The rustling of beads informed her that Phoebe was finally up and about. She looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Where are you taking that?"
Phoebe had her stereo in her arms. She looked at Monica and blushed slightly. "I, I, I'm taking it to be rewired."
Monica frowned. "On Thanksgiving?"
"Uh, well, there's a guy who lives next to my grandmother who's, like, really good with this stuff, so, so I thought when I went over to visit her today I'd drop it off with him and, like, see if he could fix the, the wires."
"Oh." Monica turned back towards the ingredients. "Try not to scratch any of the wood while you're taking it out. Celery seeds."
"What?"
"What happened to my celery seeds?"
"Oh, uh, I think Chandler and Joey were using them to make pictures on the surface of their tomato soup."
Monica looked back at Phoebe with a puzzled look. "What?"
"Well, it was funny at the time."
"Oh, ha ha. I've got a turkey and stuffing to prepare in the next few hours and it's just so funny that they're trying to ruin it. I'm laughing, really." Monica grabbed her coat. "I'm going to the store. Don't let them touch anything."
"Uh, sure."
Monica moved briskly out into the street. With luck the corner store would still be open. And would have what she needed. Stupid Chandler. He and Joey had become increasingly silly as time went by, each reinforcing the other in a never-ending spiral of immaturity. It was extremely annoying. And, Monica forced herself to admit, quite funny at times.
But this was Thanksgiving. This was important.
The store was open, and surprisingly crowded. Monica maneuvered her way through the narrow aisles to the spice section where, fortunately, exactly one bottle of celery seeds was available. She grabbed it, then waited an impatient fifteen minutes in line.
Monica jogged down the street. So much to do. So much that had to be done right. And this day was getting off to exactly the wrong start. Curse Chandler.
She slipped on some wet pavement rounding a corner too quickly, and scraped the palm of her hands breaking her fall. Monica cursed as she saw the blood begin to well. If only she'd been wearing her gloves, this would not have happened. She'd been in too much of a hurry leaving the apartment.
Picking herself up, Monica hurried along the street. Soon enough, the apartment building loomed and she almost ran inside.
Monica opened the door, shrugged out of her coat, and blinked. Phoebe was leaning in a too-casual manner on the kitchen table. Clearly she was trying to hide something. Monica looked down at the turkey, and it was all too obvious that someone was bent forward at the waist and had their head stuck inside the turkey.
"Oh my God." Red exploded behind Monica's eyeballs. "Oh my God! Who is that?"
The turkey arose. "It's Joey," said a plaintive and somewhat frightened voice.
"What are you doing!" Monica rushed up to him, wanting to throttle him. "Was this supposed to be funny?"
"No," Phoebe said in a gentle, placating manner. "It's supposed to be scary."
Monica glared at Phoebe, then decided unpremeditated homicide could wait. "Well, get it off, now!"
"I can't." Joey was almost quivering in fear. "It's stuck."
"That turkey," Monica said angrily, "has to feed twenty people at my parent's house, and they are not going to eat it off your head."
Monica gathered herself, forced her voice down a level. "Okay. Phoebe, pull. I'm going to spread the legs as wide as I can."
Joey, showing remarkable resiliency, began laughing.
Monica gritted her teeth. "Joey, now is not the time."
"Sorry." He sounded as if he meant it.
"All right, on three."
Phoebe tried to pull the turkey off, but her hands slipped off the still-raw turkey. Joey stumbled towards the front door, just in time to run into Chandler, just entering. Chandler let out a started yelp.
"Aha!" Joey turned the wrong way and pointed at an imaginary Chandler. "I scared you, I knew it!"
Chandler had recovered quickly. "I'm over here, big guy."
"Yeah you are!" Joey whirled, again facing the wrong way.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it." Monica stepped forward, grabbed Chandler's hands, put them on the turkey. "When I count three, pull, and I mean hard mister. I'm going to spread the legs as far as I can so hopefully Joey will pop out. DON'T YOU DARE SAY ANYTHING, BING!"
Chandler quickly snapped his mouth shut. He nodded, his eyes still dancing amusement.
Monica growled and counted. This time Joey's head came clear.
Grabbing the turkey, Monica ran to the kitchen. She tried her best to clean out the cavity with cold water. She noticed that her palms were still bleeding slightly and cursed under her breath. Monica washed her hand quickly, then scoured the outside of the turkey as well.
Chandler, meanwhile, was talking to Joey. "So that was supposed to scare me?"
"It worked, didn't it?"
"No, the two-hundred-pound man about to fall on me scared me."
"One-eighty-five, doofus."
"Maybe before you started hoovering up Monica's refrigerator on a daily basis."
"I work it off. In ways you never do, Mr. Lonelybed!"
"Five minutes a day is not exactly a strenuous workout?"
"Five minutes? I've never been quick. Time me next time."
"Oh, it will be the highlight of my night, to take a stopwatch to your sexual activities. What do I get if-"
"Shut up, shut up both of you!" Monica decided the turkey was as clean as it was ever going to be and shut off the faucet. "Are you trying to ruin my life?"
"Uh... no, no we aren't." Chandler took a step into the kitchen. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Yes. Stay out of my way." Monica glared at Chandler until he stepped back out of the kitchen.
Monica lost herself in the preparation of the stuffing. It was not often that she did this - shut out the rest of the world to focus solely on her cooking. Normally she enjoyed being a part of the inane banter that flew about the room. But just now everyone else was making her extremely annoyed, and if she was going to be able to get this done correctly, she needed to ignore them as much as possible. Fortunately they seemed involved in the newly-formed tradition of jeering at the Thanksgiving Parade on television.
After she had the stuffing inside the turkey she put it in the oven and monitored it intensely through the oven window. It was a struggle not to open the door every two minutes to baste the turkey again; patience was required. And right now, Monica was not a patient woman.
Monica succeeded so well at blanking everything else out that when Ross opened the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of water she blinked at him in surprise. "Hey, hi."
"Hi." He eyed the turkey. "Is that going to be ready in time?"
Monica glanced up at the clock, studied the turkey, and frowned. "Yes. Maybe. It will. It will be perfect." She looked around. "Where's Carol?"
"Renting a car. We figured that would be a lot easier for you and the turkey."
It would be. Monica smiled, her first real smile of the day. "It will be. Thanks."
"You're welcome, but it was Carol's idea."
"She's, she's a very thoughtful woman." Monica eyed Ross for a second, trying to gauge his mood. "How's it going with you two?"
Ross sighed and smiled slightly. "Trying to prepare me for Mom?"
Monica chuckled. "Oh come on. As far as Mom's concerned, you two are the perfect couple."
"Well, she's begun to question why we aren't having children. And, and my answers are sounding more and more forced, even to me."
"Ah." That did sound like her mother. And Ross. "So, what answer will you give her?"
Ross shrugged. "Better. I think it's going better. Carol joined a new gym, and she seems particularly... energetic when she gets back from there."
"Energetic?" Monica had trouble picturing that; Carol was usually so calm and cool.
"Energetic, y'know." Ross blushed slightly. "She, she's more..."
"She's displaying the kind of energy that might produce the grandchildren your mother wants her to have," Chandler called from the living room.
Monica frowned at Chandler, who was still facing the television, enduring the amused looks of Phoebe and Joey. "Thanks, Bing," she called out acerbically.
"You're welcome. Let me know if you want any more help translating Rossese."
Monica speared Chandler with a look, which of course was wasted on the back of his head. She let out an annoyed breath and looked back up at Ross, who looked a little embarrassed and, perhaps, a little proud. For the first time ever, Monica wondered exactly how healthy a sex life Ross and Carol had. Evidently it hadn't been as... eventful as Monica had always assumed. And just as evidently it had recently taken a turn for the better.
So much for Joey's theory. Monica allowed herself to smile again. "Well, I'm glad for you guys."
"Thanks. Shouldn't, shouldn't you be basting that?"
Monica rolled her eyes. "Do I tell you how to dig dinosaur bones?" Nevertheless, she opened up the oven to quickly baste the turkey. It had been long enough.
While she did this, everyone in the living room stood up and moved towards the front door. When Monica looked up, Joey was putting on his coat while Phoebe, her coat already on, was gathering up her stereo. Monica smiled. "Have a good Thanksgiving, guys."
"Thanks, Mon." Joey grinned at her while holding the door open. Phoebe shot Monica a strangely furtive look before smiling weakly and carrying the stereo out the door.
Chandler lingered after the others had left. "So, Monica, not to be a mensch or anything, but... did you happen to make any mac and cheese?"
Monica looked at him curiously. "Why would that make you a mensch?"
"Er... doesn't that mean I'm nosy and obnoxious?"
"Jeeze, Chandler..." Monica shook her head. "If you're going to throw Yiddish at me, learn the proper terms."
Ross nodded. "I think you're fahklumpt."
"Fuh-what?"
"A shlemiel."
"Er, that thing they say before the opening song on Laverne and Shirley?"
"And a shagetz."
"Hey, you leave my mother out of this!"
Monica laughed. "He just said you're not Jewish."
"Well, I thought that would be obvious by now!" Chandler threw his hands up in surrender. "What's Yiddish for 'Where's my dinner?'"
"Here." Monica opened up the refrigerator, pulled out a casserole dish. "Put in the oven at 350 for an hour."
"Thanks." Chandler smiled.
Monica smiled. "Have fun fressing."
Chandler eyed her uncertainly. "How about a new rule: English only?"
"Fair enough." Monica sat back down, peering through the oven door. "It annoyed Kip, too. I think he preferred to think of me as non-ethnic."
"Ugh, you're comparing me to him? I must have really made you mad."
"Nah. I know it doesn't really bother you. With Kip it was different."
"I guess that explains why he married a Southern Baptist."
Monica looked up, blinked rapidly. "He what?"
A very pained expression crossed Chandler's face and he swore silently. Monica looked over at Ross, who was shaking his head in disgust at Chandler. Monica thinned her lips and glared back at Chandler. "When did he get married?"
"About a week after he moved out," Chandler said reluctantly. "That's kinda why I let him hang around so long. He had wedding plans and it seemed wrong to make him have to find a new place to live in the middle of all that."
"Oh." Monica did some math in her head. "Which means, either he met and proposed to her very quickly, or... or he has dating her at the same time he was dating me."
"Mon." Ross gently cut in before Chandler could answer. "Trust me, Chandler didn't know Kip was dating anyone else while he was dating you. If he had, he would have told you. He only found out a while after, when he asked Kip to move out."
Monica considered Ross for a moment, then Chandler. She turned back towards the oven, opened it up, and basted the turkey again. "It's fine."
"Monica..." Chandler began.
"It's fine!" Monica slammed the oven door closed. "Can we not talk about it, please?"
"Uh, sure. I'm sorry I brought it up." Chandler did, in fact, sound very much in distress.
"Don't worry about it." Monica stared at the turkey through the oven window, trying to judge how much longer it would be. Thirty minutes, maybe. "Just remember, 350 for an hour. That's all you need to know."
"Right." She heard Chandler take a step into the kitchen, and then a hand was on her shoulder, applying a soft pressure. Monica clenched her jaw and had to suppress an urge to grab his wrist and break it. After a few seconds she forced herself to relax. Monica reached up, took Chandler's hand from her shoulder and clasped it in hers, squeezed gently, then released her grip.
Chandler said nothing more. He walked out of the apartment, taking the macaroni and cheese with him.
Ross was still standing behind her, shifting uncomfortably. "Listen, Moninca-"
"Be quiet, Ross." She looked up at him. "Just help me get through this day, all right? There's too much stupid stuff that's happened already, and we're not even back home yet. I want this turkey to be perfect, I want everyone to enjoy it, and I don't want to give Mom any more ammunition than she already has. Is that too much to ask?"
"Of, of course not."
"Good." Monica drew a deep breath and stood up. God, give me strength. "I'm going to go change. Watch the turkey and make sure nothing happens to it, all right?"
"All right."
Monica strode into her bedroom and shut the door. She pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to keep from crying. It worked, and in a moment she was able to put both her clothes and a confident face and hoped that wearing both would allow her to escape the rest of the day unscarred.
(to be continued)