"Monica, I really wish you would talk to Carol."

"Me? Why?"

"I'm sure you could make her come to her senses. I mean, this is so … unlike her."

"Oh Mom! What on earth could I say to her?"

Judy Geller sighed and picked at the place setting before her. "Well, you might tell her how hard this is on Ross for instance. He's your brother!"

Monica bit back her next comment purely out of habit, silently counting to five. They'd been there before. Uncountable times. And always here during their weekly lunches in her mother's favorite restaurant which she'd almost come to hate by now. The waiters were rude and snobbish without exception, the décor was too flamboyant and corny, the seats uncomfortable, the dishes overpriced, and she not only knew the meager menu by heart now but was sure she could have prepared every single dish on it much better herself. Most of them tasted suspiciously like convenience food to her anyway. But Judy would never even consider having lunch with her somewhere else. Monica had sometimes wondered if she just didn't want to be seen anywhere else with her unattractive daughter or if she was friends with someone in the management, or both, but really it just seemed like a deeply ingrained habit with her, a firmly established ritual. Drive to the city once a week for an hour at a beauty parlor (always the same too) and another hour or so of leisurely shopping (always at the same stores), then meet her at the restaurant for lunch and cross examination about just everything going on in her life. And in Ross' life of course.

"I hardly know her. If she wants to break up with Ross over another woman, surely that's their own affair? What could I say to them?"

Her mother pursed her mouth. "But … but she can't be serious with this. I mean, a divorce? They were always so happy. I mean, surely this is just a … misunderstanding? And so sudden too. If they waited a little longer, to reconsider …"

"Sudden? Happy? I don't know what Ross told you, but they haven't been happy for quite some time!"

"Oh?" Judy opened her eyes wide. "And you knew about this? And didn't tell me?"

One, two, three, four, five … "Tell you? Tell on Ross and be a tattletale?"

"But I'm your mother!"

"And Ross is my brother. I'm not telling on him. He should tell you himself."

"You should really be more supportive. He needs your help."

"With what? Getting Carol to sleep with him again?"

Her mother looked around her scandalized, checking that nobody had heard, and Monica wanted to kick herself.

"No, I meant with everything … be there for him. And for Ben. The poor boy …"

"I know. I feel sorry for Ben too. But if Carol's getting custody, what can we do?"

"Oh dear." Her mother sighed again theatrically. "And I wanted them to be at Lillian's party next week, but I guess that's out then."

"Maybe he could bring Rachel." As soon as it was out Monica wanted to kick herself again. What was it that always made her blurt out things to her mother?

Her mother's eyes widened. "Who?"

"Rachel. You know. My high school friend. She's … she's getting a divorce too."

"Oh, the one who married the dentist?"

"Orthodontist."

"Isn't that the same? I thought you had drifted apart."

"Ross met her three days ago and brought her over. Her husband cheated on her."

"Oh. And she wants a divorce just for that?"

"It looks like it. But you have to ask Ross. He wants to help her with it."

"Oh dear. I don't think … but anyway, you're right. It's his own affair. What about you?"

"I'm not getting divorced."

Her mother smiled indulgently. "Of course not, dear. I meant Lillian's party. Have you told Roger? You can come a bit later if he needs to work."

Monica took a deep breath, silently counting to five and then to ten for good measure. When her mother's expectant gaze turned slightly puzzled she clenched her hands.

"I – I broke up with Roger."

"What? But why? Did he – cheat on you?"

"No. No, he didn't cheat on me. When would he ever find the time to cheat on me? He's always working!"

"But that's good, isn't it? He's such a good doctor, you should be proud that he works so hard."

"I am. I mean I was. But it's … it's got too much. Every single time when we were together he got beeped. He never turns off that beeper. Even when we – "

"Monica, not so loud!"

"I meant, even when I broke up with him he was beeped. I didn't even get to see him, I had to do it by phone!"

And talk to his answering machine several times before she finally reached him in person. His machine had been very understanding though, much more so than Roger himself. She wasn't even sure now that she had really gotten her message across to him.

"But was this really necessary? Just because he has no time for you, you are single again?"

Oh god, should she really do this? One, two, three, deep breath …

"I'm not single. I – I'm with – with someone else."

Her mother's left eyebrow lifted slightly. "Really? You are? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Someone I know?"

Four, five … it was no use, she could count to a hundred and it wouldn't help. She had to get through this. She wasn't a kid any longer. She was grown up. A mature, independent, thirty year old woman with a boyfriend. And maybe pregnant.

"Yes. It's Chandler."

"Chandler?" her mother repeated vaguely and suddenly frowned. "Not that –"

"Yes. Ross' roommate in college. My neighbor."

"Oh. That Chandler. But dear, why him? Didn't he take drugs?"

"No, he didn't. If you're thinking of that time when Ross had that marijuana in his room and said it was Chandler's …"

"Who else could it have been?"

"Didn't he say that Chandler had just jumped out of the window?"

"Yes …?"

"Mom, Ross' room was on the fourth floor."

"Oh. I see." Judy patted her hair nervously and then tried to signal a waiter who ignored her. Her smile froze at that and Monica suddenly wanted nothing more than a chance to give every waiter in the place a solid kick where it hurt most. They had been waiting for their main course for 20 minutes now, and she knew it was because they wanted her mother to order another chardonnay before it arrived. And when it finally arrived, it would only be lukewarm.

"But what does he do?"

"He doesn't take drugs."

"Yes, I believe you dear." Her expression clearly said otherwise. "Where does he work?"

"He's a writer."

"Oh, a writer. Of course, isn't his mother a writer too …?"

"Yes, she is, and no he's not – that kind of writer."

"A pity. I heard that she's very successful. Wasn't she at Jay Leno's recently?"

"I didn't see it." Actually she remembered that Chandler had begged her not to watch it. His mother was a constant source of embarrassment to him. So at least she wasn't the only one who had problems with their parents. That was a comforting thought.

"He's not a published writer though, is he?"

"Actually he sold a story to the New Yorker this week."

"Oh. How nice. Well, if you are sure …"

"Sure? Of course I'm sure. What do you mean?"

Now her mother seemed slightly uncomfortable. "I mean it could be that he's just – using you. You're always so –"

"Naïve?"

"Trusting. It's such a nice trait to have, but …"

"But I know Chandler. I've known him for years. Much longer than Dr. Roger. If he wanted to be with me just so he could just use me, why didn't he do it already nine years ago?"

"I'm sure you know best, dear. Oh my, I think I need another chardonnay now. And there's no waiter around – do you think you could get me one at the bar?"

Monica rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back resignedly.

"Get one for yourself too" her mother added and she shuddered inwardly.

"Um – no thanks. It gives me a headache."

"Champagne then. Yes, why not? We have to celebrate your new relationship, don't we?"

"Um … another time maybe? I'm really not in the mood today."

"Nonsense, of course we should. Oh, here's our order! My, this looks delicious!"

"Looks half cold to me."

"Oh Monica, you shouldn't say that."

"Why not? First they let us wait half an hour and then the food is cold. That's no way to treat regular customers!"

"Monica, please stop making a scene …"

Monica sat down again. "Fine. But you know what? Next time I'll chose the restaurant. If you don't like it, we can come back here. How does that sound?"

Her mother's gaze fluttered over the plate before her, the tablecloth and the carpet.

"Whatever you say, dear. Yes, let's try that. But now you should eat before it gets cold –"

"Even colder than this?"

"Surely they can heat it up a little again. But this will take a while, aren't you hungry?"

"Not anymore."

Her mother's eyes widened again.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a little …"

"What? Of course I'm okay. Never better actually. I lost six pounds!"

"Oh." Her mother stared at her. "But that's … marvelous. But how? I hope you're not … starving yourself?"

"What? No, I'm not. Really not. It's just – I think it's because I'm with Chandler. He's so – nice, I never think about eating when I'm with him."

"Oh, that's … nice. I'm glad that he takes care of you."

Monica smiled. "Yes, he does. He really does. I'm so happy with him."

"I feel sorry for Roger though. He must be very disappointed."

"I'm sure he isn't."

"That's not a nice thing to say!"

"But it's true! When I told him I wanted to break up with him, he thought I had broken my leg."

Her mother just shook her head and sighed. "But you would have made such a nice couple."

"How? He's never there!" Monica narrowed her eyes. "You're not thinking about getting him back for me, are you?"

"Well … he would be so much better for you. He's a doctor after all!"

"So? But I'd never be happy with him."

"But …"

"Mom, please. You of all people should understand this."

"Me? Why?"

"Remember how you told us how Nana wanted you to marry a banker? And you chose Dad instead? Even though she said he was no good?"

Her mother opened her mouth and closed it again. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Monica leaned forward a little, lowering her voice.

"Mom, don't you understand? Chandler is my dad – I mean my Jack. I love him."

Her mother blinked and then smiled vaguely.

"Of course you do, dear. And I'm happy for you."

Monica sat back, frowning. "Really?"

"Yes, dear. Oh, you poor dear, your fettucini have gone cold! Why don't you take them back to the kitchen to let them heat it up again? And you could get me another chardonnay on your way back!"

.

When she got arrived at the fifth floor of her apartment building, she found Phoebe crouching before the door of no. 19, her eye locked to the spyhole.

"Phoebe! What are you doing?!"

"SHSSH!" her roommate hissed at her, flailing her arms. "I want to know what he looks like."

"Who? Chandler?"

"NO! I know what he looks like. I think. No, his roommate!"

"Eddie? Is he in there?"

Phoebe shrugged and then straightened, wincing and rubbing her stiff neck.

"I don't know. I can hardly see anything through this. Hm, maybe I should try to push a mirror under the crack …"

"Phoebe, stop! You can't do this! What if he sees you?"

"Oh alright. Wait, what was that?"

"What?"

"I heard – oh god, quick, get in there!" Phoebe hurriedly shoved her through the door of her apartment and shut it, then glued her eye to the spyhole once again.

"He's coming out! There he is!"

"Really? Let me see!" Phoebe reluctantly made way and Monica put her eye against the spyhole. And sure enough, there he was, rather distorted and fuzzy, but plain to see. A rather thin guy with lank, greasy hair standing in the open door of Chandler's apartment and looking furtively around him. Then he ducked back in and brought out a stepladder which he put down at the wall next to the door.

"What is he doing?" Phoebe whispered urgently.

"I don't know … here, see for yourself."

Phoebe stared through the spyhole for a long moment, then drew a sharp breath.

"I don't believe this! You know what he's doing? He's spying on us!"

"What? Phoebe, wait, what are you doing?"

Phoebe violently flung the door open and threw herself at Eddie who had climbed up the ladder and was fixing something on the lamp over the door. When he saw Phoebe he squealed with terror, dropping a screwdriver and –

"Is that a camera? Why you screwy little weirdo, are you spying on – oh my god, Dennis? Is that you?"

Dennis? But wasn't his name Eddie? Whoever it was, he clung to the wall now, shaking visibly and staring at Phoebe with huge frightened eyes.

"No, I'm … um, I don't … I …" When Phoebe stood close to the ladder and fixated him sternly, arms crossed, it looked like he wanted to melt into the wall.

"Dennis, I know it's you, I'd know you everywhere. How long has this been going on?"

Eddie swallowed and tried to pull himself together. "Um, hi, Ursula … I really didn't mean to –"

"Ursula? You think I'm Ursula?"

"Um, yes, that is, no, of course not, I mean I know I'm not allowed near you …"

"Oh no." Phoebe sighed resignedly. "But I'm not Ursula. I'm Phoebe!"

Eddie aka Dennis stared at her. "Phoebe? No. Nonononono. You're not Phoebe. You're Ursula."

"No! I'm Phoebe! Here, if you don't believe me, ask Monica!"

"It's true. She's Phoebe."

But Eddie just smirked, narrowing his eyes. "But Phoebe's dead!"

"WHAT? That's crazy! How do you know that?"

"I know because she lived with your grandmother, and then she died."

"But that was Ursula. So my sister's dead? But that can't be. Who's living at my grandmother's if she's dead?"

Eddie frowned. "Um, your grandmother?"

"But my grandmother died! Oh, this is getting ridiculous!"

"Nononono. Your grandmother's still alive. I check every week, she's still registered there. Still gets mail. Her name's still at the door."

"Of course it is. The apartment's rent controlled. My sister's living there under her name –" Phoebe broke off abruptly, her mouth forming a perfect O. "Oh my god!"

Eddie's face fell as the truth began to dawn on him. "You're not … you mean …"

"Yes! Don't you see? She tricked us! All of us! She's living there under our grandmother's name, pretending to be her, pretending that she's still alive …" Her eyes narrowed. "I bet she's collecting her pension too, that – that minx …!"

Eddie's shoulders slumped at that and he slowly stepped down from the ladder.

"But are you sure your grandmother's dead?" he asked hopelessly. Phoebe's eyes softened.

"Actually – yes, I'm sure. I've got her urn here."

"Her urn …? Oh, so that's why I couldn't find your grave! I mean, hers. If you're really Phoebe? But this means … what does it mean?"

Phoebe sighed. "It means that all this time you lived here – what is it, five years? - you've been stalking the wrong sister."

Eddie sat down on the stepladder, burying his head in his hands. "Oh no. Oh no."

"Oh cheer up. It could happen to anybody."

"Not to me! I was so sure! I mean – you're so like her!"

"Well, we are twins ..."

"No, I don't mean that. You're exactly like her, so bitchy and cruel …"

"WHAT?"

"You fire people all the time, you kick them around, you ruin your clients …"

"But … but I had to … and anyway, that's over! You hear me? I stopped. I had two heart attacks –"

"Yeah, I was wondering, what was that all about?"

"It was the stress. Now I'm done with that. I quit my job …"

"They fired you, Phoebe."

"Yeah, well, potato, potahto."

Eddie slowly got up and took up the ladder and the dropped camera. "Alright, if you're really Phoebe, then … I don't know, I really have to think about this. There must be a mistake somewhere. Something's wrong about this. Anyway, I'm … I just …" and he started inching his way to the door. As soon as he got near the doorstep, he turned around and bolted inside, shutting the door in their faces.

"Wait, we're not finished! Dennis Edward – um, whatever your last name is! Come back! Now!"

"Phoebe, leave him alone. He's crazy!"

"That's no excuse to be rude! Hey, don't you have a key to the apartment?" Just as she said it, they heard Eddie putting the chain on. And the bolt.

"Come back inside, Pheebs. It's no use and you should get some rest."

"Alright." But on their doorstep she turned back once more, shaking her fist at door no. 19. "But this isn't over!"

"Phoebe! Leave it, okay?"

"Yeah, alright, I'm coming, I'm coming. You're right, we'll deal with him later. So, how did it go with your mother?"

"Oh, you know, same as always."

"Ooh, that bad?"

"Well … but I did tell her about Chandler."

"You did? Really? Good for you! Oh, I forgot, Roger called. I thought you'd broken up with him!"

"I did! Why, what did he say?"

"Are you sure you broke up? Because he wanted to know if you wanted him to treat your broken leg!"

.

Chandler came back just as she and Phoebe were watching the Tonight Show on the couch. When she flew at him he caught her in his arms, only rocking back a little from the impact, and pulled her tight. On the couch Phoebe rolled her eyes and demonstratively turned away as they kept kissing.

"Oh, get a room!"

"Thanks, Phoebe, we've got one." Chandler grinned at her and then smiled at Monica tenderly, surreptitiously opening his jacket a little and letting her see a little oblong folding box. When she looked at him questioningly, he nodded and gave her a thumbs-up, before turning to Phoebe.

"So how are you? Feeling better?"

She just shrugged. "I guess. But oh guess what! I found out who your roommate is!"

"What? What do you mean who he is? He's my roommate!"

"No! I mean yes, but he's also Ursula's stalker! One of her stalkers."

"Oh. He is? Wow."

"And he thought I was Ursula, that's why he's here!"

Chandler stared. "He thought – oh my god, that's why he wanted the apartment so badly!"

"Yes! He was spying on me the whole time! Isn't that great?"

"If you put it that way …" When he put his arm around Monica again, Phoebe sighed.

"I can't watch this! I think I'll go to bed. Um, Chandler, you wouldn't happen to have some earplugs, do you?"

"Oh, I do, but they're in my room – in my apartment I mean."

"Oh. No, don't bother, he's put the chain on. We can get them tomorrow."

"We'll try to keep it down, Pheebs" Chandler said, straight-faced, at which she winced and closed her eyes resignedly.

"Do you want something to eat?" Monica asked him and he nodded eagerly, following her to the kitchen and putting his arms around her again from behind, kissing her on the neck and shoulders. She got out the food and then sat at the table with him, watching him eat while they talked, amazed at how happy it made her that his foot kept touching hers constantly and how he kept smiling at her. And feeding her bits and pieces of his food.

"Didn't Ross say that Rachel would come over?" he asked at length.

"Yeah, but she phoned to tell me she couldn't make it, then again because she changed her mind and once more because Ross wanted to show her the museum and she thought it would get too late."

"No worries then, if Ross really got to show her the museum, she's probably asleep by now."

She cuffed him, but couldn't help giggling at the thought of Rachel falling asleep in the museum, maybe on a caveman's fur in a stone-age diorama. Or under a dinosaur model.

Finally Phoebe went to her room and as soon as she shut her door, Chandler got up to take the folding box with the pregnancy test out of his jacket and showed it to her. She looked at the printing doubtfully and then opened it to read the package leaflet while he was eating.

"I think we need to wait a little more, just to make sure. It says here if I take it now, it could be a false negative."

He shrugged. "Okay, then we wait. How long?"

"Until my period is due I guess. So – a week?"

"Can you wait that long?"

"I don't know. I really would like to take it now but if it's no use …"

He drew her to him and kissed her on the cheek. "Shsh. It's going to be alright. We'll just wait. And if you can't take it anymore, we'll use this up and I'll get you another."

"Really, you would do that? Oh, that's so sweet!"

"Of course. As many as it takes. Oh, I also got some more condoms. You should have seen the cashier's face."

"Oh god, did he say anything?"

"No. I just said, I wanted to test the condoms really thoroughly. And I do."

She giggled delightedly at that. "No problem. In fact we can start right away –"

He grinned and jumped up in an exaggerated hurry, pretending to chomp at the bit and pawing the carpet with his feet.

"- as soon as I've cleared this away though."

"Oh." His face fell a little and he sat back down. "Well I guess I can hold out a little longer. Or try at least."

"Or give me a hand?"

He jumped up at that and took hold of her again. "Great idea. Why don't you take both?"

"Chandler! Ah … um … oh god, at least wait until I've – oh god."

After some intense cuddling he took pity on her and actually helped her stacking the dishes and cutlery in the sink. After she'd turned on the hot water and put soap in, he claimed her again, urgently wrapping his arms around and kissing her, gently steering her towards the table. When her buttocks pushed against its edge, he urged her up until she was sitting on it, fleetingly worrying that she was too heavy for it, but it stood fast. Then Chandler stood between her knees, pressing against her and sliding his hands under her sweater at the small of her back. When she felt him stroking and rubbing her sides and back, she moaned and parted her lips, inviting his tongue in, pawing and clawing at his back and shoulders.

"Uuummm … I think you're right … there's a bit missing here – right here in fact ..."

"What … what are you talking about …?"

He smiled into their kiss. "Your missing pounds. At least one of them must have come from here, if I'm not much mistaken. Oookaaaayy … not too much damage here yet … still holding up nicely … uh-hu … But now for the crucial bit. The one that really matters …. Mmmhhhm. Lovely." Before she could stop him or even decide if she wanted him to, he had opened her bra and now cupped and caressed her breasts with both hands, gently sliding his thumbs over her nipples. It made her tingle all over, her breath coming in short bursts, interspersed with their kissing. Chandler's breath had sped up too and when she arched her back and wrapped her legs around his waist, he started to kiss her neck and jawline, pushing her further back, until she was almost lying on the table …

"Oh, you've got to be kidding!"

They both froze, turning their heads to stare at Phoebe who had come out of her room, presumably on her way to the bathroom. For a long moment they remained like that, then Phoebe resignedly averted her eyes and grimly marched past them, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

"I really really really need to move!"