Thank you guys for such positive responses! Sorry this took awhile to get out. But on the bright side, I know exactly where this one is going. My mind wanders at work. ;)
I don't know if the first thing is a quote or whatever. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't know for sure if I made it up. lol. If anyone knows whether the quote was a creation of my imagination or an actual quote...I'd appreciate it. I searched, but you never know.
Please leave me a review! Thank you to the eighteen that DID review...and to the 233 others that hit it and quit it (I'd rather stay and play...) lol. Sir Mixalot, anyone? Kudos to anyone that got that lame joke. ;)
Enjoy:)
Sometimes, life throws you a curveball.
And other times, that damn ball just hits you in the face.
----
"Did you get all of the things on the grocery list?" The words come tumbling out of Chandler's mouth before I can even plant my feet atop our freshly cleaned hardwood floor.
"Yes," I sigh, but not loudly. I don't know what he'd do if he heard me.
"Do you want me to put the groceries away?" He shouts over Jack, who comes barreling through the door.
As long as you don't see the pregnancy test. "Uh, sure. Hang on a second." Geez, how am I going to get the test out of the bag? Images of me bomb-diving across the room flood my mind, but I know it won't work out well. I have a sort of idea...but who knows if it will work. I'm not really that sure about anything anymore.
"Erica, sweetie, why don't you and Jack sing that new song for Daddy?" I know it's bad, and yes, exploiting my children for my own sneaky vices. But I have to. If he sees this, I know his reaction will be even more catastrophic than my own.
"Mommy, I thought it was a bad song," she whispers. Apparently, she has not forgotten our lengthy talk in the car.
"Um...but I know Daddy will like it," I insist.
Jack turns my way as Chandler starts opening the bags. Oh, shit. "Jacky, do you remember our talk in the car about bad words?"
He nods, fidgeting with his toys, not wanting to stay in my arms. "Yeah, Mommy. Sorry. I need to...need to go play." He grins, almost too devilishly for my liking.
"Well, for today, and today only, you can say the bad words. Say them to Daddy, okay?" This is not going to be pretty, I can tell. But Chandler only has two more bags to go until he reaches the one with the toiletries. I have to.
"Shit!" Jack runs into the living room, tossing his toys ahead of him. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"
Slowly, Chandler pivots on his heel. "Did he say what I think he said?"
"You know what, I think he did." I nod almost too eagerly. "Why don't you go check it out and I'll put away the groceries."
But Chandler is almost in the other room, already on Jack's heels.
"Don't forget to give Jack his medicine!" Erica cries out from her perch on the stairs.
I nod to her and race past, carrying the pregnancy test up to the guest bathroom. "Okay, sweetie. Go play or something."
"I don't want to," she sighs, and watches her twin get in trouble.
From the balcony, I see her pull a chair from the table and climb on the counter-top to reach the medicine cabinet. I start to yell at her, but close my mouth. She is merely doing what I should have done this morning without thought.
Her small hands work diligently to unscrew the child-proof lid. Somehow, she achieves this, and smiles at her small feat. Placing his pills on the counter, she moves the chair back like a pro.
Once she is safely out of my sight, I wonder to myself:
How many times will my poor little girl have to play mother before her real one gets the hang of it?
I glance down at my shaking hand, pregnancy test shaking inside.
Huh. Maybe it'll be awhile longer.
----
"Oh my God!" Screams Rachel five hours later as I greet her at the door. "I haven't seen you in forever!"
Technically, I saw her two weeks ago, and we talk nearly every day. But compared back when we used to see each other every day, two weeks is a lifetime. And God knows, two weeks in my life is a lifetime.
"I know!" I cry back. "I missed you so much!"
Ross rolls his eyes. "Gimme a break. You guys act like it has been a million years."
"Aunt Monica, where are Jack and Erica?" Eight year old Emma trails behind Ross and Rachel, holding two year old Madison's hand.
"Mon-ca," Madison squeals and holds up her arms. I bend over and take the small brown haired girl in my arms. She looks more like Ross, whereas Emma is Rachel's near carbon copy. Erica and Jack's two blond heads zoom past my left elbow.
And my children look nothing like me.
"Hey, Maddie. Whatcha doing?" I miss the days when Jack and Erica were this age.
"Mon-ca!" She repeats, this time squirming to get down. Well, I never said it was easy.
"Geez, she grew so much in these couple of weeks!" I exclaim.
"Really? I guess we don't notice it because we see her every day," Rachel replies.
Yeah. That could be it. Your kids grow like puppy dogs to me because I never see them. And you...you just get older. Like me. Your wrinkles start to sink a little deeper, your tan melts into an old orange hue. For once, when I say that I feel old, I really am old. But I can't say that, for everyone's sake.
"So, when is everyone else getting here?" Rachel tosses Maddie's diaper bag in the corner, scattering small orange toys across our polished floor. I suck in a breath of air and exhale deeply. The disorder still bothers me, but I've learned to deal better.
At this moment, Maddie spills her milk from her supposedly spill-proof sippy cup. We paid over 500 dollars to get our floors waxed! I want to scream, but I know they will think I am crazy.
"Shoot!" Rachel screams. Am I really the only one that cusses anymore?
But thank God. Maybe I'm not the only one that gets upset over spilled milk.
She scoops up her crying toddler, stroking her soft brown hair in an effort to consol her. Sometimes, I wish I was that small.
And other times, I feel like I actually am.
"We didn't bring anymore milk," explains Rachel.
Well, would you look at that. Here I am, almost hyperventilating because a little bit of milk dripped on my floor. Rachel was actually caring about her daughter.
"I'll go get a towel." As I walk away, I leave the now content Geller family. "And Maddie can have some milk. We have plenty."
I feel like screaming as I skid away, almost falling into a spiral dive across our obscenely perfect floor.
"Chandler, Ross and Rachel are here!" I call out to him as I fly into my kitchen.
"I know," he peers out from underneath our sink. "Do you know where the huge fruit salad bowl is?"
Looking around, my jaw drops in horror. I made my best effort to conceal the mess we live in these days. It took me five freaking hours, but I did it. And now Chandler has destroyed it, torn apart our kitchen from its very core. And for a fruit salad bowl?
"Jesus, Chandler! What the hell have you done?" I hiss at him, soft enough so Ross and Rachel can't hear, and yet loud enough to let him know that I'm ready to tear his head off.
"I was looking for the fruit salad bowl," he shrugs.
"For what?" My voice raises an octave. I feel a storm of words coming on, and this won't be pretty.
"Uh...fruit salad?"
"Why? I spend five hours cleaning our home so no one can see how disgusting we truly are, and you tear it apart so you can find a bowl? Where the hell did you get that idea?"
He glares at me, trying to see beyond my now acceptably made-up face. I can tell he's searching, but he draws a blank. "You."
"What?" Seriously. Talk about problems...
"You asked me where I got the idea. And I told you." He reiterates. "You."
"Why would I tell you to rip our kitchen to shreds?"
"You told me to find the fruit bowl!" If we were in some old Looney Toons cartoon, steam would pour from his ears. Hell, it practically does right now.
"Why?" When did I ever tell him that?
"For the FRUIT!" He screams, and the house becomes silent.
"Okay," I raise my hands in the air and kneel on the ground beside him. "Okay. Let's talk about this rationally. I spent the majority of the day cleaning, and you proceeded to undo my work. We've embarrassed ourselves in front of our guests, and you've accused me of asking you to destroy my kitchen. Do you see something wrong with this?"
Chandler sinks down against the kitchen cabinets, the cold wood tattooing his back. "Monica." He shakes his head in dismay. "Monica."
Can he not say anything besides my name? "What?"
"Why does everything we fight about sound like we're arguing in front of a jury? Ross and Rachel are our family, they've seen us fight. And so what if our kitchen isn't perfect? It's not the end of the world, you know!"
I get up to walk away, gritting my teeth. I clean so they won't see beyond our thin layer of happiness, so I, too, can be blinded by the gleaming surfaces.
He grabs me from behind, softly. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. Just calm down, okay?" Chandler begins to stroke the back of my hair. I want to fall into him, to sink through his many creases and never let go. I want to cry and scream and laugh like I used to be able to. But I remain stiff as a board.
"You know, normal people have dirt on their floors. Normal people fight and don't worry so much about what other people think, but they worry about the person they do the fighting with. Our life doesn't have to be something out of a magazine, Mon. Sometimes, I think you try too hard, and there's just this point beyond trying where it all becomes useless. That's when you just need to...accept the way things are turning out." He pushes me away. "I'm going to go find the fruit bowl and clean up the mess I made."
Slowly, I walk towards the upstairs to compose myself. I know Ross and Rachel are in the other room playing with the kids, pretending they didn't hear our quarrel. I will head upstairs, change my outfit, and wait for everyone else to get here.
We will watch the firecrackers and eat nearly perfect and grilled various meats. We will laugh and smile, but deep down no one will register in on the situation.
We will all be pretending.
----
"And then last week on the set, Christina did the funniest thing-"
I drift in and out of each conversation, smiling and nodding appropriately.
Joey talks animatedly with his hands. I had forgotten this quality he had; it's amazing how much you can forget about the things you always thought you'd remember.
His career is steadily climbing the charts; we got lucky this weekend that he was in town. Sometimes, I buy a tabloid just to see what he's up to. I'd never tell anyone this, but I get some secret pleasure in buying that magazine and knowing that we were friends. Are friends, I mean. But no one in the grocery store knows this when I purchase my normal list of groceries. They think I'm normal, with normal friends. I am, for the most part. Or I'd like to think that.
"Then the other day, Sophie punched Mike in the eye and gave him the grossest black eye!" Phoebe exclaims as she laughs in between her gasps of air. "It was the funniest thing I've ever seen in my entire life!"
"Wait, Pheebs. Sophie isn't even four yet," remarks Rachel.
"Yeah, but she's got one heck of a left hook!" Phoebe laughs as she rocks the car seat beside her. Inside, four month old Mike Jr. sleeps soundly to the sound of his extended family screeching around him.
"So where is Mike today?" Ross asks.
"He had to work."
"Really?" I ask. I'm surprised that the voice jumps out of my mouth, but then again I will say anything to feel normal and a part of things again.
"No," she giggles. "His eye is still swollen. He can hardly see!"
"So you think it's hysterical that your husband is getting beaten up by your three year old?" Chandler lights the mosquito repellent candle sitting on the table in the middle of us. As he glances over at all of the children and watches them entrap the fireflies, I can tell that he is worried Jack will give him a black eye one day.
"Hysterical? Pretty much, yeah."
Laughter rings in the air, melting softly with honeysuckle and Maplewood barbeque sauce. A pearly dew has formed, tipping each grass blade with a hint of a reflection. Dusk has fallen, and I know the fireworks will start soon.
"Mommy, will you watch the fireworks with me now?" Erica pops out from underneath my seat, making my heart jump through my throat, down my stomach, and back up in my mouth again.
"Shoot, sweetie, you scared me!"
Her blue eyes cloud with confusion as I brush a firefly from her blond head. "Mommy, don't you mean, 'Shit, sweetie, you scared me?'"
Her voice sounds so innocent, so pure. For a moment, the night falls silent and I know I'm going to be yelled at in a moment for not restraining my sailor-esque vocabulary.
Then Joey breaks down, erupting into a loud and hysteric fit of laughter.
"God, Mon, what do you teach your children?"
The others follow shortly, even Chandler.
"What?" Erica shrugs. "Mommy said that today it was okay to say the bad words."
On the other side of the lawn, I can faintly make out Jack's silhouette and hear his small yet shrill voice. "Just say it, Emma! It's not a bad word today! Mommy said!"
Shit. "Um, I'll be right back. I'm going to go to the bathroom."
I smile in spite of the situation, and then try to float along the dewy grass until I reach my house.
As I run up the stairs and check out the bay window, I can see Erica looking around for me. Crap. I did promise her I'd watch with her, but this will only take a second. I have to rest here for a moment while Rachel reels in the agony of Emma's first swear word. I can almost hear her innocence shattering from here.
Locking myself in the guest bathroom, I prop my elbows up on the small window overlooking the secluded part of our backyard. From the sink, I can see the bag with the pregnancy test waiting for me.
I calculate that it will be at least another fifteen minutes before the fireworks begin, and I've never been very patient. So I decide I'm going to do it. I'm going to take this test.
It takes a minute, but when I'm done I sit steadily atop the fluffy blue toilet cover.
I'm anxious to see the results, anxious and frightened.
I don't know how Chandler will react, I don't know how the twins will react.
Hell, I don't know how I'm going to react.
As I breathe in the suddenly sticky air, the bathroom seems to close in around me. This bathroom is so small, I think. When did this happen? When did the walls become two feet thick? Since when did floral patterns begin to look like flames?
I don't work. I haven't worked in a couple of years, either. Chandler works every day nearly, and it's enough to make ends meet with a little left over. We can't afford another child; I will have to go back to work. We will have to move.
I will have to grow another arm.
Shit. This really can't happen. It's not allowed. I don't even know if I want it to be allowed.
But...
Sometimes, it hurts when I'm out with the twins and I can tell people are wondering why I am so dark and they are so drastically blond. Truly, they look nothing like me, but are so very like me at the same time. I'm sure if I carried a dark haired child in my arms, no one would question the relation.
But I feel terrible saying this; Jack and Erica are as much my children as any child could ever be. The fact that they are light-haired remains the very least of my problems.
We still have to tell the twins that they were adopted; Chandler and I made the decision a long time ago to wait until they were old enough.
I'm wondering now when that time will come. In my eyes, they will always be babies.
A loud clap rings through the air, melting in time with the timer on my cell phone. Crap. I'm missing the fireworks. And the test is ready.
Shaking, I pick up the disgusting and oh-so-unsanitary little stick.
I look at the result.
Well, then. Okay.
I stand up slowly and watch the limes, oranges, and incandescent golds coat the sky in a thin and unlacing coat of paint. A million thoughts are running through my mind right now. I don't know whether to be happy, and I don't know if I should be disappointed.
I wish there was someone to tell me how I should feel.
It would make times like these a hell of a lot easier.
As the fireworks finale booms within the air, I begin shivering. I'm not cold, and yet I'm freezing.
The last display booms in the sky, and I suck in a deep breath of charcoaled air.
I look again at the test in my hand and then down at the people in my world that mean the world to me.
A fiery red firecracker ends the display.
And that's when I throw away the test results, wash my hands, and turn off the flickering bathroom light.
I look in the mirror and open my mouth to force a smile.
All that comes out is an ear-splitting scream.
----
Thanks for reading this. The next chapter will be up ASAP. I will try to work on other updates, too. :)
Oh, and in response to one of the reviews: Kristy, my best friend's little brother has ADHD (which I guess I should have specified that Jack has, instead of just ADD) so I basically based his behavior off of her brother. Glad you think I'm doing a decent job portraying it. :)
People, leave me a review if you want to...I can see you reading it!
Okay, not really. But still. :)
Mel