It had been a few days; he'd been busy with work or just plain tired. But it was Saturday night, a day off they both shared, and now she was with him and the world was good and well and right.
She turned her head and looked at him. He was watching a Yankees game. Monica found this mildly irritating; hadn't the season just ended? Cincinnati and somebody. And here it was, only a few days later it seemed like, and they were starting it all over again.
It seemed quite sufficient to hold Kip's attention. Monica felt a familiar self-recrimination rise. When they were with Chandler and Ross and Phoebe, conversation flowed freely. But by herself, with Kip, she couldn't seem to find anything to say. Too often they'd spend dates silently watching television or a movie or just drinking here at the bar. Monica simply couldn't find anything to say when she was with him, and she hated herself for it.
She tried again. "Think they have a chance this year?"
"Who, the Yankees? Naw, they suck. If it weren't for the Twins and Braves I'd say they were the worst team in baseball."
"Oh." Monica frowned slightly. "They why watch?"
Kip blew out a breath. "Monica, stop pestering me with stupid questions, okay?"
Heat rose to Monica's face. Part anger, part shame. She actually sputtered slightly, not sure what to say, how to respond, which feeling was genuine. "Well, what questions do you want me to ask you?"
Kip kept his eyes on the television as he frowned. "Don't ask me any questions, not while the game is on, just let me enjoy this, okay?"
"While I what, darn your socks? This is supposed to be a date. Our date, you and me together, not me dangling on your arm while you do whatever you want."
This at last got Kip to meet her eyes. "Hey, you can play pool or something. Can't we have a relationship where we just spend time together being comfortable?"
That brought Monica short. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly sure what a good relationship was supposed to be like. Maybe this was it, maybe they were supposed to just do their own thing and not try to get in each other's way. It was certainly the kind of relationship Ross and Carol currently had.
Except Ross and Carol's relationship didn't feel right. Monica's parents did things together all the time, and despite some legendary fights seemed uncomfortable whenever they were separated for any length of time. And they'd been married for longer than just about everyone else Monica knew. That was a good relationship, that was love.
Wasn't it?
She found herself expressing the thought out loud. "Do you love me, Kip?"
He sighed. "Of course. You're a great girl, we've had the best fun together."
She almost responded "We have?" but stopped herself in time. "Do you see us together... at the end of the year? Next year?"
Kip narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like you're trying to trap me into something."
"I just..." I just want to know if this is a relationship. I want to know if this is love, if this is what love feels like. Monica deliberately kept the words unsaid, trying to avoid sounding like a romance novel. But she needed something from him, anything that would make her feel... loved. "I just want to make certain that... that you're happy. With me."
"Absolutely." He gently took her shoulders, drew her in for a kiss. Almost despite herself she melted into it, trying to draw feeling out of him through the physical contact.
A minute later they separated. He smiled crookedly. "Chandler's in Atlantic City this weekend."
Monica nodded. Chandler had gone to great comic lengths describing the training seminar his company was sending him too and what he planned to do each day instead of actually attending any of the sessions. That meant that Kip had the apartment to himself, and Monica knew where his thoughts were leading him. She held out her hand in mute acceptance, and he took it with a grin, leading her out the door.
Her emotions roiled strangely within her. Sex with Kip was fine to an extent, except it usually signified the end of any other interaction she'd have with him the rest of the night. Tonight had been another new record, the earliest the date had ended with sex followed by sleep. Monica tried to draw comfort from the fact that he had abandoned watching the baseball game to placate her. He really did value her more than the Yankees. Once she'd prodded him a little.
It was a good sign, it had to be a good sign. Kip would realize she needed more attention, and would from this point forward spend more time talking to her, interacting with her, having the kind of constant dialogue her parents seemed to have. This was the first step in the right direction, and they'd make it work, and it would be fine.
Monica repeated that over and over to herself, hoping that eventually she'd believe it.
He opened the door to his apartment and led her inside. Then he turned and kissed her, and Monica joined in eagerly. Despite everything, the physical relationship was good. Her body began heating up, and Kip took two small steps backward, leading her toward the bedroom, before finally turning fully, away from the kiss, and leading her straight in.
Inside the bedroom, Monica began unbuttoning her blouse - Kip had learned very early what a mistake it was to try and rip it off of her.
Kip shrugged out of his own shirt. "By the way, my father's coming into town next weekend. I thought we could meet him for dinner."
Monica froze with one arm still in her blouse. "What?"
"My father's coming into town." Kip stood up, began unbuckling his pants but stopped as Monica continued to gape at him. "You, you wouldn't mind meeting him, would you?"
The air was thick in the room. Monica couldn't breathe, couldn't get the words out. "Y-your father."
"Yes." Kip was clearly getting irritated. "This isn't like meeting the parents or anything, not like we're announcing an engagement, just thought we could all meet."
"Your father." Her voice sounded curiously detached, as if coming from another person standing next to her. "The one that inspired you to get into medicine."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. He helped me pay-"
"Because he died of cancer."
Kip blinked almost comically. "I... I didn't say that."
"Yes you did. On our first date. You said you missed him. That you wanted to make certain no one was misdiagnosed, that no one would go through what he did."
Kip shook his head. "I didn't, you must have misunderstood me."
"I understood you quite clearly. I was standing right there."
"I, I meant my stepfather. We were so close I just called him Father. I-"
Monica interrupted. "Is your mother alive?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then call her. Let me talk to her. I want to know about this stepfather of yours."
Kip just stood there, his expression one of uncertainty. Like he didn't know how to respond.
Calmly, Monica put her blouse back on. With remarkably steady hands she buttoned herself up. She looked back up into Kip's face, spoke one final word to him. "Liar."
Whirling, she left the bedroom and made her way across the living room, guided more by memory than sight. Somehow she managed to make it through two doors. Somebody greeted her but she was utterly unable to process any details about it. Monica sat on the couch and stared at the wall so hard that it hurt.
Dimly she felt a presence sit on the other end of the couch. Somebody spoke gentle, inquiring words but Monica didn't want to hear them.
"A lie." Someone with a voice remarkably similar to Monica's began speaking. "All of it. From beginning to end. A lie. He didn't... didn't want to know me. He just... just wanted to use me. Use me. And I let him. Poor little naïve Monica just let herself be manipulated, let herself become a plaything. It's so easy to be lied to when you throw yourself prostrate before any man that comes along. I hate her. I hate Monica."
The gentle voice said something, repeated it.
Monica turned, finally registered Phoebe next to her. "What?"
"Give me your feet."
Monica looked down at her shoes and back up to Phoebe. "No."
Phoebe's voice hardened. "Give them to me!"
Monica leaned back. Phoebe sounded angry, as she had never heard Phoebe before. Her expression was focused and grim, and suddenly Monica remembered that Phoebe had spent years living on the street.
Almost timidly, Monica made a half-turn on the couch and put her feet in Phoebe's lap.
Immediately Phoebe's expression calmed. She took off Monica's shoes and socks, setting them neatly on the floor underneath the coffee table. With both hands she gripped Monica's right foot and began massaging it.
Befuddled, Monica just stared at her foot, and it actually took a full minute of hard massaging to realize that Phoebe's strong hands were making a favorable impression. The massage felt wonderful, and Monica concentrated solely on the physical sensation, not allowing her mind to think at all.
Phoebe's voice was gentle again as she spoke. "Did you go to Catholic school?"
"Catholic? Phoebe, I'm Jewish. You know that."
"Oh, maybe I did. But you remind me of my friend Margaret. She went to Catholic school all her life, and never actually dated a guy until she was eighteen. And she had no taste in men, none. She'd date anyone, literally. Men who'd beat her, even. Although I'd kill anyone who'd beat you, Monica."
Monica wondered whether or not that was a figure of speech and decided to let it pass. "You, you think I have no taste in men?"
"I think Kip was bad for you from the beginning." Phoebe looked up, met Monica's eyes. "And I think you knew that, too, on some level."
A protest rose to Monica's lips and died there under Phoebe's probing gaze. Phoebe smiled softly and then turned her attention to Monica's other foot.
Monica responded after a minute. "I, I didn't date much in high school. People, people didn't seem to like me much then."
"Well, I like you." Phoebe tossed a wide grin at Monica. "Chandler likes you a lot, too. And your brother loves you. So, so let us guide you. We'll help you separate the good guys from the bad guys."
Unbidden, unwanted, tears came to Monica's eyes. "God, I thought you guys were such jerks, the way you treated him. But you were right. You were right all along."
Phoebe shrugged as if that was unimportant. She continued massaging Monica's feet. After a few minutes, the tears stopped flowing and Monica wiped her face dry with her hands. She found herself watching Phoebe's studious, accepting face as she worked on Monica's feet.
Finally, Monica felt compelled to say. "Thanks. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."
Phoebe smiled. "You're welcome, but you would have been fine. You're very strong, Monica. I never tried to interfere because I knew you were stronger than he was, and that you'd be able to overcome anything he did to you."
Monica groaned. "Let's not talk about him."
"Fine by me," Phoebe said with feeling. Then she brightened. "Want some cotton candy? I bought some on the way home from work."
"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea. It's not... I tend to overeat when I get depressed."
"But you're not depressed," Phoebe said firmly. "I'd see it in your aura if you were."
Monica blinked, and realized that Phoebe was absolutely right. Somehow Phoebe had managed to alter the course of Monica's emotions, at least temporarily. For the first time, Monica realized exactly how special her roommate was. "Okay, then sure."
Phoebe grinned and did a hop-skip into her room.
Monica leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. Her feet felt fabulous, and the rest of her wasn't too bad either. There'd be a reckoning later, probably, but Monica knew with a new-found confidence that she'd be all right.
(to be continued)