Chandler

2003

Monica did not realize how much of married life would be about contemplating whether or not she could eat her husband's leftover dessert. Yet here she was, feeling a craving for something sweet, and trying to fight off the siren song coming from that neatly folded white paper bag resting next to the milk and behind the eggs. A bag that she could swear was calling her name.

It had been a rare date night for them. Between her busy scheduled at Javu and Chandler's habit of bringing work home with him in an attempt to impress his new boss, most of their evenings comprised of one of them staying in the livingroom far too late and falling asleep on the couch with the television on. It was a nice change of pace to finally slow things down, disconnect from their jobs and friends, and take some time for themselves. Enjoy one of those expensive meals where Chandler couldn't pronounce the names of any of the entrees and you could only buy wine by the bottle.

It was something they had deprived themselves of while they lived on a tight budget with Chandler between jobs. They had rarely gone out during those months, and if they did it was for some take-out they could share. One dinner for two people. They also got into the habit of saving leftovers, perhaps a little bit longer than they should, to stretch out every dollar they spent in order to not dip into the "house fund". But now, with some money in the bank, and a sense of security about their financial future, they were able to splurge a bit on themselves. And for a few hours, they could feel like they weren't complete failures. A feeling that had been hard for Monica to shake off, with money problems and countless negative pregnancy tests piling up. They needed a win, and dressing up for a four-course meal was just what the doctor ordered.

But now, three days have passed, and the only thing left from their evening, besides the memories, was his dessert, and it seemed like a crime against gastronomy to let that decadent, rich, smooth, chocolate cake go to waste. With its layers of white chocolate mousse, chocolate chip mousse, and chocolate ganache. Adorned with a caramel drizzle, broken pieces of fudge and toasted meringue. Such a work of art dying a slow death on a shelf in their refrigerator next to a box of leftover Chinese food.

It would be his own fault if she ate it on him. What kind of person would not make sure to leave enough room after dinner so they could enjoy every last bite of this masterpiece right there, at the restaurant, while it was still warm and fresh? He barely had three forkfuls that night and then signaled for the waitress to wrap it up. Who on earth would do such a thing? Furthermore, what kind of lunatic would think it rational to store it in the fridge for nearly half a week?

He probably wouldn't even realize she ate it. He was terrible about finishing off leftovers anyway. Always saving half his food and never going back to any of it. She constantly found herself throwing out old, hard slices of pizza or half eaten sandwiches. Food wrapped up, intended to be the next day's lunch, only for it to be forgotten. Even drinks were not immune to his wasteful ways. Open bottles of Gatorade and Yoohoo scattered about the refrigerator like abandoned children.

The more she thought about it the more she realized that she had to eat this cake to teach him a lesson about wasting food. She wasn't eating this for her, it was for his own good. Starving children in other countries and hurting the environment and whatever else she could think of as a good enough excuse that would allow her to devour that sweet, sweet cake.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had clicked on the oven on and placed the nearly full slice of cake on a baking sheet. It would no doubt be better if it was warm. Then the caramel would be just a little gooey; giving her the exact sensory input she required with every forkful. She waited as patiently as she could, but soon enough she carefully removed the cake from the oven and placed it on a plate. She even sprinkled the extra fudge to enhance the dishes presentation. She then carved out a small bite and shook her head once again, lamenting the wasteful habits of her husband.

"He barely touched this. There's almost nothing missing. I'm not stealing this, no, I am saving this cake. If he had his way, it would be in the garbage by the weekend."

Now certain with her course of action, Monica slid the fork in her mouth and savored every flavor that sprang to life as it danced along her tastebuds. It was sweet, rich, a hint of savory sea salt. It was light and airy, but the frosting gave it some more pronounced texture. It was perfect.

"Hey? Are you eating my cake?"

Monica, without looking up, slipped another bite into her mouth. "There are rules. After two days its fair game."

Chandler smiled and stepped over to sit across from her. "Well, that's better than Joey's rules about keeping food in the fridge."

"What was his rule?"

"Don't put food in the fridge or I will eat it."

Monica chuckled and took another bite. She then looked up at him with a slight, guilty smile on her lips. "Do you want some? I can get another fork."

Chandler smirked. "Is this one of those times where you ask me if I want something, but you really want me to say no."

Monica shrugged her shoulders. "Kind of."

"Then no. It's all yours."

Monica smiled bashfully as she took another bite, as if she were being presented with some award and needed to maintain humility as she accepted it. Chandler stood up and grabbed two small glasses. "The cake you can have for free, but the milk is going to cost you."

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

"Remember that night a couple of weeks ago. When you gave me that special thing?"

"Are you talking about your birthday?"

"Is that what it was?" Chandler opened the refrigerator and took out the container of milk, placing it on the table between them.

"Wait, so you're telling me that you want me to trade birthday sex for milk?"

"And cake."

"I thought the cake was free."

"We're negotiating."

Monica looked down at the cake once more and scooped up a broken piece of fudge. She let it linger on her lips before taking it in her mouth.

"Okay."

Chandler triumphantly pumped his fists in the air, danced in place, and then turned to jog to the bedroom.

Monica cleared her throat loudly to get his attention. "Hey. Big guy. Aren't you forgetting something?" She tilted her head towards the milk carton as she stood up and carried her plate across the living room.

Chandler giddily pranced back into the kitchen and grabbed the milk and glasses and then followed Monica to the bedroom. "Hey, we're not gonna do sex stuff with the cake, right? Because if we are I should probably get some paper towels."

Monica laughed heartedly, as if he were being ridiculous. "This cake is way too good to be used for sex."

2004

Monica stepped out of the shower and stood there, naked, as the steam from the hot water began to condense from the air. The droplets clung to the walls making everything wet to the touch, as if she were standing in a sauna. She snatched a towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself and then took a second towel and slowly began to dry her hair. She made long, deliberate motions as she ran her fingers through it as if she wanted to straighten every strand of hair individually. She reflected on how much longer it took to dry before she had it cut a few months ago. She lifted her wet brush and combed it straight as she contemplated if she should let it air dry or use the blow-dryer that was mounted to the wall next to the sink.

She was surprised by how quickly she was able to fall into these mundane tasks. Taking a shower. Drying her hair. Applying lotion to her arms and legs. Using face cream and moisturizer around the lines on her face. It was usually just a quiet, nightly ritual. A moment of silence as she practiced a modicum of self-care. But tonight, it was a much-needed distraction. Something else to focus on. A way to turn off her brain and hold the anguish that she had been dealing with the past couple of hours at bay.

She might have gotten through her entire routine without stopping. She could have continued acting as if everything were normal if she hadn't locked eyes with her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eyes that judged her. Eyes that knew all her secrets, all her failings, all her worst impulses. She did not see a calm woman concentrating on skin care, instead she saw scornful, scolding woman staring back at her. A reflection that was disgusted by her behavior over the last few hours.

She barely recognized herself. This woman willing to go to such lengths to get what she wanted. Willing to lie. Cheat. Beg. Borrow. Steal. Willing to risk everything to get what she wanted. And in her moment of weakness, she risked the one thing she never thought she would.

Her chance to be a mother.

It seemed so easy at first to pretend to be who they all thought she was. What would the harm be? Monica knew that once they had that baby, everyone would see what amazing parents they were, that all would be forgiven when and if their ruse was ever uncovered. The mother and the adoption agency would see that the baby was in a loving home and they would be incapable of taking it back.

But her motives weren't purely altruistic. She was not thinking about the wellbeing of that unborn child. She fell into the lie because she thought that she earned the right to be selfish. After so many obstacles had been put in her way, here was what she had always wanted, right there, in her grasp. She wasn't about to let some clerical error take it away from her. Not after she had come this far. So, she was able to tamp down her better nature because she wondered, in that moment, doesn't she deserve to get what she wants, at least once in her life? Why did everything have to be so hard all the time? When was it her turn to catch a lucky break? What if this was her only chance?

She looked at the bathroom door in silence as she bit on her thumbnail. She could hear the television from the other room; some regional Ohio newscast bleeding through the walls. Taunting her with the prospect that she would have to face the consequences of her actions and not even have the comfort of home to fall back on. Just some generic, cold, sleepy hotel room that did not offer any of the solace that her own bed might.

She still had her doubts that they were doing the right thing even after she had relented, and agreed with her husband that they needed to tell the truth. She debated with herself the entire time she was in the shower. Wondering if perhaps they should reverse their course of action, and how she could convince Chandler to go along with her. But the hot water washed away the notion of going through with that unjustifiable impulse.

She hated to admit it, but Chandler was right.

The world must truly be upside-down for that to be true.

She let her mind play back what they had said when they returned to their room. She rarely saw him like that. Forceful. Certain. Rational. Competent. He much preferred to be the passive one in their relationship. He was always willing to go along with her, even at her less than stellar moments. Like when she thought the housekeeper was stealing her clothes, or when she concocted her revenge against some nameless food critic. He always stood by her, even if it were against his better judgment.

It was strange for her to have that freedom to occasionally become unhinged. To have his support even when she did irrational things just in an attempt to restore the natural order in her life. She had never had that safety net before. Not from her parents or any other man she had ever loved. Whenever she put herself in peril, he was the only one willing to save her from herself, even if all that it required was him being there for her.

He did show up for the big moments. The milestones. Moving in together. Getting engaged. Getting married. Deciding to have children. That was all him. And truth be told, she was terrified to push for any of it. Once again falling victim to her worst impulses. The one's that told her no one wanted to live with her. No one wanted to marry her and have children with her. Not in the way she needed them to. She needed a man that was all in. One-hundred percent invested in the life they would build together. And even when she found that man, she still had her doubts and fears. But he was always there, to surprise her with his resolve. To accept her for whatever she was in the moment. Just like today.

She snatched a robe from the hook on the back of the door and cinched the sash as she wrapped it around herself and stepped out of the bathroom. She was ready to face the music. Perhaps receive another lecture on how important it was that they be honest with the mother who was about to give away her child. She deserved it. She had been acting mad, uncaring, and selfish.

"Hey."

Chandler looked up and smiled. "Hey."

Monica scanned the table on the side of the room and saw a serving tray covered with a steel dome. She stepped forward and lifted it to look underneath.

"I know you said you weren't hungry, but I thought maybe after your shower you might want to eat so I ordered some room service."

He was right.

Of course, he was right.

She was starving.

Her self-flagellation over the last forty minutes when she had escaped to the bathroom had left her feeling weak, hungry and tired. She snatched a fry from the plate and ate it slow. Savoring it as she eyed the sandwich he ordered her. She then turned to the bed and gestured at it with her head.

"Maybe we could sit for a minute?"

She needed more than just food to refuel her batteries. She needed to be comforted.

Chandler nodded and slid up on the bed. He patted to spot next to him and Monica climbed up and rested against him, placing her head on his chest. She then waited quietly as he flipped through the channels. Waited for him to say something as the light from the television screen flickered across his face. Even if it was just to have him quietly reinforce what he had told her earlier. Make sure she was convinced that the absolutely had to tell the truth.

But nothing came.

The anticipation was almost maddening. She started to feel like she couldn't let her guard down, she couldn't relax, she couldn't eat; not until she made some kind of atonement for her sins.

"Chandler?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry if I was acting a little crazy."

He pulled her into himself and breathed out. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

"Sure, I do. I was basically plotting a crime. And you know they would have blamed you more than me. You're the man."

"So, you've already worked out your defense throwing me under the bus. Good to know."

Monica couldn't help but chuckle. She shifted herself up so she could face him. "At the very least, I was not at my best."

Chandler took pause and kissed her on the top of her head. "Well, that's why I'm here."

"Yeah, to talk some sense into me. Save me from myself."

Chandler shook his head. "No. I've learned nobody can change your mind if you don't want it changed. And you don't need saving."

"Then what?"

"Honey, if you can't be crazy and irrational around me, then, who can you be crazy and irrational around? I'm the one, that no matter what, I'm not going anywhere. You can even almost make me a fugitive from the law. You need to be allowed to lose control sometimes and still have someone here to order you a club sandwich when you get out of the shower."

Monica rested her head back down, as if a weight was lifted from her.

"I mean, unless someone hotter comes along."

She pinched his side, shook her head and laughed. Her first genuine smile since they returned from the adoption agency. She breathed deeply and snuggled in closer.

"What are we watching?"

"Steel Magnolias is coming on."

"Chandler."

"What? Those women only had each other!"

2005

Monica stopped herself halfway down the stairs as her eyes opened wide in horror and shock. She tried to turn, but the plastic bin she held in her hands made it tough to change directions on the stairway.

"Chandler!"

She waited, craning her neck and leaning her head towards the top of the stairs as she waited for a response from her husband.

Nothing.

"Chandler!"

Still nothing.

"CHANDLER!"

Finally, she heard what sounded like a mouth full of food mumble out a noise.

"Chandler! Come here!"

The stairway darkened as he stepped over. She turned her head, and for some reason, the image of him standing there, oblivious, with half a sandwich in his hand, drove her insane.

"The basement is flooded!"

Chandler looked past her and at the water that looked to be about an inch deep at the bottom of the stairs. He nodded in agreement and took another bite from his sandwich. "Oh yeah."

Nonplussed, Monica could only just stare at him. "Chandler! We have to do something."

"I did say, 'oh yeah'. That's pretty much the extent of my usefulness here. I'm not one of the Mario Brothers."

Monica, still unsure how to react, looked around and shook her head. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, because they're plumbers." He then looked up contemplatively. "You know what, I don't know if he was a plumber in Donkey Kong. He had a hammer. Maybe he was a carpenter or something..."

"Are you serious right now!" Monica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Take this bin from me and then go and get the channel locks."

"Channel locks? Is that what you put on the remote so I can't watch porn anymore?"

"Chandler!"

Now clearly intimidated by his wife's lack of patience, Chandler hurriedly moved down the half flight of stairs and took the bin of old clothes from her. He started on his way back upstairs.

"Okay. I'll go get the channel locks. But I have to warn you; I have no idea what channel locks are. So you might be here a while."

2006

Monica checked the paperwork one more time before placing it back in the folder. Even though she knew everything was there, she couldn't help but rifle through it all over and over again while she waited for Chandler to come downstairs. Medical records. Therapist notes. Test results. Psychologist assessment. Food diary. Sleep chart. Bloodwork. Jack's birth mother's medical history. It was all there, just like it was ten minutes ago. She sat there, confirming it all with a little mental "check" each time. She had to make sure everything in the folders were organized, facing the same direction, easy to read, color coordinated, with large, bold-printed tabs.

At this point, she knew it was compulsion and she would have felt embarrassed by it, but she was too nervous to be self-conscious. And when she felt this anxious, there were only three things that could settle her down; sex, cleaning, and organizing. And she didn't have time to clean or screw, so ensuring everything was exactly where it should be was going to have to do.

She pulled a notepad out of her purse and read through the questions she had put together to ask once they reached the neurologists office. She took a pen out and let the end dance along her chin. An unconscious habit as she tried to figure out if there was anything she hadn't thought of. Anything she might have missed that could unlock this mystery that was her son.

For months now, whenever she had time alone, to lose herself in her thoughts, she went over everything that she could remember, from the day the twins came home from the hospital to the moment they noticed something strange with Jack. Trying to figure out if there was something she did, or something she didn't do, that led them to this point. Some misstep, or something she overlooked that was crucial to the twins' development that she simply forgot to do. Maybe some food she gave them too early, or something she deprived them of that possessed some crucial nutrient that would explain all of this. Could it be the fact that she could not breast feed her children and they were raised on formula? She needed to find something, anything that could lead her to an answer, even if that meant it was all her fault. Then, at least she would still be in control. Because if it was not her fault, then the only other option left to her was worse. It meant that things just happen and you can't plan for it, steer out of it or put it away in some closet with the rest of the forgotten junk.

Chandler popped down the stairs and she couldn't help but feel relived as she slid the notepad back in her purse.

When Monica had a moment alone, she could spin out of control and fall victim to a desperate spiral down into the dark corners of her mind. The places that held her responsible for every bad thing that happened to her. Especially at times like this, where there was an actual crisis in her life. She could run dozens of scenarios through her mind, overthink every decision she ever made. But when he was around, he stabilized her, kept her focused. He made her feel like, no matter what they were dealing with, they would be okay. That she would be okay. That she didn't do anything wrong.

This was something she never saw coming. Especially before they got together. Chandler was so far removed from the type of man she had imagined herself ending up with.

She could still see herself, so certain at that beach house all those years ago. Adamant that he was not her type. Something she lamented now, seeing it as a wasted year. What if she had just recognized it then? What if they had that year back? Would it have changed anything? Made anything easier? Would they still have the twins? Would she have gotten pregnant if they started trying earlier?

She shook her head to stop herself from getting lost in the dark recesses of her mind once again. Victim to another spiral.

She looked at him as he grabbed his jacket and she could already feel the warmth of her smile spreading across her lips. This unlikely man who was her hand on the boat so she didn't fall overboard into the sea of her own self-doubt.

She had all these fantasies and expectations about who would be the one she would spend the rest of her life with, and Chandler truly fell short of almost every benchmark she had carefully placed between her and the man she would marry. But, oddly enough, he also shattered all the expectations she had. It was as if they reinvented the wheel together. Created some marvelous, unexpected way to love.

Phoebe and Rachel would joke, especially early on in their relationship, that Monica settled for Chandler, but she knew the truth. He was more than she could have hoped for. Being with him made her realize that her bar was too low. She wanted someone tall. Handsome. Successful. Mature. Self-confident. A good dancer. Those were the things a child looked for. They were not the things that would make a woman happy.

Chandler had the things you never think to look for when you are young. The things you really need. He was her friend. He made her laugh. He let her act a fool without judgment. He bought her sandwiches when she said she wasn't hungry because he knew she would be. He made her feel like it was okay to be a little messy. It was okay to fail. It was okay to trip and stumble and sometimes fall down and it wasn't the end of the world.

He loved her completely. Without hesitation. He filled every crack she had in her soul.

She was secure in the knowledge that whatever they would go through it would be together. She would never experience anything alone ever again.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." Monica stood up from the table and pulled at his collar. She then guided him down so she could plant a kiss on his lips. "I love you, you know that?"

"Thank goodness. I was worried there that maybe you were just using me for my body/"

Monica pointed at him and looked him up and down. "this body?'

"It's too late woman! This is what you get. No refunds."

Monica smiled as she kissed him again while shaking her head. "No. No refunds."