Hi, wow, guys! This has gotten way too many reviews (but I like it so don't stop). lol.

Sorry this has taken sooolong to get up. I will be starting school Wednesday (yuck) so updates will actually be more frequent as I am forced in front of my computer and my mind wanders eight hours a day. ;)

Leave me a review if you like it, okay? And if you just feel like being a nice, kind, goodhearted person. And thank you each and every one of you that reviews; you rock:)

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And isn't it ironic, don't you think?

- Alanis Morissette, Ironic, Jagged Little Pill
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Holy shit. My mouth is agape, searching for something, words, more screams, anything. I can't breathe anymore, my lungs feel like they are being weighed down; maybe they are. Everything is spinning and all I can think of is that scene from Father of the Bride II when that curly haired actress tells Steve Martin she is pregnant.

Okay, yes, he did play her father in the movie, and Chandler does happen to be my husband, but it's the same concept. Just when we thought everything was going okay in some sort of steady pattern-

BAM.

Jesus God, I am freaking pregnant.

That's right. I grab around for the Kleenex so I can wipe my eyes free of the tears I know are falling.

This is ridiculous, absurd. I'm old, so old. Women my age shop in the senior citizen sections of Sears. I've never even been in Sears. Maybe I'll have to start shopping there.

Oh, and women my age also have to prepare their wills around this time. I have a will, but now I have to change everything to update it. I'm going to have to transform the guest bedroom into a baby bedroom now. Shit, and I just bought the new sheets.

I feel like slapping myself. Amid all of this chaos, I am wondering if Chandler will mind sleeping on floral pattern sheets that just scream "I am the reject from the guest bedroom!"

And I have guests downstairs. Great.

I open the door and find Phoebe changing Mike Junior on my new guest bedroom sheets. Okay, I guess we won't sleep on them anymore.

"Mon?" She glances up from her happy baby. "Were you in there?"

I guess she expected me to turn the lights on. Well, Pheebs, we don't always get what we were expecting. (Which reminds me, I need to go get that What to Expect when You're Expecting book. That's what it's called, right?)

"Yeah. I was just...going to the bathroom."

She frowns. "In the dark?"

I fidget with my chipped fingernails. "Well, I'm getting really old, Pheebs. I don't like to see the wrinkles."

Phoebe's eyes fly open. "You're wrinkly...down there?"

"Like a sad puppy dog." I bury my head in my hands in shame, but mostly to hold in the laughter bubbling from my blatant lie.

"Poor Chandler, eh?"

I grin. "He has no room to talk, believe me, Pheebs." If I have to lie to cover up my crying in the dark, I am taking Chandler down with me.

She mock-vomits. "Gross! Too much information, Mon."

"Sorry," I raise my eyebrows. "So how were the fireworks?"

"Great," she slowly nods. "Were you up here the whole time?"

"Yeah, I guess the chicken or something didn't agree with me."

"And that's why I am a vegetarian." Scooping up baby Mike like a pro, she offers him to me. "Hold him while I go to the bathroom?"

"Sure." I awkwardly reach out to him. For some reason, I find myself very uncomfortable holding a baby right now.

"Come on, Mon. You raised twins! Hold him like normal."

"Okay," I blush, and cradle Mike's face to mine. "See? Normal."

Phoebe shakes her head in confusion as she shuts the bathroom door.

Well, that was weird. I've been holding babies since I was six, and they always fall naturally into my arms. Holding little Mike Junior here feels like I'm trying to nurture a venomous snake.

The baby's large green eyes blink at me as his face scrunches into an impending whimper.

"Shhh," I coo. "Don't cry, baby."

He eases into my body as I glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My hair falls limp around my face; I look sad and distraught. This baby looks unnatural in my arms, and I am pressed with a disturbing question: Did I look so strange holding Jack and Erica? Why didn't anyone tell me?

"Monica, you are not fit for children. Some things are just not meant to be, no matter how hard you try to make them work."

Yeah, that would have been a bit harsh.

But as I cradle Phoebe's son close to my body, I realize that in less than a year I will have to hold a baby that is 100 percent my own, my flesh and blood.

A tear shatters upon Mike's head as he looks up at me in confusion. He knows I am not his mother.

I have seen this look on Jack and Erica's faces, and this startles me. Do they know I am not their true mother? Do they suspect that this whole situation is unnatural?

Phoebe exits the bathroom. "Wrinkle free," she announces.

"Good to know," I laugh, and push her child back into her arms, wanting the surreal moment to cease. "He's getting big," I tell Phoebe as I watch her kiss the baby on the head.

"Kind of makes you want to have another one, huh?" She stares off into the corner, misty eyed, until I clear my throat and she registers her comment. "Jesus, Mon, I didn't mean it like that-"

I raise my hand to stop her. "No, Pheebs, I'm fine, really. It's not a big deal at all." But my eyes begin to seep tears, and I don't even know why.

"No, Monica, it is a big deal and I didn't mean it the way it came out. Of course you and Chandler can have more children. You guys have the perfect life."

I smile sadly. "Thanks. Don't worry about it, I'm just PMS-ing." And that was a lie.

"All right, all right." She puts her arm around me and we walk down the stairs.

I notice a significant difference between the ways Phoebe and I walk. Phoebe, once unstable and whimsical, glides down pathways steady as a calmed sea.

I can barely put one foot in front of the other.
----

The next two weeks pass without much occurring. Chandler wakes up, leaves, and comes home.

Startlingly enough, so do I.

I don't physically leave, but mentally I haven't been in the same state of mind. Erica constantly wonders what is wrong with me, and Jack notices how I never want to play anymore.

I have yet to start getting horrifically fat, though I know it will come. My first doctor's appointment is three days from now; Chandler will be out of town, thank God.

I sit at the table, head in my hands, watching the twins race around the house like speeding bullets.

"Jack, come here, I need to give you your medicine!"

"Why?" He breezes past me.

"Because you haven't taken it and it's almost ten. Please come here and then you can continue playing."

His blue eyes sparkle at me as he dashes in the other direction, scaling the leather couches in our family room. "You have to catch me!"

I get up to follow him (God knows I will do anything just to calm him down) but not before Erica reaches me.

"Mommy," she tugs on the hem of my worn tee shirt. "Fix my hair like a princess?"

I smile; she is wearing her best ballet leotard over a pair of blue jean shorts. "Okay, hold on a minute, sweetie."

"But we have to be at my dance practice in ten minutes!" Her eyes are filled with innocence and worry, a strange and yet fitting mix.

Shit. How the hell could I have forgotten?

"Jack, come here right now!" I yell without meaning to and his face crumples into tears. "No, sweetie, I didn't mean to yell. Come here-"

"Shut up! Don't talk to me ever, never, ever again! I hate you, you're not my mommy!" He races off into the dining room and I hear a piece of china shatter.

Sighing, I look over at Erica, who is now struggling to put on her ballet slippers. "Sweetie, go sit in the car and we will be out in just a minute, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy." She shuffles off, shoes in hand.

I fall onto the staircase, reveling in the hurt of my son's words. They sting me, bite me, rip just a little more at my heart and he has no idea what he has done; he is five. "You are not my mommy!" They echo in my ears as my tears wash away some stale mascara.

The phone rings, deafening the silence.

"Hello?" My voice chokes in my throat.

"Mon, is that you?"

"Hey, Rach. What's up?" I don't even try to sound happy. I'm done with this charade.

"Nothing really. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Phoebe said you seemed unlike yourself a couple of weeks ago. And I haven't seen you since then, so I figured I would call. Are you okay?"

If she only knew. "Um...yeah," I sniffle. "I'm great. Just trying to get Erica off to dance on time."

"Oh. Okay. Well, do you want to talk later?"

Jack's screams roar from the other room. "I hate you!"

And that's all it takes; I break down. "Actually...um, yeah. Something is up."

The panic in her voice raises instantly. "Is it Chandler? The kids?"

Nope. It's me.

"Um...can we meet somewhere later?"

"Sure, what time is her dance over?"

"Eleven forty five," I hiccup.

"Okay, well, I will meet you at noon with the kids."

"At the regular place?"

She laughs slightly. "We couldn't have it any other way."

"All right. I will see you in awhile at Chuck E. Cheese"
----

That damn mascot of a mouse greets us at the door, and the twins are just delighted. They go to hug him, that freaking pervert in the nasty gray rug suit. I hate this place, but only here can Rachel and I truly talk when needed.

I spot Rachel at our usual table in the corner, farthest away from everything and anything the children will go near. She looks perfect from here, her long hair shining in the distance. I am suddenly very aware that my hair hasn't been washed in three days.

"Go play, kids. No tokens yet, come back for pizza at your table if you want it. Go find Emma and Maddie." I almost sound harsh for a moment until I tussle each blond head. "I love you both. Have fun."

And I practically sprint over to Rachel's table; she sees me and rises, shaking her head. "Jesus, Mon, what is wrong?"

"Do I look that bad?"

"No, well, yes."

Leave it to Rachel to tell you bluntly.

"Thanks, Rach."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. You just look...tired."

We sit down and wait for our billion calorie slices of pizza.

"I am. Very."

"You mean Jack and Erica don't give you your beauty rest?" She grins.

"How about no rest?"

We exchange small talk for awhile, gossiping about various and unimportant subjects. Finally, she brings it up.

"So what did you want to talk about, Mon? I know that something's up. You can tell me; I am your best friend."

I pause and glance around at the kiddy size strobe lights flashing around us. Chuck E. Cheese's is really just the training area for gamblers, the preparation for Vegas and slot machines. All of these games beg for your money, and they are such a waste. I never should have brought them here, but lately I find myself giving in to anything.

Rachel stares at me from across our booth. "So?"

"It's nothing."

Her blue eyes pierce mine. "No. It's not, and we're not going to leave here unless we work it out."

In a startling moment, she reminds me of someone else I used to think I knew so well: myself.

"Is it you and Chandler? Jack and Erica? Your parents?" She pauses. "Me?"

I roll my eyes. "It's not you, my parents, the twins, or Chandler."

"So then what is it?"

"It's sort of...me."

"You? Well, what about you?"

"I'm...changing."

Rachel grimaces. "Phoebe told me about, well, you know, what's going on down there for you. I gotta tell you, I've been lucky lately, but you're really making me nervous about what's coming, wrinkle-wise, and-"

"I do not have a wrinkly...woo hoo."

"So you say 'shit' around your children, but when you and I talk we use 'woo hoo'?"

I blush. "Sorry, but that whole story was something I made up so Phoebe wouldn't think there was anything wrong with me."

"Is there?"

"Sort of."

She throws her hand down on the table. "Monica, I don't feel like playing guessing games. Please tell me what the problem is so I can try to help you fix it!"

"It's not something you can fix!" I yell. "It's not something anyone can fix."

She reaches into Madison's diaper bag. "Well, then it's time to bring out the alcohol."

Rachel pours cheap white zinfandel into the Styrofoam cups. "Maybe you'll loosen up a bit after you drink some."

"I can't drink any of that here, Rach," I whisper quietly.

"Mon, they won't catch us this time. They never do, just don't flirt with the pizza guy like last time and-"

"Maybe I should have clarified. I can't drink that anywhere."

"Oh, come on, I know it's cheap and all, but Ross would notice if I started taking the good stuff with me-"

"Rachel! I am not allowed to drink wine anymore."

"Oh my God," her blue eyes widen to the size of saucers. Finally, she's caught on. "Are you dying?"

Am I DYING?

"Because I saw this thing on the Discovery channel about this dying woman and she couldn't drink, so-"

"Rach!" I cut her off. "I'm pregnant."

Shaking her head in confusion, she sips her wine from the plastic straw. "You are what?"

"Pregnant, with child, expecting. You know, doomed."

"Are you serious? That's great news!" Leaving her spot, she gets up and hugs me. "I'm going to be an aunt again!"

"Yeah, but..."

Her nose twitches in confusion. "Wait a minute. Why aren't you thrilled to be telling me this? Is this what you are upset about?"

"Well...yes."

"Monica! Why? It's what you have always wanted!"

I know, I know. But she doesn't know. At all.

It's in this moment that I want to tell her everything, all of the secrets that I have withheld from everyone, even Chandler. These past two years have been a nightmare, and no one knows. No one ever will.

I want her to listen to me objectively, and not as my best friend. I want advice, and not what I am expecting. I want her to know, as badly as I want Chandler to know the pain I have carried with me from before.

She continues to persuade me to cheer up. Needless to say, I fake it and convince her I feel lighter than air.

As we exit my own personal hell, she hugs me goodbye, patting my stomach for extra measure. "Call me later okay?"

"Don't you dare tell anyone yet," I whisper between gritted teeth.

She laughs, a tinkling chatter. "I won't. Just think of it as a good thing."

We walk our separate ways to the car, each of us rubbing shoulders with perfect strangers. I hold Erica's hand in my left, Jack's in my right. We push our way through the afternoon storm of playtime seekers, parents with missions other than their children.

A man bumps my side haphazardly, rushing towards the adult book store located next door to Chuck E. Cheese. Convenient, eh?

I want to tell him to slow down, that there are children here, and that I happen to be pregnant and extremely vulnerable, like always.

But he doesn't know. None of them know what I carry within me.

And no one has any idea what I have lost. ----

That night, long after Jack and Erica have been tucked in, Chandler and I lay in silence, reveling. I feel as if I should start some conversation, but ultimately decide against it.

All of our nights go on like this.

I want to lean in closer to Chandler, fold into myself and him, breathe in his soft smell, and cry without shedding a tear.

I wish I could tell him that I am pregnant, that I miss the way we used to be so in love, that I think back upon our days living in the city often, and I travel back within the depths of my mind and time.

A soft and gentle rain skims the slope of our rooftop and slowly runs down the window pane. Blurry tears cloud my vision, but I choke them down before Chandler turns over.

I let my fingers crawl up and down his back, tracing words across his faded blue T-shirt.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He rolls over on his side, propping his body weight up on his right shoulder. He looks into my eyes, but my tears are long dried.

As I shut my eyes, he presses his thumb into my palm, skimming my lifelines with his nails.

I want to talk to him, but I can't. Even with my eyes shut, I can feel him searching my skin for some sort of answer.

Before he can ask what is wrong, I lay on my back and look at the imperfections of our ceiling; all I really want to do is see the sky.

When I roll over, I feel his lips against the back of my neck like butterfly wings to a burning flame.

"Monica," he whispers. "I..." And he can't think of the words. They exist, somewhere between space and time. Maybe somewhere, in a tropical paradise worlds away, his words lay. Buried underneath a pile of moist mud-stained tears, the words are flailing, wanting to escape.

But they don't come, so I say them for him, the only thing that makes sense. A tear finally squeezes out as the rain stops its dance.

I shut my eyes as his eyelashes lap up against the nape of my neck. "I love you."

It is almost too painful to say.
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I hope you guys liked it!

Happy going back to school, work, college, etc. lol. :)

Thank you for reading!

Mel