me and Chandler? He isn't gay, I swear."

"It's just... you know. Kinda like hanging a beer mirror in the Louvre. Or serving salmon mousse with a Jell-o salad. I mean... you're so... little black dress. And he's so... bowling shirt."

"You really think I'm a... little black dress?"

"Of course! I mean, you're this gorgeous, sophisticated, fabulous chef. He's this... endlessly joking dweeb who's trapped in a middle management job because he doesn't have the balls to look for anything better. I mean... you followed your dream, and he's sucking up to middle management and fiddling with his WENUS."

Monica snorted, then caught herself. "Out of loyalty to my fiancee, we're both gonna pretend I didn't laugh at that, okay?"

"And I mean, please, the issues! What's the divorce rate in this country? Like, fifty percent? And he just milks it and milks it and milks it. Poor little me, my incredibly wealthy parents split up, I got sent to the most exclusive boarding school in the country, waaah,
oh boo, my mother's famous, it's so embarrassing, poor little me. Ooh, I'm boycotting Thanksgiving, forget what your holiday plans were, pay attention to me, pay attention to me!"

Monica opened her mouth to rise to Chandler's defense, but Kip cut her off.

"And you know, I just think of you, Monica... so kind and sweet and giving... trapped with him. You know, what if you have kids? There you'll be, in agony, pushing his children into the world... and there he'll be, in the waiting room, yukking it up for the crowd!"

"But..."

"And do you really think he's going to help you with the kids? Chandler? He *is* a kid! Can you actually see the man changing a diaper? And how are the kids going to feel, with Daddy making *fun* of them all the time? You know the man can't go five minutes without a put-down, do you really think he'd be able to hold off eighteen years?"

Kip took both her hands in his. "It's just... I remember you, you know? You're so classy, so sophisticated, so elegant. I always assumed you'd marry someone like you... someone charming, someone who would take you abroad and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, someone intelligent, someone urbane."

"Chandler is..."

"Chandler is a twelve-year-old trapped in a man's body. I mean, the man thinks 'Archie' comics are high comedy, for crying out loud."

"Look, Kip, I..."

"It's just... the Monica I knew didn't like to lose. She had that fierce, proud, competitive spirit. She always went for the best, she always wanted to win. She never settled for anything. And now I see her losing, with a loser, giving up her dreams and taking the consolation prize of a dorky guy that she feels safe with, because she knows *he* can't do any better... that he'll be constantly amazed that he lucked out and got a prize he didn't deserve. And I just have to wonder... what happened to that Monica?"

Kip leaned across the table and took both Monica's hands in hers, while she sputtered for a comeback.

"What happened to you, Monica? Who hurt you so badly they killed your spirit? Who put out that flame, that amazing shining light that burned in you?"

Monica wrenched her hands back angrily. "Look, Kip -- I don't know what you're trying to do here, but I think it sucks. I am happily engaged, and you're just... you're just an ass."

"I'm *worried* about you," Kip soothed.

"Well, you can take your worry and -- well, you can shove it, mister!" She grabbed her purse and stood up angrily. "And you know what? I'm *glad* you got phased out!"

With that, Monica ran out of the coffeeshop, slamming the door behind her.

Kip watched her go, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"And that, Bing, is for taking my hibachi."

---------------------------

To be continued...