"No, you should name it Joseph!"
I fight the urge to turn on my heel and bolt out the door. An hour and a half commute tonight, with the conversation with Ross and the impending discussion resonating in my skull and I walk into this cacophony.
"Jack Joseph Bing? Huh. No, I don't think so."
"Well, how about Joey?"
"Jack Joey Bing? That's even worse!"
"Worse than Jack Phoebo Bing?" Joey retorts.
"Hi sweetie," Monica blessedly interrupts, drowning out Phoebe's response. She greets me with her usual bright smile and soft kiss.
"Hi honey."
I place another kiss on her lips, needing the warmth, comfort, and stability her love has given me.
I drop my briefcase on the bench by the staircase and pull Monica in my arms. The name debate rages on beyond me.
"Mmm, I see you told everyone we had decided on a first name for the baby." I feel her cheekbone press into my chest as she smiles.
"Yeah, I didn't think you'd mind. They've been tossing around ideas for middle names."
"So I hear. Anything more original than their own?"
"Does Phoebo count?"
I shake my head and pull away.
"And how have you been, little one?" I ask Monica's stomach. I place a kiss on the swell of her belly and stroke her stomach before I am rewarded with a kick. I grin idiotically at Monica who returns my enthusiasm with a proud smile of her own. I shrug out of my overcoat and tie and pick up a bag by my briefcase and present it to Monica.
"Your asparagus and taffy, my lady."
She rips it out of my hand and digs into the taffy.
"I missed you," she says in between chews.
"I missed you, too, honey," I return absently, as I sort through the mail on the table.
"I thought about you all day," she whispers seductively, placing a series of feather-light kisses on my jaw and neck before wrapping her arms around me. I try to reciprocate, very aware of the bulge between us. I just get my arms around her waist when Jack kicks again.
"I think we're squeezing him," I say worriedly.
"He's fine," Monica reassures and kisses me passionately. Her hormones are in full swing, and basically that means she wants sex all the time. Most of the time that's fine with me, but others I'm just too damn tired.
"Mmm. Phoebe and Joey," I remind her, pulling away and giving her an affectionate squeeze. She gives me a pout in return.
"Chandler!"
I turn my attention to the kitchen, where the shout came from, and where Joey and Phoebe are playing the middle name game. They're standing on opposite sides of the counter. Coming into the room I can see Rachel perched on one of the barstools, reading Cosmo or Vogue, or one of her other fashion magazines, and drinking what is undoubtedly a diet coke, and generally ignoring the debate going around her. Joey is picking at the dinner Monica is trying to prepare while Phoebe absently stirs the ingredients in a pot on the stove.
"Hey Joe," I return and nod at Rachel and Phoebe. "Ladies."
Rachel sets her magazine down and looks from me to Monica.
"So? What's the big news?"
Joey and Phoebe stop bickering and look at me. Monica wraps her arms around me again and waits for my answer. I feel the crush of all eyes upon me. Even Jack, who usually responds to pressure against the abdomen, is unusually quiet, as though sensing the gravity of what I'm about to say.
"What is it, honey?"
Dammit. An hour and a half commute thinking of what I need to say and how I'm going to say it and I still have no idea how I'm even going to start. Oh, hell, best to just jump right in there.
"I talked to Ross today."
For two minutes after that it is so deafeningly quiet I think for sure that one of my eardrums has popped. Phoebe recovers first.
"What?!"
"I talked to Ross today."
"How? When?" Joey demands.
"Well, he opened his mouth and said something and then I opened my mouth and said something and a conversations was born." Rachel rolls her eyes.
"You saw him?" Monica murmurs. I look down into her blue, blue eyes, staring into mine so incredulously.
"No. No, I didn't see him. We talked on the phone."
"Well? What did he want?" Joey asks.
"Yeah. Don't just tell me he called up after five years to say hello!" Phoebe exclaims angrily.
I shake my head. "He wants to see us. All of us," I add, glancing at Rachel.
Once again the room is befallen with silence. Monica releases her hold and steps away from me, rubbing her stomach absently. Seeing the confusion in her eyes I long to take back everything I just said. I glance at Rachel. Her face is drawn tight with anxiety and she appears to be mulling over this piece of news worriedly.
I could tell Ross they wouldn't go for it, I reason. It's not like he would know and it wouldn't be a total shock if no one did want to see him. I mean, I think I made it pretty clear that there's still some resentment harbored about his five-year hiatus from our lives.
"What did you tell him?" Phoebe asks, looking around and taking note of Rachel's pensive face and Monica's blank look. Monica looks up attentively.
"I told him I'd talk to you guys first and go from there. I didn't promise him anything." Everybody looks incredibly relieved on hearing this piece of news. I can't think of anything else to say so I stay silent and watch everyone ponder this new turn of events. Rachel chews her lip, while Monica runs her hands over her stomach. I fight the urge to run to my secret stash of cigarettes. How I lasted this long without one is only a testimony to how much I love Monica. The pregnancy makes Monica sensitive to certain smells, and she gets sick at the barest whiff of carbon monoxide. Unfortunately for Monica I found that out the hard way. It was almost four months ago, when my company was audited and I stayed late four nights in a row, getting figures together. I broke on the last night and managed to smoke roughly half a carton.
"So what are you fixing for dinner?" I ask, shaking my head of the memory.
"Whatever you guys want," Monica finally answers, coming to life. "I'm not hungry."
"Mon," I call after her retreating form. She's surprisingly fast for being laden with twenty-five pounds of baby weight. She disappears around the corner and up the stairs without acknowledging me.
Phoebe frowns sympathetically at the space Monica just vacated, and then at Rachel hunched over the counter on her barstool.
Way to go, Chandler. Still adept at spreading the joy.
I feel like there's something I should be saying to explain all this. To make it sound logical and normal and not the earth-shattering news this is, but I don't have a clue as to what that something is.
I look to Joey, of all people, for help. He returns my silent plea with a desperate look of his own and I suddenly realize that it's up to me to convince my friends to give Ross the chance he's asking for. And for me to do that I'm going to have to swallow my own misgivings and hurt and prove it's the right thing to do.
When did I become the moral center of the group?
I sigh heavily, eliciting the solemn attention of my three friends.
"Mike working?" I ask Phoebe. She nods.
"Until eleven."
I nod in return.
"Better order a pizza, Joe. We're going to be here at least that long."
"What? Why?" Rachel asks suddenly.
"Come on, Rach. We need to discuss this."
"Discuss what?"
"Are you kidding me? Seeing Ross. Talking with him."
"What is there to talk about?"
"Rach—"
"No, really. What is there to talk about? He went off to London to marry Emily. But not before I get there and ruin everything. They manage to salvage their honeymoon and their marriage and promptly fall off the face of the earth. I mean, Ross goes on dinosaur digs for years at a time. Emily does a damn fine job on ensuring that an ocean and at least one continent always separates Ross and I, and now, five years later, they show up and want to have a nice chat? I don't think so. So we all have dinner together. Who's to say Ross and Emily won't get right back on that plane and forget us for another five years."
Hmm. It's hard to argue with that type of logic. This is really a job for Monica.
"Actually, Emily isn't with him," I inform the others.
"Are you sure?" Phoebe presses.
"Yeah. I asked him."
"Well, did they break up?" Joey asks.
"I don't know," I answer and note Rachel's interest in my response. "I didn't really delve any deeper into the subject."
"So is her here on business then or what?"
"I honestly don't know, Pheebs."
"What did you guys talk about then?" Rachel asks.
"Well, we didn't so much as talk as have periods of total silence broken by brief bursts of dialogue and, mostly, yelling."
"He yelled at you?" Joey cries incredulously.
"No, um, I yelled at him."
"Good."
"What did you yell at him for?" Phoebe inquires.
"I-I might have voiced my displeasure over the lack of communication between us...and Monica...and, you know, everything."
"Ha! See, you feel the same way we do!" Joey shouts triumphantly.
"I never said I didn't."
"Does he know about you and Monica?" Rachel breaks in.
"No, he doesn't."
"Dude, he doesn't know you knocked up his little sister?"
"No, and that's why I think we should have dinner with him. Give everybody a chance to explain."
"You and Monica, maybe," Phoebe agrees, "but I don't think that logic applies to any of us."
"How do you figure?"
"Look, you and Monica are expecting his nephew—a nephew he doesn't even know about. He's Monica's brother and you're Monica's husband, so obviously you guys would have reason to reopen lines of communication, but I just don't see why it's necessary for me, or for Joey. And really, what good is it going to do for either Ross or Rachel for them to start talking again. It just seems like everybody's headed for more heartbreak.
"You don't think it's necessary?" I repeat, watching my friends shake their heads in agreement. "Don't you want to hear why he was so damned busy that he missed not only Monica's and my wedding, but yours and Mike's as well? Joey, don't you want to know if he's seen you back on Days of Our Lives, or that you were in a summer blockbuster?" Though blockbuster may be too strong a word for its performance. "Don't you want to know if he thought you were great, or that your portrayal of Cecilia what's-her-name is dead on?"
"Dude! It is!"
"Rachel, don't you ever wonder if maybe he was sorry for the way reacted and what he said. Don't you guys want to know why after half a decade of birthdays and holidays and weddings and letters he never once responded to any invitation, or even sent out any of his own?" I pause and look around at the contemplative faces before me.
"Well, I do. I want to know what the reasons are. I want to know why he never answered any of my wife's letters or returned her phone calls. I want to hear what good reason he had for not standing up at my wedding—much less missing it entirely. And even though I'm still really pissed at him for all this, I want to know if he missed us as much as we missed him."
I run out of breath and fumble for more words before giving up and letting the silence engulf us once again. I check my watch and realize an hour has already passed since I got home. It's well past seven-thirty and Monica needs to eat something.
"You guys decide on dinner. I'm going to go check on Monica."