This is a one shot I've been working on for a bit. It'll take you across a rollercoaster of emotions. You've been warned.
"You obviously haven't tasted my Palmolive Potatoes."
2010
Chandler awoke to the sound of little feet pounding down the hallway towards their master bedroom. He groaned and pulled the covers over his head, but within seconds, they were yanked back to reveal two pairs of eyes staring at him.
"Dad! It's Thanksgiving! Time to get up!" Erica said importantly.
"Yea! We gotta practise our football so we can win the trophy!" Jack exclaimed.
"Naaaarrrrggghhh," Chandler responded. He grabbed his pillow and sandwiched his head with it.
"I don't want Emma and Ben to win again," Jack insisted, tugging on Chandler's pajama sleeve.
"Mooooom!" Erica bellowed. "Make Daddy get up!"
Chandler grunted in pain as Monica's foot connected with his shin, a move she was famous for when she either didn't want to be disturbed or when he was to get up and deal with something, like the children.
"Go pester your mother," Chandler tried.
"Mommy says we can't bother her so early. It distracts her cooking," Erica said. Chandler loved that his daughter was learning new, big words all the time. It was even cuter to hear her try to use them in a sentence.
"Daaaad!" Jack said loudly in his ear.
"Daaaaaaaad!" Erica joined in.
"Dad!
"Dad!"
"DAAAAD!"
"DAAAAAD!"
"Okay, okay, okay!" Chandler exclaimed, sitting up finally. Their offset chorus of "Dads" had finally pierced his brain. "I'm up."
"Yayyyy!" Erica shouted, leaping off and pounding back to her room with Jack on her heels. Chandler groaned before turning to look at Monica, who was all snuggled and warm still under the covers.
"You were no help whatsoever," he complained. A smile formed on her lips, her eyes still closed.
"Be glad they want to hang around you," she said. "One day, they won't want to because they'll be teenagers and think everyone else is better and cooler."
"They're six. They don't know that I'm not cool yet," Chandler insisted. "I still have time."
"Then you better get moving," Monica suggested, going to boot him with her heel again when he caught her foot and pulled it out from the covers.
"We are a team," he said, beginning to tickle her. She screeched and flailed her other foot, missing his head by millimeters. He felt the wind off of it, though.
"Stop it!" she shrieked. "Chandler!"
He was on top of her now, ticking everything while she continued to flail and smack him half-heartedly.
"Tickle fight!" Erica yelled gleefully, coming back to see what the commotion was. Jack was there in an instant. Any time his parents were vulnerable to tickles, he was there. They both launched onto the bed and helped Chandler tickle Monica before starting to tickle him.
"Truce, truce!" Monica shouted. She grabbed Jack into a tight hug to stop him from tickling anymore while Erica stopped on her own. She was proud that she was a better listener.
"Okay," Chandler said. "It's Turkey Day, people. Let's get crackin'!"
It was only seven in the morning.
...
At three in the afternoon, Chandler was in the kitchen supervising the turkey while Monica was getting Jack prepped to go out and play football. She had done up the turkey, which Chandler had never been good at and didn't think he ever would be.
"Do I have to play?" Erica asked, pouting. "It's so dirty. I don't want to."
"You don't have to," Monica said, but she had a look of disappointment on her face. Football was Monica's thing, and she was very good at it. She had hoped her daughter would follow her footsteps. Apparently, it was her son who loved it more, though. She'd take what she could get.
"You can help me with dinner," Chandler said, smiling at Erica. He was left with the easy tasks to do. He sucked at football and always offered to stay while Monica went and kicked Ross's ass (except for last year, which she had claimed was a complete fluke. How did she know her ankle would twist that way?). Chandler couldn't say he had entirely missed the ugly doll trophy sitting on their shelf and leering at them all year.
"Okay!" Erica said gleefully. She bounced over to him, and Monica went over to give him a kiss before going out with Jack. There was a park nearby that everyone met at before coming to eat.
"Okay, sweetness," Chandler said. "You can put the cranberries into the bowl." He had already opened the can, and he helped her up onto the chair so she could stand at the counter and dump the contents into the designated, fancy cranberry bowl.
"What are you doing?" she asked, noticing he was putting water and soap in the sink. He got a secret smile on his face, and he felt he could trust his daughter with this information.
"I'm washing the potatoes," he said. Erica stared at him.
"With soap?" she asked. She had watched her mother do potatoes before, and this never happened.
Chandler put a finger to his lips and winked at her. She was instantly on Secret Alert.
"These are my special potatoes," he told her. "My Palmolive Potatoes." Ever since Monica had left him in charge of the so called "easy" food prep on Thanksgiving, he had done this. She had never noticed.
"Special potatoes," Erica breathed, her eyes wide.
"Uh huh. They taste so much better when they've been washed like this," Chandler gestured, grabbing a potato and demonstrating.
"Wow," she whispered.
"Now," he said a little sternly, looking at her. "This is Daddy's secret, okay? But now it's our secret. Can I trust you'll keep it our secret, Erica?"
She picked up on the seriousness of his words and nodded slowly. She wanted a secret with her Daddy. She liked knowing they would be the only ones knowing something.
"Yes, Daddy. It's our secret," she said. She made the zipping of her lips motion with her fingers to top it off. Chandler smiled at her.
"Excellent!"
He continued to wash his potatoes and then peeled them. He got Erica to help set the table, and by the time the gang arrived, everything was ready.
"We did it!" Monica crowed, coming in with that wretched trophy in her hand raised over her head in triumph.
"You cheated," Ross accused sulkily.
Monica came over to kiss Chandler, and his eyes watered at the smell of sweat, dirt, and God knew what else she had rolled in out there in order to win.
"Wow," he coughed. "Good job!"
"We won!" Jack cried, running in with eight year old Emma and 15 year old Ben behind him. "We won!"
"Don't rub it in," Emma said, sounding just like her father. Rachel came in last, huffing.
"I am so out of shape," she complained. Ross shot her a look.
"That's why we lost," he pointed out.
"Oh, calm down," Rachel chastised. "It's just a..."
"Don't say it!" Ross cut her off, covering his ears to avoid hearing the last word: "game." Rachel rolled her eyes at the silliness of her husband and went to wash her hands and get changed. Emma and Ben took turns after her doing the same. It was something Rachel had better prepared for after that one year where they all sat grubby and smelly at the table eating dinner and gagging at each other's smells.
"I'm gonna take a shower," Monica said to Chandler, finishing kissing him. "How's dinner?"
"It's great!"
"We had so much fun!" Erica chimed in, grinning. She kept quiet about their secret. She knew enough not to blow it.
"Oh my God," Phoebe said, coming inside with Mike behind her. They were stiff and sore from the football game. "Did you see that swan dive I did for the ball?!"
"Yea, I did!" Monica shouted, high fiving her.
"Auntie Phoebe!" Erica shouted, racing to her.
"Hey, you!" Phoebe cried, picking her up and swinging her around.
"Where's Joseph?"
"He's coming," Phoebe answered. They looked to see her son, Joseph, coming with Uncle Joey. The two of them were having a serious conversation about something, probably pizza from the look of the drool gathered in the corner of Joey's mouth.
"Joseph! Come see our new hamster!" Erica ordered. Joseph immediately abandoned Joey and raced after her. At five, he seemed to have this old soul that made him appear older sometimes, but he still had that childlike wonder about him. Phoebe hoped it would never leave him.
Jack joined them, cleaned up at this point. They heard Emma racing after them a few moments later. Ben came to sit with the adults. He kept looking at his cell phone, which caused Ross to keep shooting him looks until Ben got the hint and put his phone away.
"He's got a girlfriend," Rachel said to Monica and Phoebe in the corner of the kitchen out of earshot.
"Oohhh, really?" Phoebe asked.
"She's so cute. Her name is Jess. She has amazing manners!" Rachel bragged. She never thought she would care about something like manners, but the older she got, the more she appreciated the simpler things.
"Is dinner almost ready? I'm dying," Joey said, joining them. He peeked under the tinfoil wrapped bowls in hopes of stealing something only to get swatted on the hand by Monica.
"Almost," she promised as he shook his hand in pain. "Go sit down."
"Our daughter is going to be a chef just like you," Chandler said as he returned to start carrying the dishes to the table.
"Oh?" Monica said, her ears perking at this.
"She told me I was cutting the cheese all wrong," Chandler said seriously. "You're supposed to lift your butt cheek and aim while releasing slowly, not just blow it out all at once. It sounds better that way apparently."
"Chandler!" Monica exclaimed while Mike, Joey, Ben, and Ross howled in laughter. Chandler was laughing hard too, knowing he had gotten her with his joke. He hugged her while she smacked his chest playfully.
"In all seriousness," he said after he calmed down. "She did tell me how to cut pickles in a fancier way."
"Really?" Monica asked, craning her neck to see. He was right. They did look fancier.
"She's got both of our influences in her," Chandler reminded her. "Is it so bad to have a chef who can also make good jokes?"
"No," she shook her head, smiling. "Of course not."
On cue, the children all rushed back in, asking about dinner. Monica pulled out the turkey and began pulling out the stuffing and carving the meat. Then they all sat at the table and held hands, each saying what they were thankful for. The dinner table was full of chatter, laughter, and chewing noises for the next hour.
Chandler looked at his friends and family and had never felt so happy. He met Erica's eyes and winked at her as she ate her potatoes. She gave an exaggerated wink back, and he smiled.
They would always have their Palmolive Potatoes.
2020
Erica was on her phone, occasionally moving out of the way when her mother went to do something in the kitchen.
"Can you sit over there?" Monica asked after a while, feeling annoyed. "Unless you're going to help me."
"I'm good," Erica said, moving to the living room couch and slumping onto it. Her fingers flew over the keys of her phone. Sometimes she wished she didn't have so many friends that required her to talk to them all day, but she did enjoy being popular. Now that Emma had left high school, she had the run of the show. Jack was absorbed in his football team, so he wasn't considered competition.
"Hey, Miss Sixteen Year Old," Chandler said, coming down the stairs. "You ready to help out?"
Monica was in the entryway at this point, putting her shoes on. Jack was already at the park with Joseph, Phoebe, and Mike. Ross, Rachel, and Emma were coming (Ben was going to his girlfriend's family's for dinner), but Emma had very seriously said she was only documenting and not playing. She wanted to be a journalist/photographer. Monica and Chandler's walls were lined with some of her shots she was extremely proud of. Monica had to admit her niece had very good talent.
"Do I have to?" Erica asked, feeling annoyed at her father.
"It's tradition," Chandler insisted. He wasn't sure what had happened to his daughter in the last two years. She had barely been involved last Thanksgiving, and this year, she seemed to have zero interest in their Palmolive Potato tradition.
"Hilary is having friends over," Erica said, ignoring her father. "Can I go? Please?!"
"Erica, it's Thanksgiving," Monica replied. "Time you spend with family. You're not going anywhere."
"Ugh, come on!"
"Erica," Monica warned.
"Weren't you ever young? I don't want to hang out with a bunch of old people," Erica snapped.
"Oh, whoa!" Chandler said, holding up his hands "We are not old old people. Not even close."
"Mom," Erica whined.
"Sorry, Erica. My answer is still no," Monica said.
"Dad?" Erica asked, knowing that her father was the weaker one. He was the one who would always give in. She was pretty sure she was his favorite after all. Even if she wasn't, he usually caved to her requests after a while.
"I'm with your mother. Today is family day."
"I see family every day," Erica insisted. "I can miss one dinner."
"Erica! Enough," Monica said firmly. She shared a look with Chandler before going out the door.
"You sure you don't want to help? I'll let you wash the potatoes this year," Chandler offered. They usually rotated washing each year, but he would let her do it twice in a row if that would make her feel better. She shot him a look that could slice a person in half.
"No," she said rudely. "It's a stupid tradition, and I hate it. Who washes potatoes with soap? What are you, five? God! This family sucks! I hate this!" Erica stomped up to her room, leaving her father alone in the kitchen and feeling sad while wondering what happened to his little girl.
Maybe they wouldn't always have their Palmolive Potatoes after all.
2042
Chandler dropped the knife with a clatter. He stared at the potato, wondering what he was doing. What was he doing? He felt confused.
"Honey?" Monica asked softly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he answered sharply. Then he took a breath and turned to face his wife, who looked sad and scared at the same time. "Really, I'm fine. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to," she started.
"It's Thanksgiving," he cut her off. "I can peel a damn potato."
"Okay," she said meekly. She continued doing what she was doing while sneaking peeks at Chandler. Ever since his diagnosis, she had felt so lost and terrified, but she couldn't imagine what Chandler was feeling and thinking.
"Mon? Can we help?" Rachel asked. Phoebe was standing behind her. Monica shook her head.
"We're okay in here. Just go relax."
They left reluctantly. Ross, Joey, and Mike were talking about some sports team that didn't interest them. They started talking about Joseph instead and how he was making out overseas with the army. Phoebe was scared all the time that he wouldn't return home, but she knew her son wanted to do this, and she couldn't fight with him anymore about it. It was his life after all.
"I feel so bad for Monica," Rachel whispered.
"I know. Me too," Phoebe nodded. She looked at Mike and couldn't fathom losing him the way Monica was slowly losing Chandler.
"Hello!" Jack called, coming in with his wife, Cheryl, and his three kids, James, Ross, and Muriel. The kids ran to everyone, giving hugs and kisses. They were all under ten and still at that age where kissing adults was still a fun thing to do.
"Hey, Jack," Monica said, hugging her son. "Have you heard from Erica?"
Erica had avoided Thanksgiving with them usually ever since she had moved out at 18. The blow out that happened when she was 16 during Thanksgiving dinner had been terrible, and things had been strained between Erica and Chandler since due to the things she had said. Monica had hope her daughter would come around and have Thanksgiving with them this year.
"She's coming. Finn was giving her some trouble, so she might be a bit late."
"Oh dear."
"I'm glad she's coming," Jack went on. "I was surprised she said she would."
Finn was Erica's foster son. Erica had never married, but she wanted to help out children in need. She had a few foster children over the years, but Finn was her constant for the last five years. She was wanting to adopt him. At 13, Finn was having trouble adjusting at school and everything, which was giving her trouble.
"We're here," Erica said on cue. Finn went to sit alone in the corner, but they knew he'd warm up to everyone like he usually did. Erica came into the kitchen where her father was struggling with the potatoes.
"Hi, Dad," she said. He turned, looking at her. For a moment, it was as though he didn't recognize her. Then something cleared in his eyes.
"Hey, Erica," he said back. He turned back to his work, but Erica knew he was just trying to hide his tears. It embarrassed him more and more the things he was forgetting. Monica squeezed Erica's shoulder before joining the others in the living room.
"No soap?" Erica asked him, standing beside him.
"It's stupid, remember?" he countered. Erica flinched inside. Ever since her outburst when she was 16, she and her father had stopped doing their tradition together. They also didn't talk as easily together as they used to. She felt angry at her stupid, teenage self for doing this to him, to both of them.
"Dad," she started.
"I already did it," he cut her off. "Just because it's stupid doesn't mean I won't still do it."
Erica swallowed. He was muttering to himself, so she left him alone. The distance between her and her father over the years kept growing, and she would give anything to get things back to the way they used to be.
The rest of the dinner was not as cheery and happy as it used to be. Everyone was thinking about Chandler and how many more Thanksgivings he had ahead of him before he didn't remember any of them anymore.
2046
At 42, Erica didn't realize that her life would be like this. She watched Finn as he worked outside cleaning the yard. They lived in a small house, but she would be alone soon since he was 17 going on 18 and would be going to university the next year. He had gotten better in the last four years. Therapy had really helped with that.
At least she had her cooking. She had become a chef like her mother had hoped. She had learned a lot from her mother over the years about cooking, which she was grateful for.
"Hey, sis," Jack said, coming in with his family in tow. Thanksgiving was at her house now since her parents weren't able to host anymore. She glanced at the photo of them on their wedding day, noticing how young and happy they looked. It broke her heart.
"Hey," she said back. "Have you heard from Emma or Ben? Are they coming?"
"Ben is unavailable, and Emma is in Antarctica photographing penguins for National Geographic," Jack answered. "But Aunt Rachel and Uncle Ross are coming. So are Aunt Phoebe, Uncle Mike, and Uncle Joey."
"Joseph?"
"With his family," Jack confirmed.
"At least I won't be the only single person here," Erica sighed, referring to Joey. Jack patted her shoulder.
"It's never too late," he pointed out. He went to get his children settled, which wasn't hard since they were under 14 and not as hyper anymore.
Her family came one at a time. Joey had hugged her and stole a piece of cheese over her shoulder as he did so. Some things just never changed. Ross and Rachel admired the smell of her cooking as always and handed over the desserts they had brought. Phoebe and Mike brought the vegetarian dish Phoebe always ate. There was lots of hugging and chattering until Monica arrived. There was a hush when she came in pushing Chandler in his wheel chair. Erica felt the lump in her throat then. Her father had declined rapidly with his Alzheimer's. It was to the point now that he had trouble recognizing Monica, and it was going to be time to put him in a long term care facility because Monica couldn't look after him anymore.
"Hey, Dad," Jack said. Chandler stared at him without a word, and Jack looked deflated. He always had hope his father would remember him. It killed Erica to see his broken expression on his face. Chandler had forgotten Erica first a year ago, so she had gotten used to it. Jack was still getting used to it since it had been in the past six months Chandler had forgotten him.
"Hi, sweetie," Monica said in her hushed voice. She kissed Erica's cheek and squeezed her hand. "Dinner smells lovely."
"Is he...?" Erica trailed off.
"It's one of his better days," Monica explained. "I think this will be his last Thanksgiving here with all of us, though. The doctor said it's time. I...I can't do it anymore. It's too hard. His rages..."
"Oh," Erica said. Both of them got tears in their eyes as it sank in. Jack pushed Chandler in beside Ross and Joey, who did their best to rouse his memory but to no avail. Chandler simply stared at them all.
"I...I need a minute," Monica said, going to the bathroom. Erica waited a moment before going to stand outside of it, listening to her mother sobbing inside. Her heart shattered into pieces with each cry. This was not how she had imagined her parents getting old together. She missed her father's jokes so badly that sometimes it felt like she was being stabbed.
"Okay," she said, going and setting the food on the table. "Dinner's pretty much ready, guys."
Monica had come out of the bathroom now, wiping her eyes. She retrieved Chandler and put him beside her at the table. Everyone had wet eyes at this point, and Erica did her best not to just burst into tears. This was not how she wanted her father's last Thanksgiving with them to be like.
Erica knew that her father still had good days and even remembered some things. She was about to sit down when she got an idea. She went to her sink, reached underneath it, and pulled out the Palmolive soap. She had done the tradition, of course. She had the last couple of years they had gathered at her house. Finn had called her nuts, but he soon understood why she did and even helped this year.
"What are you doing?" Monica asked when Erica set down the soap in front of Chandler before sitting down.
"Trying something," Erica answered. "Just go with it." Everyone looked at each other without saying anything. They had no idea what Erica was up to. After they started eating, Erica carefully watched her father. Monica had to help him eat mostly, which was so hard to watch. When her mother put a scoop of potatoes into his mouth, he chewed slowly, flicking his eyes around the room. They landed on the soap bottle in front of him, and he stopped. Erica held her breath, waiting. No one else seemed to notice as they chattered on. Monica had leaned over to say something to Rachel, not noticing either.
"Palmolive Potatoes," Chandler said suddenly, making everyone grow quiet and stare at him. Chandler looked at Erica, his eyes clear for the first time in a long time. "You did the tradition."
"I did," Erica nodded.
"You were six when I told you about it. It was our secret," Chandler went on. Monica stared at him in shock but afraid to move or speak in case it broke the spell.
"I was," Erica smiled.
"You were so excited to have a secret with me," he continued. "Your mother had no idea I washed the potatoes with Palmolive soap. We never told her, did we?"
"No," Erica shook her head, feeling tears coming. "We didn't."
Chandler turned his head and saw Monica.
"Oh, Mon," he said. "Damn it. I just told you my secret recipe."
"It's okay," Monica said softly. "I loved your potatoes, Chandler. Every year. I always wondered what you did differently."
He smiled brightly at her before he looked around the table at everyone then.
"When did you guys get here?" he asked, surprised.
"Oh, just now," Ross answered quickly. The others nodded.
"Who won the football trophy this year?" Chandler asked.
"Monica," Rachel said fast. "As always."
"Look at you," Chandler said, grinning at Monica. "Still the champion."
"Always," Monica nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks now.
"Remember the Thanksgiving where your parents hated me cos they thought I was the one that got high?" Chandler asked, chuckling.
"Oh, yes," Joey nodded. "It was the same one where Ross and I wanted to go meet the dancers."
"And you were in love with Jacques Cousteau," Chandler said to Phoebe, who nodded. "And Rachel made that awful dessert."
There were smiles at the table now. Erica wondered how long this clarity would last for her father. It had been long so far, which was unusual. He chuckled as he picked up the bottle of soap and looked at Erica.
"We'll always have our Palmolive Potatoes, eh?" he asked.
"Yea, Dad," she nodded, crying now. "We'll always have our Palmolive Potatoes."
"Just don't cut the cheese at the table," he warned. Everyone laughed then, and he did too. By some miracle, he kept his memory until they went to leave, but everyone had their chance to talk to him and reminisce about the old days as well as tell him how much they loved him. Jack managed to tell him all about his children and work. Chandler even remembered Finn. He especially wanted to talk to Erica, though, and she treasured every second they got to speak without his memory fading.
When it did fade, Erica tried not to dissolve into tears. She was alone in the kitchen when her mother found her. They were getting ready to leave.
"Thank you," Monica said, hugging her daughter. "Thank you for giving us all the chance to say goodbye."
"I'm sorry, Mom," Erica gasped. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."
"It's okay," Monica said, crying still. "Just knowing he is in there somewhere is a comfort. You did that for us."
Erica hugged her father goodbye, and he patted her back awkwardly, his memory still gone. She watched as Jack helped Monica get their father in the car, crying as Chandler looked blankly at her before they drove away.
When Jack came back inside, she held onto him, and they cried and cried and cried.
2020
Erica awoke from her nap, and she felt numb. She sat up and looked at her clock, which said it was close to five in the afternoon. She jumped from her bed and ran to the calendar on her wall. The relief in her chest was immense. It was still 2020.
She clattered down the stairs, almost tripping on the second last step, and found her father in the kitchen cleaning his potatoes.
"Dad," she said, making him turn to face her.
"Come to call me some more names?" he asked. To his surprise, his daughter threw her arms around him and squeezed him so tightly he began to choke.
"Er-i-ca," he coughed. She released her hold a little but didn't let go. "What are you doing?"
"I had this terrible nightmare," she said.
"Oh? What happened?"
"For starters, I was old," she said. "Like 38 and then 42."
"That's not old," Chandler said immediately, but she cut him off.
"And you...you didn't remember us, any of us. You had Alzheimer's. I dreamt all these snapshots of us through the years as though I was watching a bad movie where you got sicker. It was horrible."
"Wow," Chandler said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That does sound horrible."
"The worst part is that we grew apart because of the stupid things I said today," Erica went on. "And I was really, really devastated. Dad, I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry for calling you a five year old. I'm sorry. Please, can I help with the tradition this year?"
Chandler looked at his daughter and saw how upset and sorry she was, and he nodded.
"Of course," he chuckled. "You didn't think I'd do it without you, did you?"
Erica almost sobbed in relief as he handed her a potato, and she started to wash it with the Palmolive soap. He eventually got her laughing with his jokes, and when everyone came in from football, Erica was in a much lighter mood. Her nightmare was slowly fading, and she hoped it would never actually happen. Chandler assured her there was no Alzheimer's in his family that he knew of, which was a bit comforting. Like with anything, there was a risk, but Erica refused to think about it.
At dinner while everyone else ate and chattered away, she winked at her father, and he winked back as they ate their potatoes. It didn't matter what came their way throughout the years.
They'd always have their Palmolive Potatoes.
In loving memory of my Great Grandmother, who succumbed to her Alzheimer's years ago. We'll always have our games of Go Fish and Crazy Eights.