"Ross?" she asked expectantly, swallowing and licking her lips.
"Huh?" he mumbled. He didn't even turn his head to look at her.
"Who was that on the phone?" She was now thoroughly shaken by this incident, somehow certain that the news was big and potentially life-altering. She hadn't seen Ross this upset or distant in years. Finally, he turned his head slightly. He couldn't make eye contact, because all he saw was the pitch black outline of her shapely curves against the door's luminous canvas. He hesitated, debating whether or not to tell her before the wedding.
He had to. The decision had to be made by Monday, and the wedding was Saturday. One day wouldn't be enough time. Even at the risk of upsetting her before their big day, a part of him believed that upsetting her the day after might be even worse. He didn't want to start their first day as husband and wife off on the wrong foot.
Sitting up on the bed, he licked his dry lips and patted the mattress beside him, motioning for her to sit down. She walked slowly across the room and did so, accompanying him with a cautious tenseness. When he finally got a good look into her eyes, he saw something almost like fear, and he hated that.
"Ross, what is it? You're scaring me." Immediately, her words reminded him of that day over a year ago at the airport, when he'd raced against time and reason for hours at dizzying speeds to stand before her and profess his love. She'd told him he was scaring her. He'd been scared, too, just as he was in this moment.
"Rach, I, uh…I kind of have some big news…" he began, taking her hand in his and stroking the back of it with this thumb.
"Is something wrong with the wedding?" He couldn't help but smile. Of course that would be her first question, as it was undoubtedly her biggest fear right now. He shook his head profusely, assuring her nothing was wrong.
"No, no, it's not that. It's just that, um…"
"Who was on the phone, Ross?"
He paused for a moment, staring intensely at her. He wanted to avert his eyes, afraid of diving headlong into what he was sure would be a very long, involved conversation—it deserved to be. This was weighty stuff—huge, potentially lifestyle-altering stuff. He just didn't know what he was getting into—with her or with his career.
"It was someone from the University," he started, looking down at where their hands were intertwined on her thigh.
"Is something wrong at work?" she guessed, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow. She studied the way he looked so nervous. She wanted to be a part of whatever this was that was obviously eating away at him. Had he been fired?
"Rachel, they want me to move," he finally blurted out, looking up at her and meeting her eyes with his. His gaze matched the intensity of the situation, and he didn't dare break the contact, afraid any sign of weakness—a falter or a flinch—might render him incapable of finishing this.
"What?" she whispered, her face contorting to one of her patented looks of disbelief. She dropped his hands. She was physically taken aback.
"I've been nominated as the recipient of a grant that requires me to live abroad for at least a year, either teaching or performing research," he finished explaining, these words coming out just as bluntly as his first. He had to be as professional as possible in all of this—couldn't allow himself to get either too excited or dismayed. First, he had to know how she felt. Right now, it was nothing more than words. "So…they want me to move."
Silence.
"Do you want to do this?"
There. The definitive, million dollar question had been asked.
"I, uh…I honestly don't know," he admitted, laughing at how absurd that sounded. With something as huge as this, there should be no ambivalence. "I mean, my salary would be guaranteed to double… and it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that's for sure, but…"
He shook his head and shrugged. He was having a hard time organizing his thoughts. He probably should have made an effort to do that before bringing this up with her. Classic Ross—speaking before thinking.
She cleared her throat and let out a quick chuckle of disbelief, shaking her head and turning away, unable to look at him. She knew what the 'but' was—"but then there's you". Why did she feel like this was all being pinned on her? What did it all mean, and why was everything suddenly so complicated? Why now? Sighing deeply, she stood up from the bed.
"Aren't you going to tell me what you think about this?" Ross asked timidly, looking up at her for some sort of feedback. That was, after all, why he'd told her so immediately. She scoffed at this, turning around to face him.
"Ross, how do you expect me to have an opinion about this if you don't?" she asked coldly—maybe a little more so than she'd intended. She hadn't meant to sound so rude, but she hated the way this was playing out. She knew it was going to inevitably rest on her shoulders, and the situation was all a little too familiar. It hit a little too close to home.
"I'm sorry," he whispered feebly, looking down at his hands in his lap again. He knew just what this was about—it was unspoken between them, but it was all either of them could think. The similarities between the two situations were striking and undeniable.
"I mean, Jesus, Ross," she continued, shaking her head and beginning to pace around the room, "what do you expect me to think?"
"I don't know," he admitted. And he really didn't.
More silence. She was standing at the foot of the bed, now, as still as a statue with her hands covering her face. This was all suddenly such a mess.
"How long do you have to decide?"
God, she sure knew how to cut to the core of a tense condition. Every question she asked was making it all the more difficult.
"Two days," he whispered.
"What?" she whisper-yelled, employing that special parent technique of screaming without raising your voice as to not wake the sleeping child in the next room. Rachel was a pro at it.
"I know, I know," he empathized, now rising from the bed himself and holding his hands out in front of him as a peace gesture. "Look, Rach, I know this couldn't have come at a worse time, but please don't be mad. I only told you because I want you to be a part of this. We're a team, now, remember?" As he said this, he walked closer to her, taking her hands in his at their sides. "You and me," he recited, bringing her hands to press them against his chest. "This is it." It was all she could do not to smile at the way he recalled her words exactly. She couldn't break the somberness of this moment, though. The context was far too serious.
"Ross…" she pleaded, almost angry at him for the way he somehow always managed to break her. She couldn't keep her head straight and remember all the things she wanted to say when he was holding her hands in his like that, so tenderly stroking them, and planting the occasional small butterfly kiss on her fingers. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let her head lull to the side and almost let herself forget about the…
"Ross, no!" she snapped, regaining her composure and pulling her hands away. "Stop it! You can't just kiss me and make it all better!"
Dead silence. They both stopped dead in their tracks at the realization of what she'd just said. She knew it immediately, as soon as the words left her mouth—maybe even slightly before. Every part of this conversation, almost, seemed to be from their arguments past. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking a step back.
"Rachel…" he entreated, taking a step forward to close the space she'd just created. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and starred at her until she was forced to meet his gaze. "Please…tell me what you want me to do."
She hated that. She hated how thoughtful he was being—or, at least, how thoughtful he thought he was being. She knew he only wanted to make her happy, but she couldn't make this decision for him.
"Ross…" she whispered. He could see how they'd glossed up as tears were threatening to fall. To assure him that she wasn't as upset as he probably thought, she placed one hand on his chest. She shook her head. "I can't do that. I can't make this decision for you."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, obviously confused. "Of course you can. Rachel, we're getting MARRIED tomorrow. You're going to be my WIFE…" Though he'd been making a point, he forgot it when he heard himself say those words aloud. He couldn't help but smile.
"I know," she nodded, smiling, too, "but like you said…this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I can't—"
"I stopped you," he interrupted.
"What?"
"It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for you, too, and I stopped you. It could have skyrocketed your career and I…I asked you to stay…for me," he reminded her, and as the words spilled more rapidly and confidently from his mouth, he regretted them more and more. He shook his head in disappointment, though even he wasn't sure whether it was at himself or at her.
"Ross, don't make this about that," she defied him, shaking her head. "This is different."
"No it isn't!" he yelled, and she saw the wetness beginning to well in his eyes as he raised his voice. "It's almost exactly the same, Rachel, except that I was too selfish to let you go and you're being too stubborn to ask me to stay!"
"I'm being what?" she yelled, this time not even attempting to keep her voice down. She was more shocked by these words, possibly, than anything else he'd ever said.
"Stubborn!"
"Ross, I don't think I have to remind you that I'm in this just as deep as you are! Whatever decision you make, it's going to affect me, too, not to mention our daughter! Wherever you go, that's where I'm going, too! It's not the same at all!"
"Oh, isn't it?" he asked. They were both waving their arms and yelling, now. It was officially a full-fledged fight. "This marriage means a lot of things to the both of us, Rachel, and it's going to mean a lot of changes, but one thing it's NOT going to change is how deeply we're both involved in this! It wouldn't have mattered 10 years ago, and it won't matter tomorrow that we took a few vows in front of our friends! I would have asked you to stay then and I asked you to stay this time! And if you'd gone, I probably would have followed you, so don't say it's different just because it's official now, because that's NEVER mattered with us and you KNOW it!"
Rachel was stunned into silence. Tears were streaming down her face, though she wasn't actively crying. The words Ross had just said were either the most offensive or most endearing things he'd ever said to her—she wasn't sure which.
Both were afraid to say anything more for a few minutes. They just stood there like that in silence, standing off against one another, both secretly listening for signs of their daughter stirring in the next room. Finally, when it was evident that they'd come to a stalemate, Rachel made eye contact with him again.
"Ross, you know, you're probably right. When it comes down to it, the two situations probably really AREN'T that different, but that does NOT change the fact that I refuse to make this decision for you. You want to know how I really feel?"
"Yes, please," he encouraged, nodding.
"Okay, fine. I think it's an amazing opportunity. I think it could probably change your career if you used it in the right way. But, Ross…we have friends in New York. We have family there…" she lectured, taking a particularly poignant pause before her next statement, "…we've MADE a family there. These are all some of the same reasons you asked me to stay, and, you know what? I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be a little disappointed if suddenly your career was more important than mine."
There. She'd said it. She'd finally spoken of the unspoken issue. Both knew that was the can of worms this whole thing was resting on—the significance of their separate careers—but it took Rachel, in a moment of gutsy resolve, to push it into the spotlight. Normally, Ross might have felt a little ashamed, or even offended, but he knew it'd been coming. It was inevitable.
"Do you have any regrets?" he asked quietly.
At this, Rachel's look softened. The muscles in her face had been tense and clinched, painting a stern expression across her face. When he'd mumbled this question so feebly and almost sadly, though, something inside her broke a little. She stepped into him and leaned against his chest, placing her arms around his neck and kissing his lips softly.
"Of course I don't have any regrets, Ross," she whispered, shaking her head. "That would mean having to regret this…and I could never regret this."
He smiled a little, placing his hands on her waist and leaning his forehead against hers.
"Ross, when it comes down to it, I'm just as ambivalent and confused about this as you are. I don't really know HOW to feel. And I'm sorry…I know this decision is going to be a tough one, and not a very fair one, at that…but it's yours to make. As of tomorrow…" she finished, kissing him on the chest before pushing away and taking a few steps backwards out of the room, "…I'm along for the ride."
She smiled empathetically before disappearing out of sight to go check up on Emma. Great, Ross thought. An hour-long fight later, and I'm still just as confused.
"Come on," she coaxed, sticking her head back in the doorway and smiling tenderly to let him know everything was going to be okay. "We have to meet Monica and Chandler before the rehearsal."
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