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"Rachel, which one looks better?" Ross asked, walking out into the living room wearing a trucked in, salmon-colored dress shirt and a brown pair of slacks, holding up two different ties. Rachel considered the options as she secured her earrings.
"The solid brown," she decided. He nodded and tossed the other one aside.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yeah, but did we decide to bring Emma or not?"
"I think this place is a little too nice for a 3-year-old."
"Aw, everyone's going to be so bummed. They were all really looking forward to seeing her."
"Yeah, I know," she admitted, holding onto his bicep for balance while putting on her heels, "but they'll see her in a few weeks at the wedding."
Months had passed, now, since their engagement, and in only a matter of two weeks would they officially be husband and wife. The resort in Barbados had been booked, nearly everything arranged (though 'everything' was not much, as the ceremony would be small), and the guests invited (all 20 of them). Tonight, Rachel's father had managed to book an exclusive room in Trump Tower's Jean Georges restaurant, for no small amount of money. Their 4 friends and Ross and Rachel's parents would attend, and it would not only be a celebratory pre-wedding bash, but also a highly-coveted chance for everyone to catch up.
Emma came padding into the room, rubbing her eyes with a tiny balled-up fist, wearing her new red footy jammies with the teddy bears on them.
"When you go?" she asked sheepishly. Ross picked his baby daughter up above his head and kissed her belly, inciting a small giggle and awakening her from sleepiness. "Daddy, stop it! You being silly!" she screeched.
"We're going right now," he informed, settling her in on his hip, "and I know you're going to be a good girl for Carrie, as always, right?" The little girl nodded and smiled, but also reached out towards Rachel.
"Mommy," she whispered. He lowered their daughter into her arms and watched, marveling at the beauty of it.
"Yes, sweety?" Rachel asked, brushing the girl's soft wisps of dirty blonde hair out of her eyes.
"Where you guys go?"
"Oh, just to some boring big-people restaurant you wouldn't like," she assured. "We save all the fun things for you!"
"Okay," the girl nodded, seemingly pleased with this answer. "Mommy, what this?" She pointed to the shiny diamond on Rachel's ring finger, causing Ross to smile.
"I gave that to Mommy," he chimed in.
"How come?" Emma asked.
"Well..." he considered, wondering how he'd ever explain the concept of marriage to a 3-year-old. "Because I love her very, very much, and I want her to have something almost as pretty as she is," he finally decided on, knowing it would win him some bonus points.
"Nicely done," Rachel leaned up and whispered. "Okay, now off to bed!"
She sent the little girl trotting off towards her loft bedroom with the sitter in hot pursuit before walking out the door for the night, Ross following with this fingers laced lazily in hers.
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The restaurant buzzed with sharply-dressed personnel, the chatter of customers, and the faint, melodic hum of jazz music. In a high class, secluded back room, the walls of which were the color of mahogany, the Geller-Green Clan & Co. had their own little party going on.
Ross sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, with Rachel to his right. He stroked her back and chuckled in private to her, each rolling their eyes at their parents' relentlessness over the wedding.
"Are you sure you don't want to invite anyone else, son?" his father asked.
"Dad, come on, stop it. No. We don't want it to be a big deal. Just you guys and a few close family members is fine," Ross asserted.
"And Joey's going to be officiating again?" asked Mrs. Geller, who still seemed a little queasy with the idea. Ross nodded firmly, though.
"Yes, absolutely." Rachel leaned over to Ross and discreetly concealed her mouth with her hand.
"I think I feel a baby question coming on from Daddy," she wagered, obviously exhausted and irritated at the idea. Ross just smiled and nodded, rubbing her neck.
"Hey, at least he's taking it easy on me, and at least he's acting decently towards your mom," he pointed out, gesturing towards Mrs. Green, who was more than a little tipsy off her string of White Zinfandels.
"So, princess..." Dr. Green began, and Rachel shot Ross an unmistakable 'I told you so' look, "any plans for what you two are going to be doing AFTER the wedding?" he asked tactfully, flashing a knowing smile.
"Well, Daddy, you know, we haven't really thought about it. Right now, we're just tryi--"
"Oh, honestly, Rachel, it's already taken you 8 years longer than it should have to get married! You need to make up for lost time!" chimed in Mrs. Green. Rachel rubbed her temples with her forefingers and hung her head.
"I knew this was going to turn into a nightmare," she murmured to Ross, who was now folding and refolding his napkin in his lap and squirming nervously.
"Ah, can't we talk about this another time?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Monica! How's the new restaurant going?" he asked.
"Oh, no," she declined, throwing up her hands in front of her. "Don't bring me into the middle of this."
"What? You don't think you're up to the challenge...Mr. Big Shot?" Rachel's father jeered. At this, Rachel looked up and shot a finger out at her father.
"Daddy, you SWORE you were going to stop calling him names after he proposed!"
"Alright, look, everybody quiet!" Chandler finally intervened. "Now, this is about Ross and Rachel and their day. If we can't all be grownups about this, then I think we should probably all just leave."
"Leave?" questioned Leonard, in disbelief. "I paid more than you make in a month for us to be here tonight! Nobody's leaving!"
"And what a happy occasion it is, by the way," Chandler quipped.
"What's that, son?"
"Daddy, he's right!" Rachel all but yelled, bringing her hands down flat against the table. "This wedding is about what Ross and I want, as is this marriage going to be! We're not going to invite anyone just to appease them, and we're CERTAINLY not going to start popping out kids just to please our parents!"
A flagrant awkwardness fell over the group. Ross cleared his throat and, looking over at Rachel and realizing she was about to fall apart, took her hand on top of the table and stroked it with his thumb.
"That's right," he reiterated, "and if you guys have a problem with that, then...well, then, we're sorry."
"Well, then," Mrs. Geller finally spoke, "that's fine, dear."
The sentiment was uncomfortable, and obviously not very sincere, but it maintained the peace fairly well until the entrees came.
At the end of the evening, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, putting on their jackets and hailing cabs, Ross swore he heard Dr. Green making some comment about his only grandchild being a bastard, but he thought it best not to tell Rachel.
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Rachel shrugged off her jacket and threw it over the couch on her way to the kitchen, flipping off her heels, en route. She opened the fridge and stood in front of it for a few seconds before retrieving a Snapple and heading for the bedroom. Meanwhile, Ross, knowing what a rotten mood she was in, decided it best to keep his distance. He loosened his tie, plopped down on the couch, and turned on the projection screen TV.
Not 10 minutes later--right in the middle of the Discovery Channel documentary--Rachel came raiding out of their bedroom with a scowl on her face and planted herself right between Ross and the television.
Uh oh, he thought. He'd obviously done something wrong.
"What's wrong?" he asked, turning off the TV. She crossed her arms, looking absolutely stunned that he would ask that question.
"What's WRONG?" she yelled. Ross winced at her tone.
"Uh, yeah. What, did I do something?"
"Hm, gee, I don't know, Ross. Do you THINK you did something?"
Oh, God, he thought to himself. That was it. There was no absolutely no chance of survival, now. As soon as she started asking the rhetorical, reverse psychology, manipulative girlfriend questions, he was a goner.
"Look, Rach, I have no idea what I could have done."
"I know you don't! That's because it's about what you DIDN'T do!"
At this point, his jaw dropped open. Was she serious? It was say too late for this--he was too tired and the night had been far too long for mind reading. He knew that was part of the job description for being a good husband, but he had to admit, he had no ideas about this one (like most men in his position).
"Okay, Rach, what didn't I do, then?"
He swore to God, for as much as he loved her, if the next words out of her mouth were 'if you don't know, then I can't tell you'...
Instead, however, he was surprised to see her bottom lip begin to tremble and tears well up in her eyes. Ah, his Rachel. Such a crier. He would normally be worried, but by this time, he'd learned that the problem didn't exactly have to be gargantuan for her to cry. The way she got when she was flustered was actually kind of cute, but he didn't dare crack a smile or tell her that. He'd probably find himself peeing through a catheter, if he tried.
"Rach, sweety, what's the matter?" He considered getting up to hug her, but wanted to wait it out, first. She shook her head.
"I know it's stupid, but..." she began, her sobs picking up as she talked.
"What?" He was actually concerned, and it colored his voice.
"...but you didn't even come see how I was!" she finished.
"What? When?" he asked, his concern turning to confusion.
"Just now! When we came home! You came in here and turned on the TV instead of coming to talk to me! Is this what it's going to be like when we're married? You just--just stop caring?"
Watching her stand there before him, her cheeks flushed and tear-stained, and so obviously upset, he suddenly dawned on him what this was really about. He got up this time and held out his arms to her.
"Sweetheart, come here," he invited, and she leaned against his chest as he enveloped his arms around her and laid his chin on her head. He kissed her forehead for good measure. "I think I know what this is really about."
"You do?" she sniffled, wrapped her arms around his middle.
"It's the same reason you were so upset tonight at dinner."
"Ross, I was upset at dinner because my father's a pigheaded jerk," she reminded him. He nodded and chuckled.
"Well, yes, but I think there was something else, too."
"What?"
"I think the idea of married life is starting to get to you." He was actually surprised with himself for not only being intuitive enough to see this, but for not freaking out and misreading it as a sign of regret.
"What? Honey, that's crazy! I love you! I have no doubts about marrying you." She punctuated this by kissing him firmly on the chest and then neck.
"I know," he nodded, "but it's still normal to start feeling nervous so close to the wedding. I know I did...both times," he joked.
"Hey, what about Vegas?"
"Sweety, I don't think either of us was feeling much of anything that night."
This lightened the mood and they were both able to laugh the somewhat serious moment off, hugging in the middle of the living room and joking. She laid her head against his chest and swayed to a silent rhythm with him.
"I guess you're probably right," she submitted, kissing him on the mouth this time.
Well, of course I am," he beamed. "Now, let's go to bed. It's too late for us old fogies to be up."
As she turned around to head back to the bedroom, he made sure to walk closely behind her, poking her and discreetly grabbing her ass the whole way, causing her to giggle like a 14-year-old school girl being teased by the boy she has a crush on.
"See? Married life isn't going to be any different," he promised, as they disappeared into the bedroom.
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