A.N. Okay, chapter 13! Wow, all I can say is, thank you guys so much for waiting and for reviewing, sometimes twice even, to tell me how much you wanted more of this story. Summer is a really hard time for me to write because I'm so busy, so I'm sorry the time between updates is so long… I tried to semi make up for it with length this time. So I hope you enjoy! Okay, few things: I tried something totally different with the beginning here, I just wanted to change it up and tell the story from a stranger's perspective, so this guy won't be in the story or anything. I hope that's not confusing! Also, for the purposes of this story, Charles Bing is gay and all, but he's not a drag queen or transvestite. Maybe we can just pretend that he didn't start that until later or something. Lastly, there's some questionable language in here, so, you've been warned. Sorry for the long author's note! Have a great day!
Xoxo,
Maddy.
The middle aged business man stole yet another glance at the young girl seated beside him on the train from Long Island to New York City. She hadn't stopped fidgeting since she'd taken the empty seat next to him almost forty minutes earlier; jiggling her knees, twirling her hair, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. The latest distraction attempt had been a book, a tattered paperback that looked like it had been read dozens of times; To Kill A Mockingbird, he ascertained by a subtle crane of his neck. She scratched her arm and inadvertently elbowed him, again.
"I'm really, really sorry," she apologized, adding the second "really" for the second offense.
"It's all right," he told her. "You seem a little nervous."
She shook her head. "No, not nervous. Excited."
"Boyfriend?" he guessed.
She settled her surprisingly bright blue gaze on him quizzically. "How did you know?"
He smiled. "Not too hard to deduce. I'm Robert, by the way," the man said, offering his hand.
"Monica," the girl replied, shaking his hand and appraising the level of risk she was taking by engaging a random forty year old stranger in conversation.
"It's all right. I'm not a psychopath, I promise."
"That's exactly what a psychopath would say," she replied, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
"So, summer love?" Robert asked.
"Not exactly. We go to school together. He's living in the city for the summer."
"And you're not," he finished.
"Right."
"I've got the opposite problem, actually."
She looked at him quizzically.
"I live in the city with my family, but my boss transferred me out to Long Island a few months ago. So I only come home on weekends."
"I'm sorry, that must be really hard."
He shrugged. "It'll only be for a few more months, hopefully. I just hope I don't miss my son's baseball game," he said, checking his watch and then grinning. "I think he'd disown me."
They rode the rest of the way to the city in silence, Monica occasionally trying to concentrate long enough to read, Robert staring out the window pensively. They rolled into the station ahead of schedule, around quarter of five.
"Looks like you'll make the game, huh?" Monica asked with a grin as he helped her maneuver her duffel bag out of the train.
"Looks like it. You have a great weekend with that boyfriend, all right?"
They parted ways. Robert spotted his wife and children immediately through the crowd. He kept one eye on Monica as she searched frantically, her movements jaunty and anxious. When she leapt into the arms of a young man and he held her firmly, he couldn't help but be moved by her passion, by her love for this nameless boy, by the way they both had their eyes closed so tightly. He met his wife with a passionate kiss, a kiss that when they parted caused her to ask, "What was that for?"
Robert just smiled. "Missed you," he said.
Chandler had been buying a soda when Monica's train arrived, and had found her in the station moments later, looking for him. He approached her from behind, spun her around and hugged her tightly. Surprised at first, Monica dropped her suitcase and wrapped her arms around his neck, vowing that she would never let go.
"I'm so sorry, I knew I shouldn't have left to get a drink. I wanted to be here, I'm such a moron," Chandler said, mentally kicking himself. She assured him it was okay and squeezed him tighter.
"Let me look at you," Chandler said, loosening her hands around his neck and pulling back to gaze at her. She smiled self consciously.
"Hi," she said.
"You're all tan," he replied, rubbing a finger up and down her exposed arm.
"Outside at camp all day…" she reminded him.
"I can't believe I haven't seen you for five weeks."
"I can't believe you still haven't kissed me yet."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than were her lips covered by his. They stood in the middle of the train station, kissing passionately, as other travelers worked their way around them. When they finally parted, Chandler tugged her hand.
"Let's go home," he said.
"So Monica, have you been as lovesick and miserable around your parents as my son has been around here this summer?" Nora Bing asked as she passed a bowl of salad to Chandler.
"Mom," Chandler groaned, accepting the bowl.
Monica smiled teasingly. "Actually, I really haven't missed him all that much."
Nora laughed, and Chandler snorted.
"I have a stack of letters upstairs that says otherwise," he said.
"And how's work going? Chandler says you're working with kids?"
"Yeah, at this summer camp. It's a lot of fun, the kids are great. The hours are kind of long but at least I'm making some money."
"And how is that adorable brother of yours?"
"Still adorable," Monica said dryly.
"Okay, Mom, can we knock off the twenty questions?"
"Oh Chandler. You're always so embarrassed of me," Nora said. "I have no idea why," she added, adjusting the plunging neckline of her tight turquoise dress.
"It is a mystery," he added sarcastically.
"Oh, my goodness, I'd better get going! I've got an important meeting-"
"Code for date," Chandler interjected to Monica.
"With a colleague," Nora continued.
"Code for married editor."
Nora laughed cheerfully. "All right kids, well, you enjoy the rest of dinner. Oh, and as the perfectly June Cleaver style mother that I am, I had the guest bedroom set up for you, Monica. June Cleaver would never have her son and his girlfriend in the same bedroom." She paused at the doorframe. "However, I will tell you that I won't be home until very late, and I haven't checked on Chandler in the middle of the night since he was seven."
"Okay, thanks mom!" Chandler said.
"Just so you know!" she trilled, before letting the door slam behind them.
Monica was giggling a little, and Chandler shot her a look of mock indignation.
"You think this is funny? I mean, could she have been less subtle? I wouldn't be surprised if she left a pack of Trojans on the night table!"
Monica laughed. "I'm sorry," she said, covering his hand with her own. "But, I mean, that wouldn't be the worst thing she could have done," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
"No, the worst thing would be balancing them on top of a copy of the Kama Sutra," he said sarcastically. She got up and sat down on his lap.
"Hey. She's gone," she reminded him gently.
"I know. I'm sorry, she's just so…"
"Different?" Monica supplied.
"I was going to use a less friendly adjective, but all right."
"Chandler, listen, nobody's parents are perfect. My mother hardly looked at me until earlier this year, and my dad never hears a thing Ross or I say… Rachel's are getting divorced… I mean, so what, you're mom's a little eccentric. She loves you," Monica finished.
"I know…"
"And really, it could be worse. If you were at my house, you'd be sleeping with Ross instead of me," she said cheekily.
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you finished dinner?"
"Done," she said quickly.
"Let me show you to my room!" he said excitedly, dragging her from the table.
Later, he collapsed beside her and kissed her temple affectionately.
"Wow," she said.
"I know." He kissed her lips, nose, forehead.
"I missed you so much," she said solemnly, holding his face in her hands. He took one of her hands in his, and she lay down against his chest, his heart still thudding a little faster than normal.
"What are all these weird strings?" he asked, playing with the several colorful string bracelets knotted around her wrist.
She laughed. "My eight year olds make them, they're kind of like obsessed. These two little girls, Paige and Abby- they give me a new one like every week."
"And you wear them?" he asked tenderly, rubbing his fingers over a bright green one.
"They get so excited when I do, that I just never take them off," she said sheepishly.
"You're so great," he whispered. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said.
"I'm going to be pretty depressed on Sunday, when you leave."
She twisted in his arms. "It's only another month until school," she reminded him.
"I know."
She kissed him gently, then moved her mouth to her wrist and worked one of the knots with her teeth.
"Here," she said, taking the bracelet and tying it around his wrist. "Friendship bracelets."
"I kinda had my eye on that green one," he joked.
She elbowed him. "That one's my favorite, forget about it," she teased back.
"Won't Paige and Abby be mad?"
"They'll get over it."
"Your job sounds like fun. Little kids making you presents and adoring you. Meanwhile I have to walk around my mom's publishing house with a tower of cardboard coffee cups or refilling people's paper-clip trays."
"Poor you," she said, rolling her eyes. "You could be mowing lawns or cleaning pools. At least this will look good when you apply for jobs next year."
"Thanks for the sympathy, baby," he said sarcastically.
"Hey, it's not all lemonade and bracelet making for me, you know. There's mosquito bites and homesick kids and time out corners."
"Let me get out my little violin."
"Shut up," she said, grinning and pinning him to the bed. "If you aren't nicer to me I just might have to punish you."
"Oh really?"
"Mhmmm."
"Well, my mom will probably be home soon, so you'll have to punish me quietly."
She rolled her eyes. "You're the loud one."
He laughed. "You'll pay for that one," he said, rolling over so that he was on top of her and began kissing her.
"Wait. I'm thirsty," she said, pulling away.
He looked at her pleadingly. "You're serious?"
She nodded. "Please? I'm dying."
He sighed and grinned, got out of bed and found his boxers, and tossed her a few items of her own clothing. "If I'm braving the kitchen and a possible run-in with Nora, so are you."
She laughed, got semi-dressed and took his hand as he led her from his bedroom to the kitchen. Halfway there he hugged her from behind and started to kiss her neck.
"How fast can you drink a glass of water?" he murmered into her ear.
"Pretty fast," she whispered, arching her neck to give him easier access.
Suddenly, they were both squinting as bright yellow light filled the room. They sprang apart when they saw a middle aged man seated on an armchair in the living room, looking less than happy.
"Dad…" Chandler finally managed to say after a long pause while their eyes adjusted to the light and the initial shock wore off. Monica gaped at the stranger she had heard so many half-stories about; "half" because there was always a point where Chandler got sad, frustrated or angry and shut her out.
"Chandler."
"What… what are you doing here?" he stammered.
"It's still my house, legally, isn't it?" Charles asked defensively. He eyed his son up and down, trying to avoid looking at his scantily clad guest. "I suggest you go put some clothes on, then come back out here and introduce me."
"Fuck you," Chandler said in a quiet and controlled tone that Monica had never heard before. It scared her, and she took another step away from him and back towards his room.
"Excuse me, what did you just say?"
"I said, fuck you," he repeated calmly.
"I'm just gonna… wait in your room," Monica said awkwardly, leaving Chandler and his father alone. They stared at each other in silence for several moments.
"I'm still waiting for your apology," Charles said.
"Funny, I've been waiting for one of those since I was eight years old. Might wanna get used to waiting."
"Chandler, I'm so sick of these little jabs… you've barely said hello and already you're back to blaming me for the breakdown of the American family."
"No, not the American family, just ours."
"As much as I've missed this dynamic we have, I was hoping we could have a different conversation right now."
"You and I don't have conversations."
"Even so," Charles sneered, "I was hoping we might discuss you and your little friend, walking through the house half naked."
Chandler laughed out loud. "You hoped wrong."
"I did not raise you to behave this way," Charles said, becoming increasingly agitated.
"No, because you didn't raise me at all!" Chandler yelled back. "And Dad, thanks for the gesture, but you're about 5 years too late for the sex talk."
"Chandler? Who are you talking to?" Nora asked from the front hall. Chandler slapped his forehead in frustration.
"She didn't know you were coming?" he hissed at his father as Nora reached the living room.
"Charles? What the hell… why are you even here?"
"Nora. Hello. I see you've been just as busy as usual," he said, gesturing to her dress.
"What are you doing here?" she repeated.
"I was in the city and decided to drop in to say hello, since I knew Chandler was living here this summer. And I'm glad I did, because now I know what goes on in this house."
"And what would that be?" Nora asked defensively. Chandler felt like an eight year old again, like an invisible child or a piece of furniture, something neither of them saw.
"You can sleep with whomever you want in your life, Nora, but when I come home to find my son sneaking around in a dark house with a half dressed girl-"
"Shut up! Shut up!" Chandler finally interrupted. "Where do you get off? Why were you sitting here in the dark anyway? Were you trying to catch someone, Mom or me? And for your information, that half-dressed girl is my girlfriend, and has been for a long time, and maybe you would have known that if you were around for more than five minutes a year. So, I don't want you," Chandler said, getting as close to his father as he could, "telling me what to do, or where to do it. As far as I'm concerned, you can either go back to where you came from, or straight to hell."
With that, Chandler stalked back to his room and let the door slam behind him, the voices of his parents already arguing behind him. Monica was fully dressed now, sitting on the corner of his bed nervously. He barely saw her. He picked up a shoe from the floor and hurled it as hard as he could at the wall. Monica winced at the deadened thud, and he looked back at her.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. She rose and tried to hug him, but he fought her arms away. "It's okay," he said.
"I know," she said, and tried again, but again he fought her. "Chandler. Please," she begged, running her hand up and down his arm. Tears threatened the corners of his eyes and he closed them.
"So that was your dad," she said quietly. He nodded.
"I hate him."
Monica reached out with her other arm and touched his chest lightly. Before he knew what he was doing, he flung her arm away from him so hard she fell back a little, and when she looked back up at him in shock, he was crying.
"Oh my god, Monica, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, reaching for her. She recoiled at first, still unsure of what had just happened, but finally he was able to wrap his arms around her, to absorb her small body in his own, and he held her to him as close as he could, crying salty tears into the gap between her neck and shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," he kept repeating. "I'm just like him. I'm just like him…"
"Shhh…" Monica finally said, tears stinging her own eyes. "It's okay…"
"No. No, it's not okay. I'll never forgive myself for that."
"It was nothing, Chandler. Really," she said soothingly, stroking his back.
"But I saw you… and your eyes, and you were scared, you were scared of me…" he trailed off, choking back sobs.
"I could never be scared of you," she said. She grabbed both sides of his face in her hands. "Chandler, listen to me. You are not your father."
"But-"
"You're not your father. You could never be."
He searched for the lie in her words, the glint of suspicion in her eyes, and found neither. He finally just nodded, sniffling, and rubbed his eyes. She lay down on his bed, and he lay down beside her and let her hold him, kissing his tears and rubbing his back until he finally fell asleep. She listened to his erratic breathing and the screaming of his parents in the living room, and it was a long time before she closed her eyes.
To be continued… of course.