Ross looked over at Chandler, who shrugged. Ross began unfolding the blanket while Chandler put down the bags he was carrying. Monica quickly began directing events, and in short order they had half the blanket covered with various finger foods. Monica grabbed a sandwich which Chandler poured wine for everyone.
"Great day," Chandler commented. "Probably gonna be one of the last."
"Oh, don't say that." Monica sighed deeply; one thing she didn't like about New York was that it seemed to get the worst kind of weather. Sweltering hot summer days, bitterly cold winter days. Today was nearly perfect, though. Somewhere above 60, a slight breeze, a bright sky. But the leaves were beginning to change color and Monica knew it wouldn't be too long before the first serious chill.
Ross had suggested a Saturday picnic lunch and Monica had agreed enthusiastically. She was afraid of spending too much time in the apartment and welcomed any chance to get out and see the rest of the world.
Ross had brought a radio and turned it on. He and Chandler listened intently for a few minutes while Monica looked out across the grass, idly watching all the other picnickers.
Chandler finally made a sound of disgust and switched stations. "God, the Yankees suck."
"They do?" Monica turned her attention away from a guy who appeared to be reading by himself under a tree. "How far out of first are they?"
"Like twenty games," Ross said. "I bet they never win a World Series again."
"Oh, come on." Monica shook her head. "Don't be like that. I remember how excited you were when Reggie Jackson hit those home runs to beat the Dodgers. You were yelling 'The dynasty is back!' if I recall. So what if it's been twelve years, you can't give up on them now."
Chandler chuckled. "Y'know, I sometimes think it's a good thing you're not into spectator sports. I think you'd be one scary fan."
Monica took a moment to decide whether or not to be amused by the observation. Chandler's easy grin decided it for her. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'd hate seeing my team lose."
"There's an understatement," Ross said mildly. "Chandler, did I ever tell you that she broke my nose once?"
"Oh, let's so not go there, Ross," Monica said testily. "Want me to begin the litany? Like, say, tell Chandler about the summer you lived in Nana's apartment before I got there and the reasons for it?"
Ross winced. "He already knows, but point taken."
Chandler piped in. "Someday I want to know the broken nose story."
"Well, someday maybe you will." Monica lay back on the grass. "But please not today."
"Fair enough." Chandler grabbed a sandwich. "So, where's Phoebe again?"
"Spending the day with Duncan."
"Who?"
"A guy she met." Monica pondered how much to divulge and decided it was too complicated and too likely to spoil her mood. "Just a friend, they're not dating or anything."
"Ah." Chandler took a bite of his sandwich, swallowed, then continued contemplatively. "I had quite a lot of those. Women who just wanted to be friends. And yet, they never stuck around."
"Because you'd get drunk and try to quoting Canterbury Tales at them." Ross smiled gently. "Except it all came out sounding like limericks somehow."
"Well, if Chaucer had been Irish, then Canterbury Tales would have been written in limericks. But that's nothing, I mean Shakespeare wrote limericks." Chandler seemed to warm up slightly to the subject. "But also keep in mind, limericks of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries bear little resemblance to today's limericks. Some limericks were ten or twelve lines or longer. It wasn't until o'Bedlam that-"
"And he wonders why he's single," Ross interjected.
Chandler winced. "One of these days, one of these days, I'm going to find a woman who's impressed by all of that."
Truth be told, Monica was slightly impressed; sometimes it was easy to forget that behind all the witty banter Chandler was actually a pretty smart guy. Monica put that thought aside and focused on Ross. "So, tell me, at exactly which point did you show Carol your dinosaur slides? First or second date?"
"Second. I didn't have many at the time, though, it was just an excuse to drive Chandler out of the room and turn the lights off."
"And believe me, it worked. I mean, you've seen one oversized iguana you've seen them all." Chandler looked over at Monica. "So, what topics of conversation do you bring up on your dates, Mon? Talk about cooking?"
Monica lifted one shoulder. "Everyone likes food, so it's an ice-breaker, but usually not much more." Not that she'd had many dates at all in her life. She'd have to rectify that. Her eyes moved over to the guy sitting under the tree. "I usually wait for men to fall out of the sky and ask me out."
Chandler chuckled. "Happen often?"
"Not yet, but it might."
"So, you're hoping there's a flash of light, some music, and a man will appear?"
"A big man. Muscular. No shirt." Monica grinned. "And a sword."
"A sword?"
"Yeah. A big sword strapped to his back. He'll take me away to another world where he has a huge stone castle."
Chandler experimentally lifted a plastic knife into the air. "This do anything for you?"
"Not even a little bit." Monica reached over, patted Chandler on the head, then stood up. Feeling the eyes of Ross and Chandler on her back, she wandered over to the man on the tree.
He looked up as she approached. A little to her surprise, he was quite cute. She grinned at him. "Watcha reading?"
The man blinked at her a couple of times. Then he lifted up the book. "Just a John Grisham novel. It's about a lawyer."
Monica tilted her head slightly, trying to get a read on him. As she did, a smile spread across his face. She decided it was a joke and smiled back at him. "Well, it's too good a day to be sitting by yourself reading a book. Care to join me and my friends?"
The man looked over at Chandler and Ross, then back at her. The smile widened. "Sure." He stood up, picking up a cooler as he did so. "I happen to have some beers, too."
"Great. We just have wine." She led him back over to the blanket and the wide-eyed expressions of Ross and Chandler. "So, this is my brother Ross and my neighbor Chandler."
The man held out his hand. "Hey guys. Call me Bobby."
Chandler was the first to react. "Just so long as you don't call me Channy." He shook Bobby's hand.
Ross responded next. "Bobby, hi. Ross Geller."
"Geller." Bobby nodded, then turned to Monica. "So, I'm guessing that's your last name, too, but I don't think I have your first name quite yet."
She smiled in response. "Monica. Monica Geller."
"Monica." He held out his hand and they shook, the thrill of first touch running through both of them.
"Want some wine?" Chandler almost thrust a bottle between them.
"Sure!" Bobby released Monica's hand and sat down. He opened the cooler, lifted out a can. "Want a beer?"
"I'm good." Chandler poured a glass of wine and handed it to Bobby.
Bobby took a couple of swallows, then flashed a smile. "So, is this the part where you all drug me and steal my kidneys?"
Monica laughed, as did Ross and Chandler. Ross seemed to relax marginally. "We're nice guys, don't let the fact that Chandler is still holding a plastic knife like a sword fool you."
Chandler quickly dropped the knife. "Besides, if I wanted anyone's kidneys I would have stolen my roommate's by now."
Monica frowned slightly. "Still your roommate?"
"He moves out in two weekends. I have a celebratory parade planned for noon."
Bobby laughed heartily. "I take it you didn't get along."
"No." Chandler glanced at Monica. "No, not really. I'll be celebrating having the apartment all to myself."
Ross raised an eyebrow. "Can you afford that?"
"Well, for a little bit. As long as I don't ever, y'know, eat."
Bobby laughed again. "Tell you what. After he moves out I'll organize a party, bring a keg. We'll get you so wasted you'll forget how hungry you are."
Chandler nodded in comic thoughtfulness, at the same time looking at Bobby appraisingly. "I know we haven't known each other very long, but you seem like a fun guy. Feel free to throw as many parties as you want."
"Be careful. I just might take you up on that." Bobby grin, turned back towards Monica. "How about you? Care to join me in throwing your neighbor the party of his life?"
Monica had to take a moment to answer. She had never, ever been quite this forward with a man, and had found the sensation of inviting him over to be exhilarating. And then, somehow, she'd lost control of the conversation, and Bobby had focused exclusively on Ross and Chandler, leaving Monica feel resentful. Now, however, he was looking at her again, with that easy smile and wavy hair, and she felt attracted to him all over again. She decided he was worth her best smile. "Sure. I'll cater the event. I'm a chef after all."
"Really? Wow!" Bobby seemed genuinely excited. "I can't cook anything more complicated than eggs on toast. You must fix all sorts of fancy stuff."
"Sometimes." A warm glow settled over Monica. She was getting a different vibe from Bobby than she had from Kip, and anything different had to be good. "If you want to come to dinner tomorrow, I'll fix you something special."
"Sounds terrific." He smiled again.
Monica looked down and picked up her wine glass, breaking eye contact with Bobby before her eyes burst out of their sockets. This was different, this was good, Kip was behind her forever, gone out of her life, and now at last she could truly move on.
Monica set down the groceries with a grunt. For the first time she was beginning to worry that she had moved too far too quickly with Bobby. She'd practically thrown herself at him in the park, and somehow found herself agreeing to help Chandler throw a party, and now had hours of work ahead of her preparing hors d'oeuvres for twenty people. Chandler and Ross had invited their co-workers over, and Bobby was bringing a friend or two. It seemed a tad overwhelming.
Still, Bobby had proved to be very easy-going. More importantly, the guys seemed to like him, which already made him a better person than Kip. The party would be a good opportunity to get to know him in a relatively safe environment. She had taken a huge chance in the park, and wanted to make certain she hadn't made a big mistake.
She spent a few minutes unpacking and organizing the food. The party was at seven, which should give her plenty of time to do everything she wanted to do. She began washing the celery, her mind racing with the tasks ahead.
The door opened. Monica quickly glanced over. "Hey Phoebe. Just a reminder that the party is tonight. You can still bring people if you want, we should have plenty of food."
Phoebe didn't respond. This was unusual enough that Monica turned around to look at her. Phoebe still had her coat on and was shuffling over to the couch. In her hand she held a paper bag. Monica eyed it, realized it was from a fast-food joint. Phoebe sat on the couch and opened the bag. She removed the wrapping from what turned out to be a hamburger. She held it in front of her face and stared at it.
Monica frowned, opened her mouth.
Phoebe bit into the hamburger.
Monica's mouth remained open, her brain frozen by what she'd seen. Phoebe mechanically began chewing, her eyes staring at the opposite wall. She still hadn't spoken.
Panic rose inside Monica. She put the celery into the sink and walked quickly into her bedroom. She closed the door, picked up the phone, and quickly dialed a number, praying that it would be answered.
It was after two rings. "Hello?"
"Oh thank God. Carol, I need your help."
"Monica?" Carol sounded confused.
"Oh, yes, hi, it's your sister-in-law. Look, you're a therapist, right?"
"Well, that's part of what I do, yes. What's wrong?"
"My roommate is eating a hamburger!"
"Oh." Carol seemed nonplussed. "And why does this upset you?"
"Because she's a vegetarian!"
"And you're offended that she's decided to change her diet?"
"No! I mean-" Monica drew a breath to calm herself. "Phoebe isn't a vegetarian for dietary reasons. She truly believes that killing animals to eat them creates bad karma. She, she's not a fanatic about it, she doesn't try to make everyone else stop eating meat. Her belief is, is very personal, and she believes in it so strongly, she truly believes that eating meat is evil. And she's doing it, she's doing it right now, right in the other room!"
"Okay, okay, I get the picture." Carol's voice was soothing, almost professionally so. "Look, I can't... diagnose over the phone the motivations of a woman I don't know at all. So I can't tell you why she's doing that, not without meeting with her and talking to her about it."
"Well, can you guess? I, I need to know what this means!"
Carol sighed. "If I were to take a guess, I'd say she's punishing herself."
"Punishing herself?"
"Yes. She did something wrong, and she knows it, and she feels a need to hurt herself. Do you know what that could be?"
Monica's mind was a whirlwind and she tried to focus. "I, she, she's been... seeing this guy, Duncan. But, but he's gay, so he's not interested in her, they've been going out as just friends, but, but I could tell she was falling in love with him, and I told her not to, that she was... was..."
"Was setting herself up to be hurt?"
"Yes!" Monica paused. "Do you think that's what's happened? That, that something happened between her and Duncan? And that because she was warned but still did something stupid and got hurt, that she needs to punish herself over it?"
"It's a possibility. I'm not saying that for certain, mind you. But it could be the case."
"What do I do!" Monica heard her voice getting louder and fought to quiet her tone. "She, she was so there for me when, when I was all depressed over Kip, she knew just what to say and do and she helped me get over him. And, and now I don't know what to do for her, I'm, I'm so useless."
"Monica... look, just respond to her the way she responded to you in the same situation. You know it works because it helped you."
"But, but she's different." Monica switched the phone to her other ear, wiping the sweat off her hand. "Phoebe's mother killed herself when she was fourteen and she was living on the street until last year when she moved in with me. And she nearly lost it, she nearly flipped out the very first night she stayed here, I, I'm afraid... Oh, I don't want her to commit suicide, I'm so afraid that I'll say or do something that will kill her."
"Oh." Carol didn't say anything for a few seconds while Monica nervously paced around her bedroom. Finally, Carol spoke. "Look, suicidal tendencies are not inherited. Just because her mother killed herself doesn't mean Phoebe is more or less likely to do the same. Plus suicide is a private thing. She ate the hamburger in front of you, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Right in the middle of the living room."
"Then she wanted you to see. She wanted you to be near. Monica, your roommate is not Humpty Dumpty - she won't fall to pieces at the slightest touch. She's a normal human being, much the same as you are. Treat her like that, and you'll do fine. You know your roommate much better than I do; help her in whatever manner seems best. I have faith in you."
Monica stopped pacing, stood still for a moment, thought that over. The panic subsided just the tiniest bit. "Okay. Okay, I'll try."
"Good." Carol sounded pleased. "Call if you need anything, but I kind of have the feeling you won't need any more help."
"I, I'll always need help." Even as she said that, she found her confidence building. "Thanks, Carol."
"You're welcome. Good luck."
"Bye." Monica hung up the phone and looked at the door. Slowly she put the phone on the table and opened her bedroom door.
Phoebe was still sitting on the couch. Her hamburger now looked half-eaten. Taking a breath, Monica walked over to the kitchen.
As quickly as she could, she chopped up some lettuce, dumped it in a small bowl, added celery and cucumbers, and poured a little bit of vinaigrette over it. Monica grabbed a fork, stuck it into the salad, and walked purposefully into the living room.
With her free hand, Monica took hold of the hamburger. Phoebe made an incoherent sound of protest and tightened her grip on it. Monica made her voice hard and unyielding as she said, "Let go."
Phoebe looked up at her, looking guilty and forlorn. Then she dropped her hands. Monica pulled the hamburger away and offered the salad instead. "Eat this."
Phoebe looked at the bowl, back up at Monica, then back at the bowl. Slowly she reached up and cupped it in her hands.
Monica released her grip on the bowl. She went into the kitchen and threw the remains of the hamburger into the garbage. Quickly she returned to the living room and sat on the couch next to Phoebe. "What happened?"
Phoebe wouldn't meet her eyes, instead staring at the salad. "Duncan left."
"Left? Left New York?"
"Yeah."
"Forever?"
"For long enough."
"Oh." Monica found a lecture fighting to get out of her lips. That Phoebe had made a big mistake falling in love with a gay man, and that this depression was of her own making. But Monica recalled quite clearly how relieved she'd been that no one had given her an "I told you so" over Kip. Phoebe certainly wouldn't appreciate hearing one now.
Monica reached out, stroked Phoebe's hair. "I'm sorry."
"Why? It's not your fault!"
"It's... it's no one's fault. I just wanted you to know I feel bad, too. I know how much you liked him."
"Yes, and that's the problem, isn't it? I liked him too much, I like people too much, and just when I like them the most, they go away!" Phoebe slammed the salad bowl on the coffee table and stormed into her bedroom.
Monica felt her heart pounding. Phoebe had rejected her, had gone to by herself. Suicide is a private thing. She'd tried to help and all she'd done was drive Phoebe away.
Some bits of lettuce had fallen onto the coffee table. Monica leaned over, put them back into the bowl, trying to steady herself. She wished life could be as simple as this, that all she had to do was find the pieces of Phoebe that had been shattered and putting them back into place. But she was useless. Useless and helpless. Oh God, what do I do now?
The bedroom door opened. Monica looked up, saw that Phoebe was now dressed in her flannel pajamas. Without looking at Monica, she sat next to her on the couch. Phoebe picked up the bowl, took the fork, and speared some of the salad. She settled back into the couch and began eating the salad.
Monica watched for a minute, wishing she could see whatever auras Phoebe claimed to see around people. She couldn't see anything surrounding Phoebe, but she still had a sense that Phoebe was calmer than she had been a couple of minutes ago.
She opened her mouth without any idea of what she was going to say. "Would you like some water?"
Phoebe shook her head.
"Want... want to watch something on television?"
Phoebe shook her head again.
Monica's mind floundered, trying to think of what else to say.
"Don't you have to get food ready for the party?"
Monica blinked, surprised by Phoebe's question. "Don't worry about that."
"But I know you worry about it. Go fix the food. I'll be all right."
"Phoebe..." Monica sighed. "I don't care about the party, I just care about you."
"I... I know." At last, Phoebe met Monica's gaze. "But, but it would help me if, if you'd just keep yourself busy doing what you love to do. If, if I can hear you being all Monica-esque in the kitchen, that, that will help me as much as anything could."
"Oh." Monica tilted her head. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Phoebe turned back to her salad, took another bite.
"Okay." Monica got to her feet. She looked down at Phoebe, feeling inadequate.
But not entirely. Phoebe was here, in the living room, eating the salad Monica had made for her. That had to be better than eating a hamburger by herself. Maybe it was better that Phoebe wasn't suddenly magically all right, but took tiny little steps towards getting past Duncan.
Reluctantly, Monica walked back into the kitchen and began preparing for the party.
(to be continued)