It took every ounce of self-control I have to not speed home. A level of control I didn't know I possessed.
It's taking even more self-control to sit on the floor next to Monica and wait for five minutes to pass.
I bought way too many pregnancy tests, but I want us to be sure.
I try to focus on Jack, who looks so serious as he drinks his bottle, but at the moment, it's only marginally helpful. I look over at Erica, who looks like she's trying like hell how to figure out crawling. Jack turns his face from the bottle suddenly, finished, and I place him at my shoulder, rubbing his back gently.
"Hungry?" I ask Monica, even though I already know the answer. I just need to pass the time.
She shakes her head. "Not even a little bit."
"How long has it been now?"
She looks at the timer. "Two and a half minutes."
It's really only been thirty seconds since I last asked her the time? The universe is being a bastard.
"You're kidding."
She shrugs. "Now it's two thirty-five."
"Can you check them early?"
"Not if you want to make sure we get the correct results."
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye; she looks pale, her face tense with worry, her foot tapping anxiously.
I look back at the timer, which I swear is now moving in reverse.
This is impossible.
I'm almost completely positive I know what the results are going to be; Monica's pregnant. I've never been so sure of it. All these little things over the past few months just sort of added up tonight, and it all makes sense.
But there's this tiny little part of me that's scared out of mind and that has to acknowledge Monica's right, that all of these things are just a coincidence that could mean a lot of other things.
I hate that she's so sure that she can't possibly be pregnant, but I do understand why. We've been through so much the last couple of years; finding out that we'd probably never conceive was one of the hardest things either of us have ever had to deal with. But, we wound up with the two greatest babies anyone could possibly hope for. It's hard to hope for a miracle.
I just feel so sure about this; I wouldn't put her through this, put us through this, if I wasn't convinced that I'm right.
Finally, I stand up and go to the kitchen, Jack still in my arms, and rummage through the cabinets for plates. I bring them back out to the living room and put them on the coffee table. Monica has her face buried in her hands, her breathing rapid. I go back to the kitchen to grab silverware and napkins and pause for a moment. If I'm wrong about this…Monica will be beyond crushed. I can't think of much of anything that would hurt worse at this point.
I kiss the top of Jack's head, whispering, "Daddy's right about this, little guy. I know it. You're going to be a big brother."
I walk back out to the living room and put the silverware down, trying to arrange it in some manner that won't make Monica's head explode, when the timer dings.
I freeze, my heart in my throat. Monica looks up at me, her face even paler than before.
As calmly as I can, I put Jack in the playpen, then put Erica in there with him. Whatever the results might be, we'll need a few minutes, and it's a much better idea to put the twins where they'll be safe.
I feel my breathing speed up, as close to hyperventilating as a person can get.
I hold out my hands to Monica, offering to help her up, and I see her hands shaking as she reaches out for me. As adamantly as she's been denying it all evening, part of her is starting to believe it. I pull her into my arms, holding her tight for a few moments. "Whatever happens, Monica, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."
She nods her head and pulls out of my arms, slowly trudging to the bathroom. She hesitates for a few moments before turning the knob and going inside, the door swinging shut behind her. I want to go with her, but I'm frozen in place.
I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, the moments stretching out into eternity. I think I'm going to be sick.
Suddenly, I hear Monica sobbing and I rush over to the door, afraid to go in, afraid not to.
"Monica?" The only response I get it is more sobbing and I feel myself panic. "Monica, what is it?"
The door opens and there she is, her eyes red, her face wet with tears. She opens her mouth, trying to speak but can't. She takes a few steps and crumbles into me, shaking her head. I can actually feel my heart break. I can't believe I was wrong.
I can't believe I put her through this.
"Oh, honey…" I start, unable to find the words. "Oh, honey, I…" There are no words for a moment like this. This hurts like nothing else.
She looks up at me and whispers, "They're all positive."
I feel my entire body start, sure I heard her wrong. "What?"
"They're positive. All of them."
She wouldn't screw with me, not about this, right? "Are you serious?"
She smiles as she cries even harder. "I'm pregnant."
A happy, stupid laugh erupts out of me. "Oh, my God. You're pregnant?"
"I'm pregnant," she says again, and they're the sweetest, most fantastic words I've heard since last year, when she told me someone had picked us, that we were getting a baby. I feel her body start to sag as she collapses, my own knees starting to shake, and we sink to the floor together.
"We're going to have a baby," she whispers into my ear.
I feel tears fill my eyes as I take her face in my hands, the smile on my face hurting my cheeks. "We're having a baby." The words sound so right, so meant to be, and I feel my heart explode from happiness, the universe expanding and contracting around my little family. "We're having a baby." I say it again, unable to help myself.
Monica sobs and buries her face in my neck, and I hold her close, rocking her back and forth. I stroke her back gently and kiss the side of her head. "I love you," I whisper.
She cries a little harder for a moment, laughing a little at the same time. "I love you, too."
"Are you sure?" I ask, suddenly needing to be reassured.
"I thought you were the one who was so sure about this," she teases softly, her fingers stroking my hair.
I shrug helplessly, amazed to realize that deep down, I was so unsure about this. Or maybe that it just doesn't feel real yet.
"Come see the tests," she tells me, standing up, her hands tugging at mine until I stand and follow her into the bathroom.
She stops and stares at the tests, all lined up alphabetically on the counter. I wrap my arms around her, my hands inevitably finding their way to her stomach, her hands resting on top of mine, our fingers tangling together. Six pink plus signs stare back at us defiantly, announcing to the world that Chandler and Monica Bing have somehow, magically, miraculously, beaten the odds. Underneath our hands is our baby, this tiny, tiny little life that we've somehow managed to create. My heart takes off at a gallop with that thought and I sink to my knees again. Monica turns and I wrap my arms around her waist, gently kissing her stomach. I don't care how wildly clichéd it is for the expectant father to do that to the mother of his child; right now, it feels like the only way to express a fraction of what I'm feeling.
Monica wipes her face with the back of her arm, one hand resting on top of my head, letting me take all the time I need. "My whole life," I whisper, not sure if it's to my wife or to our child, "I never expected to want kids. I never knew it would hurt this much to want children and not be able to have them. I never thought I'd be a good dad…" My voice trails off, words truly escaping me right now.
"You're the best father in the world," Monica tells me, and whether or not that's empirically true, I know she means it with every fiber of her being.
"Let's go celebrate," I say, looking up at her. "Let's go eat way too much Chinese food and dance with our babies and just be happy."
"I can do that."
I stand up and wrap my arms around her once more, kissing her deeply. I have never been more in love with my wife than I am at this moment.
She smiles against my mouth, kissing me back, until she disentangles herself to head back to the living room. I trail behind her, our fingers locked together. She reaches the playpen first, bending over to pick up a baby, and I have a brief moment of panic—should she be picking up our kids? Is that safe? The moment passes, though, when I remind myself that women have been doing this for centuries; their bodies are more than equipped to deal with it.
Just in case, I'll ask the doctor when we see him in the morning.
She lifts Erica over her head, smiling at her, before pulling her close and kissing the baby's belly. Erica laughs and smiles, her hands immediately going to her mother's hair. I'm not sure if there's a better sight in this world than watching Monica interact with our children. She's such a natural at it, it's ridiculous. "Go see Daddy, sweetie," she says, passing her off to me. I lean in and kiss Erica's chubby cheek rapidly, blowing raspberries, making her laugh more.
I've found that best sound in the world is my kids laughing.
"Daddy and Eri are silly, aren't they, Jack?" I look up and see that Monica already has Jack in her arms, bouncing him back and forth, and he smiles at me gummily.
"Hey, dude," I say, leaning down and giving his cheeks the same treatment, his laughter shrieking in my ear. I look up at Monica, who's grinning at me wider than I've ever seen, and pseudo-whisper in my son's ear. "I think Mommy should get a kiss, too, don't you?" He purses his lips and blows at me, making me and Monica laugh. Erica imitates her brother, not wanting to be left out.
"The royal couple has spoken," Monica says, still laughing.
"Too bad," I whisper, caressing her cheek for a moment before pulling her to me, kissing her softly. It's an interesting sensation; each of us holding a baby, and another one technically between us.
"You realize we're going to have three kids," she tells me.
"Eh. What's one more?"
She shakes her head at me, smiling, and moves over to the couch, keeping Jack on her lap. I sit down with Erica and start reaching for the takeout containers, beginning the tricky maneuver of trying to eat while keeping it out of reach of my two very grabby children.
"Hey, when do you think it happened?"
She shrugs. "Hard to say. We have a pretty decent amount of sex, you know, and I haven't exactly been tracking my ovulation like I used to."
I pause for a moment, searching my mind, suddenly very interested in trying to figure this part out. "Hey, remember that really amazing night?"
"Honey, you're going to have to narrow it down for me."
I waggle my eyebrows at her suggestively. "Thank you for that. No, but that night you were super horny and you wouldn't stop…" I look down at the twins for a moment, trying to be mindful of the fact that they're going to start picking up on words soon, so this might as good a time as any to start censoring. "There's no family-friendly term for it."
She chuckles as her eyes light up. "That really was a great night. I suppose that's when it could have been. Makes sense. My body was just begging to be fertilized. It was some point around that night, definitely."
"I'm sure our neighbors will be very pleased to know that all that screaming wasn't in vain."
Her cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink, but other than that she ignores me. Instead, she picks up the remote, turning on the TV.
"Want to watch a movie? I'm sure there are tons of Christmas movies on right now. It's that time of year. I could go for something silly and predictable."
"Whatever you want, honey," I tell her, and I really mean it. I'm over the moon right now, and anything that will make her happy will genuinely make me happy.
She flips through the channels, Jack managing to pull the end of the remote into his mouth; we've already gotten used to anything and everything being something for the kids to teeth on, and as long as it's not small enough to be a choking hazard or in some way poisonous, we've just learned to roll with it.
"Oh! 'White Christmas!' I love this one!" She puts the remote down and grabs a teething ring off the couch next to her, handing it to Jack. Without missing a beat, she grabs a fork and starts eating, making the whole thing look effortless. A moment later, she notices that I'm staring at her and lifts an eyebrow at me.
"I really, really love you," I say, a million different emotions welling up in my chest, tears prickling my eyes.
"I really, really love you, too," she answers. A tear of her own spills out of her eye as she smiles at me. "Really really."
My cup runneth over.