A/N: If I was omnipotent for a day, I would lock myself in an ATM vestibule with Matthew Perry. 'Nuff said. And you're welcome for the short update, I busted my ass working on this for you guys (not really) because I love you all so darn much (yes really). I hope you enjoy the ensuing chaos. I do.
-
In retrospect, Chandler thought, it could have gone worse. Ross could have sashayed around the room on cloud nine, fueled by the arrival of another "wedding", Joey could have thrown things, Phoebe could have announced other imaginary engagements as if catalyzed by disease, Rachel could have died of shock and reincarnated as the things Joey was throwing. Yes, Chandler thought, in retrospect, the dreaded friend confrontation was actually very tame.
The first thing out of Joey's mouth summed up all Chandler's thoughts precisely. "Are you kidding me? Chandler can't be getting married to Janice! That's like – like blasphemy!"
Even the surprising information that Joey knew the word blasphemy didn't distract Rachel. She stopped drumming her fingers on one of Ross's many fossilized objects and stared at Chandler in disbelief.
"You're getting married?" she repeated, dumbfounded. Joey glared at Chandler over her shoulder, apparently under the impression he actually was getting married to Janice.
Ross was ecstatic. "Yeah, he has the ring and everything. Show them the ring, Chandler!"
Chandler begrudgingly showed Rachel the ring. Phoebe nodded approvingly.
Rachel seemed to come out of her shock; she gestured at the ring, hissing, "That was your big gesture? I was thinking flowers or something!"
"You knew about this, too?" Ross asked, sounding hurt.
"Well – I guess – we sort of – we all did," Rachel said apprehensively.
"Yeah," agreed Phoebe. "It was kind of the thing this year."
"So everyone knew except for me?" Ross cried angrily.
"I didn't know!" Joey yelled. He looked tremendously disconcerted, and ignored the very meaningful glances Phoebe and Rachel tried to send him. "I can't believe you'd do that, man! I thought you were better than that!"
Ross patted his arm sympathetically. "He had to get married someday, man."
"But – I thought –"
Phoebe cried, "Joey, you'll just have to find another man to love!"
Amidst the chaos, in which Ross screeched, "You're in love with Chandler?" and Joey adamantly denied the accusation, Chandler yelled, "Phoebe, you have got to stop doing that!"
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "It's kind of habitual now."
"So you're not gay?" Ross asked Joey.
"No!" Joey yelled. "Are you kidding me? The gayest one here is Chandler!"
Chandler opened his mouth, but Rachel beat him to it. She quickly changed the subject. "Hey, where's Monica? Shouldn't she be a part of this?"
Ross, apparently pleased to know some of Chandler's undisclosed information, said, "She's helping plan the wedding, but Chandler didn't want her to know that we knew, because their relationship was supposed to be a secret."
Rachel raised her eyebrows in Chandler's direction. "Funny how that sounds about right . . ."
Out of nowhere, Phoebe started to laugh uncontrollably. Everyone looked at her as she sputtered out, "If you had a kid, you could name it Chanice!"
"Or Jandler," Rachel offered helpfully. Both girls collapsed into hysterics.
"I call best man!" Ross cried, waving his hand in the air.
Joey looked fiercely at Chandler. "You bastard."
Chandler remained speechless.
-
"I heard about the marriage proposal from Phoebe."
Chandler didn't know what he expected from Monica, but it certainly wasn't amusement.
"Oh," he said, after being unable to come up with anything particularly suave to say.
"And, that you were cheating on me with Janice from Joey."
He looked at her apologetically. "It was all Phoebe's doing, I swear."
"She told me that, too."
"I feel really uninvolved with this," he told her. "Did she tell you what kind of ring it was?"
"Princess cut. Diamonds. Frickin' huge."
"Eloquent." Chandler peered at her. "So you're not mad?"
"Mad? Why would I be mad?"
"Well, you just learned that your secret boyfriend was not only stupid enough consider the possibility of marriage, but that he vaulted over his fears like some kind of psychotic gymnast, bought a frickin' huge ring, and is now pseudo-engaged to a woman who makes his eardrums bleed!"
"Chandler," she said insistently, in a voice that made his insides squirm uncomfortably.
"Yeah."
"I'm not mad, okay? But – what were you thinking?"
"I don't know . . . it was so complicated . . . one minute, I was just having fun with you, and then Rachel and Phoebe were talking about marriage – and it was like this dam broke inside of me, and all of a sudden, I was freaking out – just freaking out like I've never freaked out before – and, I don't know, Rachel said something, and I was so confused, and the only thing I could think about was you in a wedding dress – and I realized, what was a bigger gesture that a marriage proposal? And that's – well, that's where all hell broke loose."
"Oh, honey," said Monica.
"I don't even know what I was thinking – I kept telling myself it was a bad idea, but if I knew that you found about my weird phobia, when everything was going so well, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, you know? And the ring sounded like a good idea until I realized I was actually going to go through with it – and – God, I'm so, so, so, so, s –"
"Chandler," Monica said, breaking him from his apology.
He cringed. "Yeah?"
"I've made a decision." She cradled his face and ran her thumb across his cheek. "You're the sweetest man in the world."
"Is that cryptic for, 'Yes, but you're also wrought with insanity and I don't love you anymore'?" Chandler asked her timidly.
Monica looked up at him, smiling. "Of course not. How could I not love you?"
"Okay, Mon, now you're just scaring me."
"You handled it," she explained. "You freaked out, but you handled it. I mean, granted, you went a little overboard – but, Chandler, honey, don't you realize that you tried to fix something in a relationship, and it worked? You handled a relationship crisis!"
"But how could it have been a crisis if you weren't involved?" he asked her, still skeptical.
She moved against him and brushed her hands across his chest. "Does it really matter?" she asked seductively. His eyes glazed over.
"Not really, no," he said obediently, leaning forward to kiss her.
"Good," she said, smiling against his lips.
"Wait – hey!" he cried, pulling away a moment later. "You tricked me into feeling good about myself!"
"Score!" she cried enthusiastically.
"You're good," he complimented, smiling.
"I know!" she said. "I told you! Who's the best cheerer-upper now, huh, Chandler?"
He looked nervously at her. "When did I ever enter into competition with you?"
"Never mind," she said, kissing him once more.
Suddenly, the door burst open; Chandler and Monica instinctively broke apart, and not a second too soon – Ross practically skipped across the room, beaming with such happiness Chandler was unsure if he thought Chandler was getting married, or himself.
"So you told her?" he asked Chandler, glancing at Monica, who was covertly fixing her hair in the reflection of a spoon. She guiltily set it back on the counter.
"Yeah," said Chandler. He cleared his throat. "Yes, yes, I did."
"So what did you decide?" Ross asked her.
"Yay?" she said uncertainly.
"No, about the plans!" he said impatiently. "You wanted to plan Chandler's wedding, didn't you?"
"Well, yeah, of course I wanted to plan the wedding!" Monica said, laughing.
"So . . . what did you decide?" he prompted her.
Monica looked cornered; Chandler cut in, "Really, Ross, I don't even know. It's a surprise wedding."
"She can't just make it a surprise!" Ross exclaimed. "She's not marrying you!"
Chandler and Monica burst into wild laughter; Ross stared at them, taken aback. "No," said Chandler loudly, "you're right about that!"
"Righty-O!" Monica added. Chandler stared at her.
"Okay, whatever," said Ross, "I'm not in charge of the plans." He opened the door, and just before leaving, said, "But I'm definitely your best man, right, dude?"
Chandler gave him a thumbs up. "Righty-O!"
Monica sent him a very stern look and pushed Ross out the door.