I dream of him sometimes. I feel his hands running across my face, my breasts, my sides, my stomach. His lips are soft against mine and I wallow in his adoration of my body. I don't love him; I know that the thought is ridiculous. This is a man I have not seen for seven years, admittedly one of my best friends, but not someone I desperately wanted to be with me for the rest of my life. Since it was only that night, and since my thoughts of him during the weeks following our return from London mostly centered on the sex part, I cannot even know if I had a crush on him. Still, eight years later, I want him.
He broke my heart when he left, even though I'm not sure I would have wanted to have a relationship with him, had he stayed. Considering he had made me pregnant, I'm not even sure he would have wanted to stay, and I am much happier knowing that he didn't actively choose not to be involved in his son's life. I need that control. My existence depends on it. It would have hurt too much to hear him say that he wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility. I know that he enjoyed our night in London as much as I did, even though it ruined our friendship, and I don't regret it because I got Daniel, and I would hate for him to wish it undone. Still, all of this is fairly easy for me to say. He lost his five best friends because of that night, and I still have them. I think of the look he wore in his eyes the day he came to tell us that he was moving in with Kathy. I know he was scared. I was scared. There were issues unsolved between all six of us, and it felt like we would all slip apart. We were all busy doing our own thing. Ross was trying to get back in touch with Emily, at all costs; Rachel was still trying to deal with her feelings for Ross; Phoebe was busy preparing to give birth to triplets; Chandler and I were occupied with trying to pretend nothing had happened in London; and Joey was just caught in the middle as usual. I just never expected it to be over so suddenly. Boom, and there just five of us. Then there was Daniel…
I hear a slight knock on my bedroom door, and I edge up on my elbows. Without asking permission my son hurries over to the other side of the bed and tucks himself underneath the covers. He snuggles into my arms, and without a word, drifts back to sleep. I hold him tight, recognizing the fact that he is all that is left of my past. He is all that is left of the group of six we once were. In him I see his father, his two aunts and his two uncles. When he smiles he reminds me of how happy we were once, the six of us, back in the days when we were still all together. I pull my hand through Daniel's blackish hair and for the thousandth time this evening I ask myself if I really have a right to keep his father away from him. Is that what a good mother would do to her son? Do I want to seriously consider myself a bad mother? He deserves to know. They both do.
He inches closer to me and I try to fold him in my arms like I did when he was younger. He is getting too big to protect, and I know that I can't keep up my charade forever. However, there is safety in my lies, and it comforts me. When it comes to the important things; we are good, Daniel and me. Getting Chandler involved now will only make everything so much more complicated. I feel a tear slipping down Daniel's cheek and onto my arm; it burns like fire as it rolls onto the mattress. No matter how good we are together, there is something fundamental missing in my son's life, and I know that because I am responsible for it missing. Every child should have both their parents, and I want only what is best for my little boy. Still, it feels too late to change anything now.