It was a bright, sunny New York morning. Sunday to be precise. The beams of light filtered through the expansive bay windows in Central Perk, drenching Chandler and Monica, who sat on the squashy orange sofas, side by side. Monica thumbed idly through a magazine, skim reading articles, but never being able to settle.
She'd had such a tough time ever since she and Richard had split up. There was heartbreak, and then there was this. She'd begun to doubt herself ever since he told her he wasn't ready to have kids. Flicking to the next page in her copy of Cosmo, her reading material of choice, she began to read the quiz questions.
"Is it kids he doesn't want, or you?"
Monica had been sure all along, in her heart of hearts, that Richard would be the man she loved and lived with until her dying breath. And yet here she was, her plan in tatters, all because he didn't want children. Or was it her she didn't want?
In her mind, not wanting kids with Monica equated to Richard not wanting her.
And that's what had hit her hardest, and left the deepest wound.
"Chandler, wake up," she mumbled as Chandler stirred in his sleep. He shifted onto his other side and grabbed her arm, before snuggling up to it.
She shot him a look of distaste that he missed because he was fast asleep, and now muttering something about not wanting to give a letter to the pool boy.
"No, dad, no...get changed....mom's dress..."
Joey, his eyes ringed with heavy black circles, squeezed past Monica and Chandler's knees as he carved a path towards the armchair adjacent to them. He slumped into it, revelling in the softness of the cushions.
"Gunther's gonna bring the drinks over in a minute."
Monica nodded absently, still poring over her magazine.
"Hey look, are you sure about this?"
Joey pitched forward, his face piqued in concern.
Monica didn't look up from her magazine, ignoring him intently. Meanwhile, Chandler continued to burble away at her side, clutching her arm. He'd slept fitfully that night having stayed late at work to work on the WENIS, under the watchful eye of his boss. When he'd returned home, Joey had been flat out in front of the TV on his chair, as the light generated from it flickered over his face, illuminating it. Peering at the TV, with some disgust, he'd flicked off the programme about Japanese Late Night Pop Idol and crashed in his room, his mind still racing over what was on the agenda for the next day.
"Monica?"
"Mom's best dress.....no....no!"
Chandler sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and startled. Monica and Chandler's eyes were immediately drawn to him, and as he regained his composure and eased himself into the situation, he stared back at them, suddenly embarassed at his outburst.
"It's not my fault," he muttered. He was met by two pairs of accusing, disbelieving eyes.
"Hey, if you saw your dad in your mom's best dress, I think you'd be a little mentally aggrieved!"
He sat back into the chair, and crossed his arms over his chest in a dead sulk. Joey tutted and gazed once more at Monica, who'd resumed her studious reading.
Soon Chandler was watching her too, and she could bear the pressure no longer.
"I'm fine!" she snapped, throwing her magazine onto the table and slumping back sharpishly. She too folded her arms across her waist, and now all three sat in silence, thinking.
Suddenly, Monica got up and walked away soundlessly. The two boys watched her, until she was a safe distance away, and then formed a conspirational huddle.
"Dude, are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Joey asked.
Chandler scratched his head and nodded slowly.
"I just can't decide. Pizza or pie for lunch. Hey, maybe both."
Joey grinned, but Chandler just threw him a withering glance.
"Well we're both on different mindsets. I just, I can't believe Monica's going to do this."
Chandler ran a hand rapidly through his blunt, short hair.
"Oh, that."
Joey shook his head, biting his lower lip.
"I mean, I can't see how proposing to Richard will get him back if that's the reason that he broke it off with her. I just can't. Can you?"
Joey's only answer was to shake his head no. At that moment, Gunther dropped three Latte's onto the table.
"Who's magazine is this?"
"Monica's. I think she borrowed it from Rachel."
Gunther smiled a small, secretive smile and slipped the magazine softly from the table, rolling it up and placing it under his arm as he swept away.
"We've got to stop her," Chandler muttered finally.
She'd had such a tough time ever since she and Richard had split up. There was heartbreak, and then there was this. She'd begun to doubt herself ever since he told her he wasn't ready to have kids. Flicking to the next page in her copy of Cosmo, her reading material of choice, she began to read the quiz questions.
"Is it kids he doesn't want, or you?"
Monica had been sure all along, in her heart of hearts, that Richard would be the man she loved and lived with until her dying breath. And yet here she was, her plan in tatters, all because he didn't want children. Or was it her she didn't want?
In her mind, not wanting kids with Monica equated to Richard not wanting her.
And that's what had hit her hardest, and left the deepest wound.
"Chandler, wake up," she mumbled as Chandler stirred in his sleep. He shifted onto his other side and grabbed her arm, before snuggling up to it.
She shot him a look of distaste that he missed because he was fast asleep, and now muttering something about not wanting to give a letter to the pool boy.
"No, dad, no...get changed....mom's dress..."
Joey, his eyes ringed with heavy black circles, squeezed past Monica and Chandler's knees as he carved a path towards the armchair adjacent to them. He slumped into it, revelling in the softness of the cushions.
"Gunther's gonna bring the drinks over in a minute."
Monica nodded absently, still poring over her magazine.
"Hey look, are you sure about this?"
Joey pitched forward, his face piqued in concern.
Monica didn't look up from her magazine, ignoring him intently. Meanwhile, Chandler continued to burble away at her side, clutching her arm. He'd slept fitfully that night having stayed late at work to work on the WENIS, under the watchful eye of his boss. When he'd returned home, Joey had been flat out in front of the TV on his chair, as the light generated from it flickered over his face, illuminating it. Peering at the TV, with some disgust, he'd flicked off the programme about Japanese Late Night Pop Idol and crashed in his room, his mind still racing over what was on the agenda for the next day.
"Monica?"
"Mom's best dress.....no....no!"
Chandler sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and startled. Monica and Chandler's eyes were immediately drawn to him, and as he regained his composure and eased himself into the situation, he stared back at them, suddenly embarassed at his outburst.
"It's not my fault," he muttered. He was met by two pairs of accusing, disbelieving eyes.
"Hey, if you saw your dad in your mom's best dress, I think you'd be a little mentally aggrieved!"
He sat back into the chair, and crossed his arms over his chest in a dead sulk. Joey tutted and gazed once more at Monica, who'd resumed her studious reading.
Soon Chandler was watching her too, and she could bear the pressure no longer.
"I'm fine!" she snapped, throwing her magazine onto the table and slumping back sharpishly. She too folded her arms across her waist, and now all three sat in silence, thinking.
Suddenly, Monica got up and walked away soundlessly. The two boys watched her, until she was a safe distance away, and then formed a conspirational huddle.
"Dude, are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Joey asked.
Chandler scratched his head and nodded slowly.
"I just can't decide. Pizza or pie for lunch. Hey, maybe both."
Joey grinned, but Chandler just threw him a withering glance.
"Well we're both on different mindsets. I just, I can't believe Monica's going to do this."
Chandler ran a hand rapidly through his blunt, short hair.
"Oh, that."
Joey shook his head, biting his lower lip.
"I mean, I can't see how proposing to Richard will get him back if that's the reason that he broke it off with her. I just can't. Can you?"
Joey's only answer was to shake his head no. At that moment, Gunther dropped three Latte's onto the table.
"Who's magazine is this?"
"Monica's. I think she borrowed it from Rachel."
Gunther smiled a small, secretive smile and slipped the magazine softly from the table, rolling it up and placing it under his arm as he swept away.
"We've got to stop her," Chandler muttered finally.