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"Ross!"
Hearing her yell his name, he'd learned, could either mean very good or very agitating things. Considering that he was currently on the opposite end of their apartment and was not naked, he sighed and braced himself for what could only be another pre-wedding bitchfest. Putting on a happy face, he moved from the office out into the living room to see Rachel emerging from their bedroom with a cordless phone pinned between her cheek and shoulder.
"What is it, sweety?" he'd learned to ask, now a master at feigning anxiety equal to that indicated in her tone.
"The florist and caterer the resort referred us to say they never received the order!"
"What!" he yelled. Okay, so this was actually sort of a significant problem. "Is that them on the phone right now?"
She nodded and handed the cordless to him, exasperated, crossing her arms over her chest and planting herself there to listen, like a little girl pouting expectantly at her father to fix something for her.
"Hello?" he yelled, confusion tinting his voice. Rachel listening as the whiney young woman recited the same annoying monologue back to her fiancé that she'd just heard 2 minutes ago, rolling her eyes.
"What? That's impossible. We put in that order MONTHS ago!" Silence ensued while Ross pretended to listen to the woman's feeble excuses. He shook his head emphatically, plugging his other ear like he was trying to block out nonexistent noise—as if that'd better help him to understand this irrational woman's obviously delusional pretexts.
"No, you listen to me. My fiancée and I are checking into the Sunset Paradise Resort tomorrow afternoon, and our wedding is set for the following evening. Those 500 lilies, 50 pounds of food and dove ice sculpture will BE waiting for us, or I will come down there and explain this whole thing, myself, to your manager. I have our receipt right here with me!"
Rachel cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at him, knowing that last statement was a lie, but he winked and smiled at her and she couldn't help but giggle.
"Okay, good!" he tacked onto the end for effect, pressing the end button and setting the phone down on the kitchen bar with an authoritative slam. Rachel smiled and strolled over to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and kissing him on the mouth.
"Well, that was certainly impressive, Mr. Rachel," she joked, alluding to their post-first-wedding drunken nicknames.
"Why, thank you, Mrs. Ross," he played along, stroking her back. "How's it feel to know you're going to officially be my wife again in 48 hours?"
"Mmm, pretty nice."
She kissed his neck hungrily, sucking and biting on it, causing him to groan from somewhere deep in the back of his throat. Whenever she did that, it triggered something inside him and sped up his sexual aggressiveness to two times what it normally would be, and just when he was considering actually picking her up and placing her on the kitchen counter to continue their little escapade more comprehensively, as if by clockwork, they were interrupted by the soft pattering of little feet.
"Daddy, what're you doing to Mommy?" their bright-eyed daughter asked, looking almost concerned. Embarrassed, having been caught making out for, surprisingly, the first time ever by Emma, they quickly let go of one another and made haste to connive some lame response to her loaded question.
"Err, well, Daddy was just checking me for, uh…Ross?"
"That's right, Emma! I was just checking Mommy for, um…swollen tonsils."
The little girl looked skeptically at the two, somehow intuitively knowing that something in their story wasn't adding up. Just wait, Ross thought. In about 15 years, the tables are going to be so turned, and I'm going to be the one dissecting your lame excuses.
"But Daddy, you check my tonsils before, and you no do it like that," she rather vigilantly pointed out.
"Uh, well, that's because you always check Mommy tonsils differently than daughter tonsils," he informed matter-of-factly, as if the connection were obvious and Emma was being daft for not making it. She seemed to buy it.
"Oh, 'cause Mommy's big and I little?"
"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "Now, you'd better go to sleep. You know what's happening tomorrow, don't you?" he asked his little girl, picking her up and carrying her towards her bedroom.
"We go on plane to the ocean!" she all but screeched, clapping her hands together vigorously.
"That's right! And do you remember why we're going to the ocean?"
"Because you gave Mommy the pretty ring, and I going to carry the flowers!" she exclaimed again, with almost equal fervor.
"Yup! And what else are you going to do while you carry the flowers for Mommy and Daddy?"
"Oh!" she suddenly remembered. "Be quiet when Uncle Chandler holds me."
"Perfect!" Ross kissed her on the cheek before setting her down in her bed. "Night, gorgeous."
"Night, Daddy."
Just as he was flicking off the light, his unknowable little girl whispered something else.
"Have fun checking Mommy's tonsils."
Through the dark, from the doorway, Ross swore she was smiling.
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Six in the morning came awfully early that Friday for Ross and Rachel, who'd spent the rest of their previous night playing a classically flirtatious game of cat and mouse, which had ultimately ended in a marathon of artless caresses and kisses and whimpers that had lasted long into the morning hours. Now, their hair windswept, their eyelids heavy and their veins pumping with the sludge and grain of hard, black coffee, they gathered their suitcases and ushered their daughter into a cab down on the street.
New York, true to its reputation, was, indeed, the city that did not sleep.
"The bridge is a dead end at this hour," Ross commandingly informed the cabbie, sipping his bitter coffee out of the state-of-the-art thermos Monica had given him for his birthday a few years ago. "Take the tunnel."
Looking over at Rachel, her head propped up against the glass window pane, Emma in her lap, both doing their best not to fall back asleep on a morning such as this, Ross couldn't help but be amused by how simple this all seemed—how arbitrary, almost.
Maybe this was why this marriage was the real one—the right one. All of his preceding ones had been so tense, and formal, and contrived, really. He hadn't been able to even enjoy them until he'd gotten right up there to the alter. The whole process had always been a headache.
This, though…this was right. It was casual. It was domestic—like they were just taking a morning outing to the MET. Ross threaded his fingers through hers in the space between their thighs. She didn't even move her forehead from the glass, or open her eyes. She just smiled and squeezed back, knowingly.
She must have felt it, too.
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After being separated into two different cabs, Ross and Rachel reconvened with the others beneath the vaulted overhang of the resort.
Upon walking inside the colossal, seaside bastion, Rachel momentarily forgot all about her resolve upon a private, quaint wedding, swept away in the romantic magnetism of the resort's ambiance. A fairytale of lofty windows looking out of expanses of rolling tides and pristine beaches, never-ending vines of exotic flowers, waterfalls and polished tile gave the illusion of being caught up in some divine parallel universe, where only gods were worthy to dwell.
"Oh, Ross, isn't this gorgeous?" she asked, linking her arm with his as he checked in at the front desk. He looked down at her, starring with such affection that it somehow effortlessly drew her gaze to him, and he smiled contentedly.
"Yup," he agreed, though it was evident he wasn't talking about the resort. She smiled and blushed, secretly proud of her fiancé and knowing the female clerk was watching, undoubtedly very jealous.
"Ugh, that's it," the woman behind the desk scoffed, watching the adorable display of affection, "I'm returning my ex boyfriend's calls tomorrow."
Their suite turned out to be equally as immaculate as the rest of the hotel, which was good, because as they dropped their suitcases and collapsed onto the queen-sized bed, they both knew they were too tired to move for a while. Emma was already fast asleep on the couch in the living room.
"Monica wants to have drinks at the bar downstairs before the rehearsal dinner," Rachel apathetically commented, not even opening her eyes.
"Ah, just what we need—alcohol before another wedding," he joked, coaxing a small giggle from her. She rolled over and flung one arm across his chest, nestling her head beside his shoulder.
"Mmm, weddings are exhausting," he murmured into the sleeve of his shirt.
"Just wait for the marriage part," he joked again. This time she nodded, knowing he was right. That didn't discourage her from looking forward to it, though. "Is Emma sleeping?" he asked.
"Like a baby."
"Well, I would normally suggest that you take off your clothes…" he began, wrapping an arm around her and stroking her back, "but, unfortunately, I think I've finally gotten so tired that even sex can't wake me up."
She smiled and nodded, already halfway asleep herself. She loved just laying there with him like that. She felt his heart beating in his chest. Not only that, but she swore she could also feel it pumping the blood through his veins. She ran her hand against the flat expanse of his chest and stomach, teasingly tucking her fingers underneath the front of his jeans. She felt his abdominal muscles twitch when her fingernails grazed the sensitive skin.
"You know, you can get naked without having sex," she informed, enticingly.
"Well, it is usually preferred…" he quipped, and she lightly smacked his stomach for the joking-yet-typical-guy response.
"Pig!" she playfully accused, smiling and rolling her eyes. He chuckled and tapped her back, beginning a lighthearted game of silly, fun flirtation. Even after all they'd been through, they could still sometimes joke and play and flirt like they were 26 again.
"Oh, come on," he laughed, still half-attempting to block her jokey blows, "I was just kidding!"
"Fine," she relented, placing her hand back where it had been on his stomach and settling in against his side again. After a brief pause, he smiled mischievously and continued the game.
"Good. Now, take off your shirt."
He braced himself for her to hit him again, or yell some teasing accusation, but was surprised when she instead began kissing him passionately, forcing her tongue boisterously into his mouth, wrapping her arms around her neck and brushing her hands through her hair. Though he was tired, there was no feeling in the world stronger than his desire to kiss her, and not many things that could make him stop after he'd started.
He placed his hands on her waist as she shifted her weight on top of him, and ran them up and down her back as their kiss intensified even further and they both began moaning longingly. After a few minutes, Rachel breathlessly pulled away. Laying her forehead against his and smiling at how aroused she'd gotten him, she cleared her throat.
"You know I always win this game," she boasted, kissing his top lip for good measure. The game she was referencing, of course, was the one they played most often during foreplay—the one where they fought to see who could toy with the other more. Ross had made a valiant effort with all the teasing jokes, but actions speak louder than words, and Rachel always claimed her victory on that note.
"Okay," he panted, "you win." He was obviously not very upset. Both of them were clearly 'winning', at this point.
"The rehearsal's in two hours," Rachel noted between kisses.
"And?" Ross detachedly asked, focusing his ministrations intensively on her right earlobe as his hands roamed southbound beneath her skirt. He was merely placating her with the question. He couldn't care less about where her comment was leading right now.
"We have to meet Monica and Chandler…" she continued, as if it were obvious, though her insistence was waning as he sucked harder at her ear. She let out a throaty moan and let her eyelids flutter shut.
"We don't have to have sex…we could just do this," he murmured. This made Rachel smile and gave her goosebumps. The sentiment was so endearing. For as awkward and goofy as he could sometimes be, Ross really was just the most caring, decent guy. The fact that he was opting to just hold and kiss her over indulging in a rushed quickie like most men would almost brought tears to her eyes. She kissed his chest and collarbone.
"Mmm," she whispered, trailing her hands down his stomach, "I love you". He nuzzled her hair and rubbed her back in return.
"I love you, too, sweety."
The moment intensified when he let his hand fall to the bottom of her skirt, brushing the back of her thigh flirtatiously with his fingertips. She began sucking the tight skin of his shoulder with direct proportion to how turned on she was getting, and it didn't take long before his fingers had found their way up to her panty line. She moaned into his mouth with frustration, tightening her grip on his shoulders.
"Don't toy with me, Dr. Geller," she whispered, smiling into his mouth. Just as the pad of his finger brushed up against the sensitive warmth it had been anticipating, Ross' cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
"Jesus!" he yelled, surprised by the unexpected sensation, and reached into his pocket for the phone out of reflex.
Meanwhile, Rachel had rolled off of him when he'd jerked to sit up, and was currently lying with her back against the mattress and her hands covering her face in frustration. She let out an annoyed and disappointed sigh.
"This had better be good…" she warned. He nodded and smiled weakly with empathy, placing a comforting hand on her stomach.
"Hello?" he groan, obviously very frustrated himself. Rachel couldn't make what the voice on the other end was saying, but it sounded like an older man.
"Yes, Dr. Geller?"
"That'd be me," Ross affirmed, rubbing Rachel's stomach, sorrier than she'd ever know for having to halt their activities, and already hating this man for being the cause.
"My name's Dr. David Alward, and, before I even begin, let me just say how sorry I am about interrupting your vacation."
"Not just my vacation, Doctor—my wedding," Ross reminded the man.
"Right, right, I know, and I'm so terribly sorry, but I think I have some information that even you might deem worthy of the interruption." Ross looked down at Rachel, her feathery, golden brown hair wisped across her eyes and her chest heaving from the adrenaline they'd made together, and he shook his head.
"That's fairly doubtful, Dr. Alward, but please continue."
"Right. Dr. Geller, I'm head of what the University calls its Intercontinental Exchange Program. It's fairly new within the last few years. Have you heard of it?"
Ross rolled his eyes, as it was now evident that this would not be a short conversation, but attempted to, nonetheless, rack his brain for what this man was talking about.
"Yeah, uh, it sounds vaguely familiar. Refresh my memory," Ross requested, though he didn't actually care about having his memory refreshed, as Rachel had apparently realized the same thing he had about the inevitable longevity of this conversation and had risen from the bed to go check on Emma.
"The program distributes five merit-based grants a year to one professor from the Natural Sciences, Linguistics, Cultural Arts, Mathematics, and History departments. The candidates are selected based on both peer evaluations and, most importantly, extensive background research done by the board on the candidate's work."
Beginning to see where this was going, Ross was becoming increasingly intrigued. Though he'd never heard of this Dr. Alward, he now realized that he had heard of the program. One of his friends in the Geology Department had been sent to Cairo last year on a grant from this board.
"Okay, so, uh, why are you contacting me, then?" Ross asked, though he hoped he knew the answer.
"Well, Dr. Geller, I'd hoped it was obvious, but the selection comity has elected you as the candidate for this year from the Natural Sciences Department."
Ross' blood began pumping vigorously through his veins. His palms were sweating and his heart was beating up in his throat. He could hear and feel it in his ears, even. He gulped loudly and listened. What did this mean? Where did they want to send him? Did he HAVE to go? Did he WANT to go?
"Wow," he whispered. "Um, well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered, Doctor, but exactly where would I be going?"
"Ah, that's the beauty of the program, Dr. Geller! The grant is for between $500,000-$1,000,000, regardless of the destination. If you choose to accept, you'll be allowed to work cooperatively with the board in selecting a city you feel will be most beneficial to your work. Whether the research is conducted in the field, or a lab, or an office, or a classroom will be entirely up to you."
"And how long does the grant require I stay?"
"Again, it fluctuates with the case, but usually between one and two years. And don't worry about salary. It usually doubles, at least, during the duration of the project," Dr. Alward added with a knowing chuckle.
Ross chuckled in return, but only out of nervous habit. In actuality, had hadn't heard half of what the man had just said. This whole thing had completely blindsided him. One moment, it had been the night before his wedding, and he'd been innocently fooling around with his fiancée before a night of laughter and lighthearted fun with their closest friends. Now, what could potentially be the biggest decision of his career was hanging in the balance, waiting for him to regain his composure. He gulped again, and Dr. Alward felt the tension.
"Listen, Ross," the doctor sympathized, addressing him informally now to lighten the mood, "I know this must have all come as a shock, especially right before your wedding, but I thought it important that you knew immediately."
"No, right, that's understandable," Ross affirmed, nodding his head for no one to see. He cleared his throat and tried to clear his thoughts, as well. "Um, okay, so…when's my deadline? I mean, how long do I have to think about this?"
"Well, you see, that brings me back to why I felt it so necessary to call you immediately. Because the position is so highly coveted, and because there are so many intelligent, capable professors waiting in line, the initial nominees must either affirm or reject the offer by Monday."
"What?" Ross yelled, jumping up from the bed in disbelief. He immediately regretted this, though, as he didn't want Rachel to know anything unusual was going on. Much to his dismay, she came rushing into the bedroom with their daughter in her arms.
"Ross, what's the matter?" she asked concernedly, patting their fussy daughter on the back. Ross shook his head and smiled weakly.
"No, uh, nothing's wrong," he assured, putting a finger over his lips to signal her to whisper. She did.
"Who's that on the phone?" she mouthed, looking suspicious and still kind of worried. He shook his head, letting her know that it was okay and he'd tell her in a minute. Skeptically, she turned and went back out into the sitting area of the hotel suite.
"Sorry," Ross apologized, beginning to pace and running a nervous hand through his hair. "So, um, Monday? As in 2 days from now?"
"Yes," the man avowed bluntly. Ross let out a huff of air somewhere between a snicker and a cough.
"Alright, well, uh, look, I'm going to have to obviously talk to my fiancée about this, but…" He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "I'll call you by noon on Monday."
With that, he closed the phone, collapsing on the bed in a pile of confusion and anticipation.
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