The door beckoned. She began to stretch her hand holding the key towards it, hesitated, then simply turned the knob. As expected, it opened. Inside, Chandler and Ross were watching another cartoon, this one one of a bald, fat man. The name would come to her in a minute if she only thought about it. Ross lifted his hand and sort of half-turned his head in her direction; Chandler actually made the full turn to make eye contact and lifted his chin with a "Hey."
"Hey." Monica put down her purse and trudged to her bedroom. She quickly changed out of her work clothes and came back to a discussion of whether some man's assistant at work was in love with his boss. Monica chose not to let this engage her attention and instead wandered over to the kitchen to consider dinner.
"Kip coming over?"
Monica looked over at Ross. "No, he's working late. Carol coming over?"
"She might, she was thinking about going to a book club meeting." A strange look of resignation passed across Ross's face almost faster than Monica could register. "Where's Phoebe?"
Monica shrugged. "So just the three of us, then?"
Chandler was now fully turned towards her while still sitting on the couch. "You look tired. Why don't we order pizza tonight? My treat."
"Pizza is very fattening."
"That's what makes it tasty."
"It's greasy and disgusting."
Ross snorted. "Which is why you were able to eat two at time back in high school, huh?"
Monica clenched her jaw. "Shut up, Ross."
He shrugged one shoulder and turned back towards the television.
Chandler continued as if nothing had happened. "How about we order a veggie pizza with light cheese for you and Phoebe if she comes, and one with tons of meat for us manly types?"
A smile found its way to her face. "Manly? You?"
"Well, only when compared to Ross."
"Just you wait," Ross said casually. "I'm thinking about taking karate lessons. I'll be able to kill you with just my thumb."
"Oh God, it's the Thumb of Death!" Chandler scrambled over the couch and ran towards the phone. "Quick, call the National Guard before it eats New York!"
He began dialing, and Monica's grin at his antics lessoned, wondering how far he was going to take this bluff. Chandler looked up at her and began talking into the phone. "Hi, I'd like to order two pizzas to be delivered."
Monica threw her hands up and decided to let him have this battle. Truth be told, she was a little tired. She wandered back to the living room and flopped on the couch. She watched the television, wondering why all the cartoon people were yellow.
The pizzas arrived a few minutes later. Chandler waved everyone off and paid for the pizzas himself. Monica began pulling out plates and glasses when Phoebe walked into the apartment. Chandler looked up from where he was putting the pizza boxes on the coffee table. "Hey Pheebs," he said.
Phoebe blinked at him as she set down her guitar. "Pheebs?"
"You know... Phoebe. Pheebs. The Pheebarino. The Pheester. Phoebe. Pheebs." Chandler seamed to be losing steam in the face of her steady regard. "You," he finished lamely.
"Pheebs." She cocked her head and stared out into space for a few seconds. "Okay!" She beamed at Chandler, then took off her coat.
Monica exchanged a look with Chandler. His expression somehow conveyed comic relief that he had escaped that unscathed. Stifling a chuckle, Monica began to pour beverages.
Phoebe, meantime, went to the living room and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. She immediately stared intently at Ross. It took him a few seconds to notice, then he frowned slightly. "What?"
"Your aura is very murky today," she said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Ross said immediately. He turned back towards the television.
Monica handed out plates to everyone, along with a napkin, coaster and their usual beverage. Phoebe and Ross accepted their meals gracefully but then seemed to ignore them, Ross staring at the television, Phoebe staring at Ross. Monica idly placed the odds at two to one that Ross would break first.
After a minute, Ross turned his head abruptly and said sharply, "There's nothing wrong. Okay? You, you think I have some kind of aura, and, and maybe I do, but I don't see it, and I don't believe its murky, so just let me, let me be okay with that, all right?"
Phoebe stared at him for a few more seconds. Then she smiled gently. "All right." With that, she took a slice of veggie pizza and went back to watching the television, which was now showing some kind of comedy variety show. Phoebe began giggling at the antics of a tall man dressed as a fire marshal.
Monica frowned at Ross. She took a sip of water, set down the glass, then said, "Don't dismiss her concern like that."
"I'm not! It's just not, not warranted, that's all."
"She's concerned for you. We all are."
"Well, stop being so concerned." Ross set his plate on the coffee table and stood up. "I, I know things are the best right now for me and Carol, but that's my thing to deal with, and, and I just don't feel like talking about it every single second I'm here."
"Nobody mentioned Carol," Monica shot back. "You were the one to bring her up."
"Well, what else could it be!" Ross began pacing. "Ross is all murky, must be problems with Carol! That's what it always is, can't seem to talk to his wife, always hanging around his sister's place, gotta be something screwed up with the boy!"
"Oh, now you're just being dramatic," Monica snapped. "We don't think those things about you. Get over yourself already."
Ross glared at her. "You know, a while ago you told me to shut up. I think that's excellent advice, and I'd like to offer it in return. Shut up, Monica."
Heat rose in her cheeks. Monica shot to her feet. "Oh, that's just great Ross, just great. Are you trying to push me away too? Maybe after you divorce Carol, you can divorce me as well!"
She'd gone too far, she knew that as soon as she'd said the words. Ross's face turned very red. After glaring pure anger at her for several seconds, he stalked out of the apartment.
Monica watched him go silently, furious and ashamed. She plopped back down on the couch and hugged herself, wishing she could rewind the past two minutes.
An arm was draped over her shoulders, a hand placed on her knee. Monica fought an impulse to tell Chandler to jump out the window; the only person who should be touching her like that was Kip. Then she realized he was speaking, and tried to pick up the thread. "...gets that way sometimes, you know that. Let him cool off and talk to him tomorrow."
Chandler's tone was calm and sympathetic, and Monica realized quite suddenly that his touch wasn't meant to be anything but comforting, and that it was actually working. She leaned into him slightly, closed her eyes, and gathered her emotional strength. This was just another bad chapter in her never-ending struggle with her brother, and she'd survived far worse.
After a minute Monica shook off Chandler and picked up her plate again. "Come on, before it get cold." She took a deliberate bite in spite of not being at all hungry. Chandler watched her for a few seconds, then resumed his own meal.
Monica's thoughts couldn't come into focus at all, and she let the mindless ramblings of the television show wash over her. It actually took her several minutes to realize that, although she was eating her pizza, Phoebe's eyes never left Monica's face. For a brief second, Monica find a kind of amusement in realizing that Phoebe's steady gaze was as discomfiting to her as it surely had been to Ross.
Mentally bracing herself, Monica looked at Phoebe. "Yes?"
Phoebe tilted her head slightly. "You like having a brother, don't you?"
Monica blinked. This was not quite the question she'd been expecting. "I, I don't really have a choice about having a brother."
"Yes you do," Phoebe said. "You could totally ignore him, never speak to him, never see him, never mention him, just pretend he doesn't exist at all. But you don't. Even when you're yelling at him, you're glad he's around."
"I..." She didn't know how to reply to that. "I sometimes wish... he wasn't so... irritating."
"But you need him to be irritating," Phoebe said with confidence. "Just now, when you were yelling at each other, by the end both of your auras were less murky. It's like, it's like you knew he needed to get good and mad at someone, so you decided to let him get mad at you."
Monica frowned. That wasn't how it had been at all. She'd had no intention of getting into another screaming match with Ross, it had just happened. Still, if Phoebe wanted to attribute some wise, altruistic motive to what had just happened, that was fine by Monica. "Well, I, I just wanted to help him."
"And you did. Family's important," Phoebe declared as if announcing an important discovery. She stood up and walked towards the apartment door, grabbing her coat from the hook.
"Where you going, Pheebs?" Chandler asked casually with an undertone of concern.
"Pheebs." Phoebe giggled. "Uh, I'm going to go look for my family."
"Your family?" Monica shared a quick glance of puzzlement with Chandler. "But, but I thought your mother... and, and your father's in... in..."
"She did, and he is." Phoebe took her purse and keys from the counter. "But I've got a grandmother living somewhere here in the city. I'm not sure where, but I'll find out."
"Just, just like that?" Chandler stood up. "It's a big city. At least forty percent grandmothers, too. Thirty, forty percent."
"Well, maybe. But I know she drives a cab. So I can ask some cabdrivers, see if they know her."
"Hmm." Chandler seemed to think this over. Then he walked over to Phoebe. "Let me come with you, then. I want to help you look."
"Oh, it's way too late," Phoebe said hastily. "You have work tomorrow."
"So do you," Chandler retorted. "I can handle this. Besides, I'm half-hoping to be fired. There's a big position open at the bull-fighting arena in Mexico City that I've had my eye on for some time."
Phoebe seemed to want to object but Chandler was already opening the door. Phoebe followed him out. "As, as a matador?"
"No, but I'd be in the arena at the same time as the matador." The rest of his response faded as he entered his apartment, evidently to grab his coat.
Phoebe began closing the door behind her, but then opened it just wide enough to see Monica. "Oh, see you later, I, we, it shouldn't too late. Okay bye!" The door closed.
Monica stared at the door in a state close to total bewilderment. This had been a strange evening, going in totally unplanned directions. Monica looked at the coffee table and noticed that very little of the pizza had actually managed to get eaten. She sighed and began clearing everything away, resisting an urge to finish the pizzas herself.
That impulse disturbed her; one of the things she had discovered during her weight loss was that eating really had been a way of dealing with her insecurities. With Rachel's help she'd found a way to become more confident in herself and found other ways of dealing with problems.
Now, however, the old urges were coming back. That couldn't be a good sign. Things were slipping out of control, with her brother and his wife, with her job, with her flighty roommate. Life with Nana had been carefully ordered, and now that she was in Florida it seemed that Monica had done nothing but invite more and more chaos into her life.
Suddenly, deeply, she needed Kip. She needed him to be home, needed to hug him. As hastily as she was capable of she finished cleaning, then ran across the hall. She knocked and tried the handle at the same time. It opened and she went inside.
The light was on, giving her hope, but a quick tour indicated that the apartment was empty. Fighting disappointment, she sat on the stool in the kitchen and waited for him to come home.
A plastic bag was on the counter. Idly Monica peeked inside. It was a book. Monica pulled it out to read, "The New York Knicks: Team of the 80's". The receipt was being used as a bookmark; Monica flipped open the book to a chapter about Patrick Ewing. Monica tried to read it but found it utterly boring.
She put the receipt back in place and paused. It showed that the book had been part of an exchange. For another book that had been returned. Mastering the MCAT.
She felt heat rising to her face again. Quickly she put the receipt back and closed the book, then stuffed it into the bag. She hastily made her way back to the apartment, quite suddenly having no urge to see Kip at all.
Monica flopped down on her couch and stared at the television. No one appreciated her, no one at all. A brother who yelled at her, a neighbor and roommate who ran out on her, a boyfriend that returned her gifts. No one liked her, no one could stand to be with her.
She covered her face with her hands and tried to calm herself. She wasn't being fair, she knew that. There were perfectly reasonable arguments she could make. Ross wouldn't have yelled at her if she hadn't provoked him. Chandler and Phoebe hadn't deserted her, they'd just gone looking for Phoebe's grandmother. Kip just wasn't interested in becoming a doctor, and had wanted to trade in her gift for one he'd enjoy. That was all perfectly understandable.
Wasn't it?
Growling, Monica rose to her feet and almost ran to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and started emptying it; time to give it a good thorough scrubbing and maybe defrost the freezer at the same time. Maybe in the long minutes of mindless labor she'd come to a point where she didn't hate everyone around her. Maybe eventually she'd decide she didn't really hate her life.
(to be continued)