A/N: This is a long one, folks. In a way, though, I figure I owe it to you since this chapter has been such a long time in coming. I can only hope that this will prove to be sufficient compensation. And if so, do me a favor and express your opinion in a review, 'kay?
Chapter 3: Promises You Can't Keep"Push!"
It was at least the twenty-ninth time I'd said it, but to my immense frustration, the only response I'd received so far was a series of half-hearted grunts. I glanced up briefly, searching for a way to help hurry the process, but found I was unable to see over the obstruction blocking my view. Undeterred, I opted for further impassioned words of encouragement.
"Come on!" I yelled, entertaining visions of a NFL head coach encouraging his team during their final play. "You can do it! Push harder!"
Still nothing. I took a deep breath before gearing up again.
"Push! Push! Puuuuhhh—ooossssshh! Push! Pushpushpush! Puuu…oof!"
I staggered backward, burdened under sudden weight, as Joey's head appeared above the dresser we were attempting to move. And if the look on his face was any indication, he was not amused.
"Dude! I hear you, okay? But no matter how loud you yell, this thing still ain't fittin' through that door!"
I set down my own end of the heavy oak dresser and stepped back to assess the situation. Seeing no solution from my end of the problem, I dragged over a chair and barely managed to hoist myself over the dresser. Thoughtfully, I evaluated the problem from Joey's side. Finally, I shrugged and looked over at my disgruntled assistant.
"You're probably right," I admitted reluctantly.
"No kidding," Joey retorted, all ready headed downstairs, presumably toward the kitchen.
With one last glance at the furniture stuck in the master bedroom's doorway, I followed, justifying that a cold beverage might be just the rejuvenation I needed.
I found Joey rummaging through refrigerator, just as predicted.
"Hey, grab me a beer, would ya?"
Joey emerged with two in his hand and handed one to me, pausing to press the chilled glass bottle against the heat-flushed skin of his neck. I followed suit, enjoying the sensation of coolness against my sweat-dampened forehead.
"You guys would decide to move during the longest heat wave May in New York has ever experienced," Joey groused, twisting the cap off his beer with practiced ease.
I smiled apologetically, knowing that it was true. Temperatures had skyrocketed to well over one hundred degrees and had stayed that way for a running total of five miserable days. The heat was affecting everyone's disposition negatively, and was rapidly diminishing enthusiasm regarding the gang's respective moves.
Between the stress of the move and the discomfort of pregnancy, I had fully expected the heat to render Monica especially vulnerable. Much to my own astonishment, however, Monica seemed to thrive and even to regain the energy she had lacked before realizing her condition. While I continued to plod through the chores of moving with the help of Joey, Ross, or Mike, or a combination of the three, Monica fairly bounced from task to task, usually accompanied by a less-enthused Rachel or Phoebe. She had visited practically every home design store within the city limits and talked incessantly about the list of baby supply stores she planned to frequent next.
'Granted,' I thought, lifting my beer bottle to my lips, 'most of Monica's daily activities involve traipsing around in air conditioned stores and cars.'
The thought of air conditioning triggered a memory, and I groaned as I realized I'd forgotten to call the repairman…again. The system had been on the fritz since, ironically, the day before the heat wave had hit. I had attempted several times to make an appointment for repairs, but naturally, the air conditioning service center had been flooded with calls, resulting in countless minutes spent on hold and apologetic cancellations. Before departing for her daily shopping excursion, Monica had asked me to please attempt to secure another appointment today, but so far, I had lacked the motivation to spend another afternoon with my ear attached to the phone.
"Where is Monica today?" Joey's voice broke into my thoughts, and I shook my head, trying to clear the heat-induced haze that fogged my attention span.
"Um…she drove back into the city, I think. Lunch with Pheebs and maybe Rachel, and I think today was the big crib-shopping day."
"Lunch?" Joey seized on the word hopefully, and as if summoned, his stomach gave a responsive growl.
I chuckled and reached for a bag of pretzels, handing them to Joey. "Here. This'll have to do. We haven't really been grocery shopping yet."
Joey accepted the bag, but looked at it in clear disdain. "Pretzels? You torture me with physical labor in sweltering weather and then offer me pretzels? That's just insulting, dude."
The man was right, I realized. It had been too long since any of us had eaten anything besides microwavable meals and snack food, and even longer since the whole gang had gathered together with the intention of simply relaxing. And with both Joey's and Rachel's impending relocations, we wouldn't have a chance to do so much longer.
"You're right," I declared, a plan formulating in my mind. "What do you say to getting everyone together tonight? We'll cook out, break in the swimming pool, celebrate the new jobs and the babies…"
"What do I say?" Joey sneered one last time at the pretzels before tossing them down and handing me the cordless phone. "Start dialing."
I complied, punching in the numbers of Monica's cell phone.
"Hey, Mon," I said when she answered. I grinned at Joey.
He grinned back, raising his beer bottle in salute.
***
Her left hand firmly on the steering wheel, Monica flipped her cell phone closed with her right, unable to suppress the smile of contentment that spread across her face. Pushing her sunglasses back into position on the bridge of her nose, she glanced at the occupant of the Porsche's passenger seat.
"Got any plans for tonight?"
Phoebe grinned wryly. "Oh, yeah, big plans. Reality TV and leftover Chinese take-out." She raised an eyebrow at Monica. "Unless, of course, you have a better offer."
Monica giggled. "Grilled veggie burgers and use of the pool? Not to mention of pleasure of your friends' company?"
"Well, in that case…" Phoebe hesitated, pretending to consider. "Yeah, count us in. Just let me call Mike."
As Phoebe dialed, Monica found herself humming along with the radio, even tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. Four more days. Just four more days until Erica's due date--and the possible arrival of the baby.
'Of course,' Monica cautioned herself, 'it doesn't mean the baby is definitely going to be born that day.' She knew that. But still, the possibility was there, and that alone had been enough to fuel Monica's perpetually cheerful mood for the past week, despite the horrendous heat that had engulfed the city and its surrounding areas.
'And don't worry,' she thought, hoping the unborn child she carried could hear her unspoken words. Just in case, she rested one hand gently on her stomach and whispered.
"I haven't forgotten about you. Not much longer until we meet you, too."
"What did you say?"
Phoebe's voice cut into the dialogue, making Monica jerk in surprise. She had almost forgotten Phoebe was there.
"Oh! Nothing," she answered quickly, feeling irrationally embarrassed. After all, this was Phoebe—the woman who had spoken to embryos before they had even left the petrie dish. Still, something in Monica wanted to keep this conversation between herself and her baby. She quickly changed the subject.
"So what did Mike say?"
Thankfully, Phoebe didn't seem to notice the veer in topics, as she was currently engrossed in disentangling her long blond strands from the sunglasses she had propped on top of her head.
"It's fine with him," Phoebe answered distractedly. "He was on his way over to your place soon, anyway, to help Joey and Chandler with some dresser situation."
Monica wrinkled her forehead, squelching the desire to call Chandler and immediately demand the specifics of this particular dresser situation. Noticing this, Phoebe scrambled mentally for a diversion that would deter Monica from immediately heading back to the house.
"Have you called Rachel yet?"
Monica shook her head, the worry lines in her forehead diminishing dramatically. "No. When I called her to ask if she wanted to have lunch with us, she sounded…" Monica paused, groping for the right word. "…kind of distracted. She said to pick her up at Ross' after lunch to go crib shopping with us. I figure I'll just ask them both about tonight then."
"Ross must be taking Emma for the rest of the day," Phoebe concluded, and Monica nodded. "So that's where we're headed now?"
"Uh huh. And then to look at cribs," Monica proclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "I have the list of stores all planned out, according to location and optimum parking and availability on the cribs I'm most interested in. Wait 'til you see my favorite one…"
The two women chatted amiably as Monica navigated the city streets to Ross' apartment building. Rounding the corner onto Ross' block, Monica reduced her speed, keeping her eyes open for an available parking spot. So intent was Monica in her mission that Phoebe was the first to notice the lone figure pacing by the apartment building's entrance.
"Isn't that Rachel right there?" Phoebe asked, pointing.
It was. As Phoebe rolled down her window and procured Rachel's attention, Monica rolled to a stop and double-parked long enough for Rachel to slip into the backseat. The sound of the door slamming violently caused Monica to flinch.
"Hey, careful of the doors. They…" Glancing at the Rachel in the rearview mirror, Monica's admonitions died on her lips as she took in Rachel's appearance.
Her normally perfectly pulled-together friend was in a state of alarming disarray. Rachel's usual sleek coiffure was mussed and tangled into a messy ponytail. Her purse was open, with her wallet and various other items half falling out. But most startling were her eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, with mascara stains dripping down her cheeks.
"Rach," Monica said, trying not to sound overly alarmed. "Are you okay, sweetie?" She shifted the car into 'park' and she and Phoebe both turned to face their friend.
Rachel nodded without looking at either of them Instead, she turned her attention to her purse and began to randomly pull items out, as if searching for something. Astute as always, Phoebe reached into her own purse and offered Rachel a tissue.
Monica and Phoebe waited patiently for Rachel to mop at her tear-streaked face. Finally, seeming to realize that the other two women weren't going to simply ignore her, Rachel crumpled the tissue in her hand and forced an unconvincing smile.
"Sorry, guys," she said shakily. "It's nothing. Really. Just another stupid fight with Ross over Paris."
Monica shot Phoebe a wary expression. She was never sure how involved she wanted to be in these arguments between her best friend and her brother, especially now that Emma was involved.
"Is there anything we can do?" Monica asked cautiously.
Rachel was shaking her head before Monica even finished the sentence. "No," she declared firmly, pulling the elastic band from her ponytail and attempting to smooth her hair. "I just…" Her eyes took on a faraway look before refocusing on Monica and Phoebe. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just go shop, okay? I promise I won't ruin your afternoon."
The resolution in Rachel's eyes did not invite further probing, and Phoebe and Monica exchanged a concerned glance as Rachel resumed restoring order to her appearance.
"Okay, then," Monica muttered, reaching for the gearshift. "Here we go again."
***
Rachel was true to her word; she didn't ruin the afternoon with her initial gloominess. In fact, by the time the girls reached the first store, any impartial observer would never have guessed that this same woman had been near breakdown not very much earlier.
Judging by Rachel's demeanor by the time the girls arrived at the house, I never would have guessed myself if Monica hadn't immediately pulled me aside to inform me almost as soon as she entered the house. Remembering the careful façade that Rachel had donned the day the gang had helped us pack, I had no trouble believing Monica's description.
Glancing out the kitchen window over Monica's head, I could see Phoebe and Rachel emerge into the backyard where Joey, Mike, and Ross were all ready gathered. Phoebe strode easily to poolside where Mike and Joey sat shirtless, bare feet dangling in the water. Rachel paused briefly in the doorway as she noticed Ross hovering over the grill on the deck's far side with Emma playing contently in the grass nearby. After a moment, Rachel crossed the deck, carefully skirting Ross, and scooped up her daughter. Watching this, a thought occurred to me, and I looked back at Monica, concerned.
"Should I not have invited Ross?" I asked, pondering the absurdity of the question even as it left my mouth. We had been through this before—there was no way to choose between being friends with either Ross or Rachel; it had to be both.
Monica was shaking her head. "No, Rachel said everything would be fine," she assured me, her confident tone undermined by her worried glance out the window.
"It will be," I confirmed, trying to believe it myself. After all, we'd certainly been through enough episodes of the Ross-and-Rachel soap opera before.
"Anyway," I said to Monica in an attempt to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"
Monica beamed at me, the joy in her face completely erasing any traces of anxiety over our friends. "Great!" she proclaimed. "We found the cribs today, did I tell you? They're perfect. Just what I wanted."
I returned her smile, feeling the thrill that this was really happening—and soon—surge through me in a wave of excitement. The first baby was due to arrive within four days. Then, in less than five months, Monica was scheduled to deliver our second child. After so many months of waiting, the reality of the babies' arrivals seemed nearly impossible. "Great!" I echoed, before moving on to more practical matters. "When are they being delivered?"
Something unreadable flickered through Monica's expression, and I had the unmistakable impression that I wasn't going to like what I was about to hear.
"Weeellll…" Monica dragged out the word, noticeably fumbling for a way to soften her next words.
I raised my eyebrows at her. "Yeah?"
"Well, the thing is…the store won't be able to deliver the cribs for at least five days, since they ship merchandise directly from their warehouse in New Jersey. But they said we could have the two they have in stock tomorrow…" Monica emphasized the word, trying to make it sound as enticing as possible before rushing on to finish her statement. "…if we're willing to pick them up ourselves."
I sighed. "I can't, Mon. I have to go into work tomorrow if I want to take any time off when the babies get here."
Monica nodded impatiently. "I know that. It's okay. What I'm saying is I could go pick them up…"
I cut her off. "Oh, no, no, no. You promised me, Monica. You said that today was absolutely it; that tomorrow you were going to rest."
I turned away from her, reaching for the platter of raw hamburger patties and hoping that that would be the end of the conversation. No such luck. Monica persisted, delving into her most persuasive tone of voice.
"Chandler, I'm fine. Really. I'm not tired at all! Plus the doctor says it's good for me to stay active."
"But the weather…" I began to protest.
"The stores are air-conditioned," she interrupted, "and so is the car. Which is more than I can say for here. Speaking of which, did you call the repairman today?"
Oops. I hadn't. Noting the accusatory look on her face, I scrambled for another reason to support my argument.
"We don't even need the cribs yet, Mon. We all ready have a basinet, and didn't you say yourself that that would be just fine for now?"
I crossed my arms across my chest and grinned at her smugly. One point for the Chan-Chan man.
But, then…damn it. Her eyes were beginning to well up with tears and she took the tiniest step closer to me, her look pleading.
"Please, Chandler. I just want the nursery to be absolutely perfect before they get here. I've dreamed of this my whole life, and it's so close…" She trailed off, gazing up at me beseechingly.
And with that, my resolve and I crumbled into our familiar pushover ways. 'She'll be all right,' I reasoned. After all, Monica knew her own limits; she wanted this baby just as much as I did and there was no way she'd ever do anything to endanger it.
I nodded once and furrowed my brow in a futile attempt to look stern. "Okay. Tomorrow and that's it, okay? Then you'll take it easy for a few days?"
Monica grinned victoriously and nodded her assent before grabbing an armful of condiments. Suddenly overcome by a wave of unexpected emotion, I reached for her, catching her wrist just as she turned to head outside. She looked back at me, her gaze questioning.
Words escaped me, so I simply pulled her into a tight embrace, gripping her against me as I struggled to regain control. Laden with various containers of condiments, she rested her cheek against my chest and I felt her relax, our breath settling into a singular rhythm.
We stayed that way for a minute or two, swaying together wordlessly until Monica finally broke the silence.
"We'd better get out there. They'll be wondering where we are."
I released her and laughed, albeit unsteadily.
"Nah, they won't. They'll be wondering where the food is, more likely," I corrected.
She chuckled, moving once again toward the doorway, but hesitated suddenly. Glancing back, she fixed me with a concerned stare.
"You okay?"
I nodded and brushed a hand across my eyes surreptitiously in a vain attempt to erase any trace of the tears that had threatened just moments before.
"I'm fine," I confirmed and fumbled for words, trying to explain the emotions that had taken me by surprise. "Just…if anything were to ever happen," I paused, frustrated that eloquence had, as usual, escaped me. Giving up on articulacy, I simply settled for speaking the thought foremost in my mind.
"Just be careful, okay?"
Monica nodded earnestly, and as she did so, the sunlight shifted and radiated through the window in a single stream, illuminating her hair in shimmering waves. Looking almost ethereal, she rested her free hand on her slightly bulging stomach and smiled at me.
"I always am."
***
The first thing we noticed as we joined our friends was the conspicuous veil of palpable tension; it just couldn't be ignored. The group was sitting around the picnic table, appearing cordial enough, with Joey, Phoebe, and Mike doing their best to pretend everything was normal by chatting casually about one of Mike's upcoming gigs. But Rachel had plastered on that fake smile again, only contributing a random comment every so often, but mostly choosing to engross herself in playing with Emma, who squirmed indignantly in protest of being resigned to remain in her mother's lap rather than being allowed to toddle freely around the backyard. Ross sat in stony silence next to Rachel and his daughter, completely ignoring the attempts to draw him into the conversation.
Quickly sizing up the situation, Monica swiped the plate of hamburger meat from me and offered it to Ross.
"Hey, thanks for getting the grill ready. Could you do me a favor and start these? Chandler hasn't quite gotten the hang of it, and besides, no one grills quite like you."
I opened my mouth to protest that I could handle it just fine, but quickly shut it as Monica shot me a Look. Noticing the way Ross' eyes lit up at the compliment, I nodded at her, understanding.
Mission accomplished, Monica slid into Ross' vacated spot and touched Rachel briefly on the arm.
"How's everything going, Rach? Have you found a place to stay yet once you get to Paris?" True to form, Monica cut right to the chase and zoomed in on the topic everyone else was so carefully avoiding.
Ross snorted loudly, obviously deciding against subtlety when it came to expressing his opinions on Rachel's move.
Rachel shrugged in Monica's direction. "Sort of," she mumbled, fiddling with one of Emma's perfectly tied shoelaces.
Monica ignored her brother's reaction and seized on Rachel's answer, pressing for further information. "You have? That's great! Where is it? When did you find it?"
A spatula clattered loudly against the grill's metal racks, and Ross muttered loud enough for us all to hear.
"Who cares where it is? As long as it's far enough away from New York…"
Rachel glanced up at Ross, then back down at Emma. She made a move to leave the table, murmuring something about sunscreen for the baby. Reaching out, I lifted Emma from Rachel's lap into my own arms.
"Here, Rach, I'll do that. You don't have to get up."
Looking from me to Monica as if trying to determine our reasons for ambushing her, Rachel thanked me reluctantly and resettled into her seat. Monica pushed on, repeating her earlier question.
"So where did you say you'll be living? Is it near your job?"
Another comment from Ross, a little louder this time. "…far away from her responsibilities.."
Monica raised her own voice, sending a death look at her brother, which he promptly ignored. Phoebe, Mike, Joey, and I cowered; Rachel appeared on the verge of tears.
"When are you going to be able to move in?"
"…from her family and friends…"
"Are they going to let you sign a lease for just a year?"
"…from her own daughter…"
Rachel shot to her feet, audibly whacking her knee on the underside of the picnic table as she crawled over the attached bench. Striding across the lawn to where Ross stood, Rachel stopped just short of getting full in his face. Her forceful whisper could be easily heard by all of us.
"Don't you dare! Don't you dare make me look like a bad mother just so I'll feel guilty about leaving!"
Ross slammed the grill cover closed, primed for a fight. "Maybe you should feel guilty, Rachel! Maybe it's not really me you're mad at; maybe you're just mad at yourself because you know I'm right!"
Rachel was shaking her head furiously. "Oh, no! It's definitely you I'm mad at!"
"Oh, wait. Of course you are!" Ross slapped his hand against his forehead in mock self-loathing. "Of course you're mad at me! Since I've been nothing but responsible and indulgent and understanding of your every fucking whim for years! But no, this is classic Rachel doing her classic selfish thing! I don't know why I should expect any different!"
"Selfish?" Rachel screeched. "Oh ho ho! You wanna talk about selfish? Let's just lay it all out on the table, Ross! What are the real reasons you want me to stay? It has nothing to do with Emma or with any of our friends—" She gestured wildly at the group of us gaping at the spectacle. "You just want me to stay for you! Because somewhere in your mind you still haven't given up hope of me being yours and fitting that picture you have of your perfect family!"
"So what?" Ross hissed at her, a red flush slowly creeping its way up his neck into his face. "Is that really such a bad thing?"
"When you haven't even asked me if it's what I want? Yes, Ross, it is!"
"So maybe I haven't asked directly. It's not like you've never given me any indications!"
Now it was Rachel's turn to flush, and she threw a flustered glance over her shoulder at her audience.
"I know what I said," she acquiesced, barely audible. "I just don't know if it's what I really want anymore."
Ross halted in mid-retort, as if he'd been slapped, and stood speechless for a long moment, every angry line dissolving from his face to be replaced by a gaze of such sadness that I had to look away. Turning back to his earlier task, he fixed Rachel with one last look, almost earnest in spite of his harsh words prior.
"Maybe," he said softly, "you shouldn't make promises you can't keep."
Rachel held his gaze for a moment before whirling abruptly. She snatched Emma from my arms, startling the little girl into bewildered whimpers, and hurried into the house. Monica ran after her, and after a moment, Phoebe followed.
Feeling unprepared to deal with the aftermath, and probably against my better judgment, I chose to leave Ross alone and instead, joined Joey and Mike at the table. Collapsing into the space next to Mike, across from Joey, I propped my elbows on the table and buried my face in my hands. I didn't stay that way for long, though, as I was interrupted by someone insistently poking my arm.
"Chandler."
I grunted in non-commitment, but didn't bother to look up. The poking continued.
"Chandler," Joey whispered insistently.
Dropping my arms, I fixed him with an impassive stare. "What?"
"Do you think we're still gonna get to eat dinner?"
Mike and I stared at him incredulously. "Is that really all you can think about? Your stomach?"
Joey crossed his arms. "Look," he huffed indignantly, "of course I care about what's happening with them. But let's get real--we've been through this before. And this time, I just don't wanna end up eating wax."
***
"So she just left? She didn't want to talk about it at all? She didn't say anything?" I asked Monica disbelievingly the next morning.
Monica paused in thoughtful consideration. "No, not really," she responded, her voice muffled as she pulled a clean shirt over her head. "Just that she was sorry she had ruined the day after all, and she would call me later."
I gave a pensive 'hmm', and turned back to the task at hand. Grimacing at my shaving cream-covered face in the mirror, I flicked on the water and rinsed my razor thoroughly. I heard Monica say something from her location in the adjoining master bedroom and turned off the faucet to hear her better.
"What'd you say?" I called to her, and then started as she appeared suddenly in the bathroom's doorway.
"I said, do you want to meet me for lunch later?"
I nodded and winced as the forgotten razor sliced into my jaw line. Accepting the tissue Monica handed me, I applied pressure to the wound and answered her.
"Sure. Just call me when you know what time you want to meet."
"Okay." Standing on tiptoe, Monica planted a kiss on my forehead—one of the only places not covered by foam or blood—and padded out of the bathroom in her bare feet.
"Love you!" I called after her.
"Love you, too!"
***
A few hours later, Monica smiled gratefully at the store employee diligently maneuvering the two crib boxes into her limited trunk space. Using a sleeve to mop his sweaty forehead, he gingerly shut the trunk and turned to face Monica.
"I think that'll do it, ma'am," he drawled, his southern accent clearly announcing his status as a non-native New Yorker. "Except for the mattresses, of course," he added, glancing over Monica's shoulder.
Sure enough, Monica turned to find another man patiently balancing two plastic-encased crib mattresses and waiting for further instruction. Assessing her little Porsche doubtfully, Monica pulled the back door open and gestured inside.
"I think they'll fit in here," she told the men, as all three eyed the objects in question warily.
To Monica's relief, they did fit—barely. She leaned against the door, squeezing it shut against the sound of protesting plastic, and grinned triumphantly at the two men watching her with dubious expressions.
"I don't know," said one of the men. "You won't be able to see out the back windows at all."
Monica shrugged, unconcerned. 'As long as I can see out of my side mirrors,' she reasoned silently.
So convinced, she thanked the two employees for their help and slipped into the driver's seat. The seat had been pulled as far forward as it would go in order to accommodate the objects in the backseat and, as a result, Monica barely had room to move in her own seat, despite her petite frame. Sliding the keys into the ignition and pressing lightly on the pedals, Monica noticed her knee was bent into a semi-uncomfortable position and her slightly extended tummy rested lightly against the bottom edge of the steering wheel.
Taking a deep breath, Monica started the car and drove out of the store's loading zone into the busy city mid-day traffic.
Mentally mapping out the shortest route to the deli she and Chandler had agreed upon for lunch, Monica swung onto a less-traveled street, hoping to avoid some of the lunch rush. Much to her annoyance, she found herself at a complete stop behind a long line of beeping cars as a semi-truck held up traffic in its attempt to back into a side alley. Sighing impatiently, Monica checked the clock, heightening her anxiety as she realized she was going to be very late meeting Chandler. Another glance forward at the semi and its dilemma convinced her that she probably wouldn't going anywhere fast, and with one last sigh, Monica reached for her cell phone on the passenger seat.
The cell phone, however, wasn't where Monica had tossed it as she'd squeezed into the car. Keeping one eye on the traffic ahead, Monica scanned the car for the missing phone, finally spotting it on the passenger-side floorboard. Leaning sideways across the gearshift, she stretched her fingers in an attempt to retrieve the wayward object, but it proved to be just beyond her reach.
"Damn it," she muttered, unbuckling her seatbelt. Leaning a little further, she groped awkwardly for the phone, grimacing in discomfort as her stomach pressed harder against the steering wheel.
Eyes completely off the traffic now, she failed to notice as the semi-truck successfully completed its mission and the cars in front of her began to slowly roll forward once again. And she didn't hear as horns belonging to cars trapped behind her own began to insistently beep, adamantly demanding that she move. And when the oversized pick-up truck behind her plowed into her back bumper, crushing her little Porsche into the van in front of her with surprising force, Monica didn't remember anything. She only recalled feeling surprise, and then a sharp pain deep in her stomach, as the world around her faded to black.