I glance over at my wife, shaking my head in amusement. She looks over at me and grins, playfully flipping me off as she turns her attention back to the conversation she's having on her cell phone.
"Nice," I say softly as I steer us down the darkening highway. "You kiss your babies with that mouth?" I glance over at her again to see her giving me a withering look this time, her hand reaching out to pinch my leg. "Ah-ah. Not while I'm driving." She retracts her hand, settling for sticking her tongue out at me instead.
"Are you being a good boy for Uncle Ross and Aunt Rachel?" Monica asks, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see the grin spreading across her face. "You're right—I am silly. You're always a good boy, aren't you, Jack?" I roll my eyes even as I smile, too. Jack's always good for Mommy. It's when he's around Daddy that he's a little hooligan. "Night night, honey. I love you." She pauses, I can hear his little voice through the phone, though I can't make out what he's saying. "Okay, sweetie. Give the phone to Uncle Ross, okay…Hey, Ross. Thank you again for watching the kids for us—"
"Yeah, thanks, man," I interject, leaning over a little so the phone picks up my voice.
"We really appreciate it. I don't know what cell service will be like, but you can always call us at the hotel if something comes up." A moment later, she lets out a long, put-upon sigh. "Of course I trust you, Ross. I know you can take care of kids, but I also know my kids. They're slippery. Sure, they look all cute and innocent, but they'll turn your hair white." I cringe, patting my head self-consciously. I've been looking a bit more salt-and-pepper than usual lately, and while I don't think I can entirely blame my kids, I'm sure their antics have to be a contributing factor. "We will…okay. Okay, hang on." Monica holds the phone up in between us, turning on the speaker. "They want to say goodnight to you."
A grin spreads across my face as lean toward the phone, maneuvering the car through the small pockets of traffic we're hitting. "Hey, guys."
"Daddy!"
All three of them at the same time, like they rehearsed it. They kill me, they're so cute. "Have fun with Emma and Drew, okay? Mommy and Daddy will be home before you know it. Don't do anything crazy; no tattoos or belly button rings."
"What's a tattoo?" Erica asks and I sigh.
"You're putting ideas in her head," Monica mutters.
"Never mind that, kiddo. Just be good, all right?"
"'Kay, Daddy," Jack answers.
"Love you," William says, nearly making my heart explode from the cuteness of it. A chorus of "night nights" and "love you" follows behind him before Ross chimes in.
"See you on Sunday, guys. Have fun. And happy anniversary." A moment later, the phone goes quiet and Monica closes it with a sigh.
"Why is it so hard to leave them?" she asks quietly, her voice a little choked, and I reach over to squeeze her leg gently.
"Because they're really amazing little people," I answer simply.
"Well, if they're so amazing, why didn't we bring them with us?"
"You know as well as I do that it's important that we spend time alone. Aside from letting your parents take the kids for a night once in a while, we haven't spent any significant time just the two of us in years. I love our kids to death, and it's really hard to be away from them, but I miss you, too. I miss us. I mean, I realize we're not really 'just' a couple anymore—"
"We're a family," Monica says, and I nod in agreement.
"That we are, and that's important. It's crazy important. But it's also important that we take time for ourselves, too. I never want to run the risk of us losing our way or forgetting what makes us so good together. We're more than just parents."
I feel her hand on my shoulder, her fingers reaching out to softly stroke my neck. "How'd you get to be so good at this marriage stuff?"
I shiver a little, clearing my throat as I strain to focus on the road. "I keep telling you, honey. Dr. Phil."
"Ah, yes. Dr. Phil. He does know all."
We like to tease each other about things like this, but I've put a lot of effort into making sure we work. We both had too many relationships in the past that broke down because we stopped putting in the time, and watching Ross and Rachel's relationship go to hell all those years ago because they refused to talk to each other and just be honest about things was really an eye-opener. What I have with Monica is far too important to ever just assume we don't need to try anymore. We're both on the same page with this—we only plan on being married once. Barring any horrific event that could possibly mean a second marriage for one of us at some point in our lives, this is it. This is forever. I'm good with that. But once we started trying for kids, our lives became about that. We became consumed with becoming parents, and when Jack and Erica came along, well, that was that. We had our family and we worked on that. I was good with that, too. Being parents of two newborns ate up all of our time, and I think it was supposed to be that way. Then William came along and we were so enamored with our little miracle and our two babies becoming tiny people that I don't think it much crossed our mind to worry about just us. There were a few times when we really needed it—Monica's struggle after the baby was born springs instantly to mind—but on the whole, we're happy being a family. Shipping the kids off to their grandparents on occasion for the night is usually as much alone time as we get, and it never really occurred to us that we could ask for more.
I was shocked when I casually mentioned that Monica and I hadn't been away for so much as a weekend since before the twins were born and Rachel immediately offered up her services to take care of them if we decided we needed to get away. Ross didn't even look irritated with her for the offer; instead, he readily agreed, saying he was happy to help.
"But what better excuse to get away from it all than our anniversary?" I ask, reaching out to grab her hand. "We haven't done much of anything to celebrate our anniversary in years."
"Speaking of," she says, giving my fingers a squeeze, "seeing as how it's our anniversary, why did you do all the planning for it? Why am I the deadbeat in this situation?"
"You're not a deadbeat, honey," I chuckle. "I just wanted to have a little surprise for you."
"A surprise for me, or were you worried that I'd see the place you'd picked out and immediately shut you down?"
"That was definitely a thought that crossed my mind."
"Oh, God, what have you gotten us into? Are we going camping? Staying in a shack on the beach?"
I can't help but scoff a little. "Yeah, because the best way to make you happy is stay somewhere dirty. I love you, Monica. I wouldn't bring you somewhere that you'd be miserable, at least not intentionally."
"But…we're not staying at my parents' beach house? I mean, we're on the Cape…"
"Nope. I thought about it, but that didn't really feel like getting away from things. No, I found this placed called the Belfry Inn—"
"The Belfry Inn?" she asks incredulously, dropping my hand. "What? Is it supposed to be haunted or something?"
"Not that I know of. Cape Cod has a lot of hotels—I mean, a lot of hotels—but a lot of them didn't sound all that relaxing. Either they were all geared toward families, which means kids running rampant in the middle of the night because their parents don't want to be bothered with them, or endless amounts of kids activities, which I thought might make you sad because you'd want the kids to be with us for that, or they were so expensive that staying there for the weekend would mean one of our kids would have to do without dental care for the rest of their life, or they were just generic hotels, which didn't seem interesting at all. As far as bed and breakfasts go, it's hard to find one that has private bathrooms or isn't just an over-priced version of a Holiday Inn. This one sounded pretty nice, actually, but if it's too kitschy, we'll be able to find another place to stay with no trouble."
Monica throws me a doubtful look as signs of life come into view. "With no trouble? Honey, it's Cape Cod."
"Yeah, but before the season starts. If we'd tried to book a room in June, we wouldn't have a chance. It doesn't really start to get crazy until after Memorial Day."
"You know what? I trust you. You are pretty good at this whole marriage thing and you haven't steered us wrong yet." She shifts a little, turning to face me. "So tell me about this place."
I glance at our surroundings, seeing signs that let us know we're almost in Sandwich. "I guess we're close enough now. The Belfry Inn is actually three different buildings. They have The Painted Lady, The Village House, and The Abbey."
"'The Abbey,'" Monica repeats, sounding intrigued. "Does that mean what it sounds like it means?"
"Yep," I confirm, guiding the car to our exit. "It's a de-sanctified Catholic Church. "
"And does that mean we're staying there?"
I glance over at her, happy to see a hopeful expression on her face. "We are. I thought it sounded like it could be interesting. This place only has six rooms, and they're named Monday through Saturday. We're in the Saturday Room. I called this morning to confirm." The last thing I want to happen for our anniversary get away is another lost reservation. No way do I want to spend the night with an understandably pissed off Monica in search of last-minute lodgings.
"The Saturday Room. Sounds promising."
"I thought so. It has a nice restaurant downstairs, too, and we're not that far away from the rest of the Cape, if we decide we want to explore."
"Maybe," Monica says. "We'll see how it goes. I might be okay with just sitting on the beach all day."
"There's that, too." I squint my eyes in the fading light, following the signs to our destination. A few minutes later, Monica lets out a gasp that lets me know that I did good.
"Oh, my God, Chandler, it's beautiful! Oh, honey, thank you!"
The place is, in fact, gorgeous. The grainy pictures I found on the internet didn't do it justice. Soft light tinted by the old stained glass windows gently illuminates the dusk, making the whole place glow with an ethereal quality. "I think I've impressed myself," I muse as I pull into a parking space, turning the car off to gaze at the building in wonder.
Monica chuckles as I hear her seatbelt unclick. A moment later she releases mine as well, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "Thank you," she says softly.
"Happy six years, baby," I answer, pressing my lips to hers. Technically, our anniversary was a couple of days ago, but still…best years of my life.
"Mmmm," she agrees as she kisses me. "Hard to believe it's only been six years."
"Well," I say, my fingers creeping under the back of her shirt. "Six married years."
"You're right," she answers, pulling her lips from mine but keeping her face close, her fingers toying with the hair on the back of my neck. "Can't forget the three years before we got married, though that anniversary is coming up soon, too."
"It is, and may I thank you again for putting our wedding anniversary so close to our dating anniversary? You've save me from a lot of nights in the doghouse."
"Well, I have a confession, Chandler," she whispers, her lips lightly brushing against mine. "That was as much for me as it was for you. I figured we could lump it all together and never have to worry about forgetting either."
"Like you'd ever forget an anniversary," I answer, kissing her a few more times before I let her go. I let myself out of the car and groan as I stretch, my muscles protesting from being cooped up so long.
"Stranger things have happened," I hear her say before she too groans at her sore muscles.
I grab our bags out of the back of the car and take hold of Monica's outstretched hand. We walk through the impressive doorway into an even more impressive reception area, the vaulted ceilings making me feel impossibly small. "Holy shit," Monica breathes, and a moment later we both start snickering at her inappropriately appropriate choice of words.
"Hi there," I say to the clerk at the desk, trying to stifle my laughter. "We're here to check in. Our name is 'Bing.'"
He smiles as he pulls up the information, and even though I confirmed with them this morning, I still hold my breath until I hear him say, "Ah, yes; the Saturday Room." He taps a few more keys as I hand him my credit card, feeling very proud of myself when I don't jump as Monica slides her hand around my waist, her fingers gripping my hip provocatively. "Here you go, Mr. Bing," he says suddenly. "Your card, your keys, and some information and maps of the area to help you out. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to call the desk and we'll be more than happy to help you out. Now, if you give me just one moment, I'll get someone to show you to your room."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," Monica answers. "Just point us in the direction, we'll find it."
A few moments later, we're heading up the stairs, both trying desperately not to gawk at our surroundings. "Why do I feel I should whisper here?" I ask her quietly as I fiddle with the lock to our door.
"You'll need to get over that," she answers, her arms sliding around my waist from behind. "Because I have no intention of being quiet tonight."
"Monnnn," I moan, nearly dropping the key in the process. "You're killing me."
She giggles and presses a kiss to the back of my neck, tightening her grasp around my waist as I finally manage to get us into the room. As we stumble in together, we both gasp, overwhelmed by our surroundings. Deep purple walls stretch up to a domed ceiling, a stone fireplace waits across from the gigantic bed, and soft moonlight filters in from the balcony doors.
"I don't think I ever want to go home," she says, making her way over to the nightstand to turn on the bedside light.
"It's pretty incredible," I agree, tossing our bags on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Now, about that whole being loud thing…" I slide my arms around her waist, bringing my face down to kiss her neck.
"Mmmm, Chandler?"
"Yeah?" I groan, pulling her up against my body.
"The bags."
I blink a few times, pulling away to stare at her in confusion. "Huh?"
"The bags. I'm sorry. I just need to put everything away before…"
"Right. Sorry." Of course. I've known this woman for how many years? And how many times have we gone away together? There's no way she'd be able to unwind if she knows there's anything resembling a mess nearby, at least not in this respect.
She grins at me sheepishly as she grabs her bag and pulls it over to the dresser. With it only being a couple of days away from home, we both managed to get away with pack light, but the fact that she keeps trying to hide what has to be something on the verge of naughty underwear has me endlessly intrigued. I pull open my own bag and start tossing stuff into the drawers, pulling out a recent picture of the kids and putting it on top of the bureau, and it's my turn to look sheepish.
"I know the whole point is to get away for a few days, but I didn't want to forget what they looked like."
Monica just smiles at me before picking up the frame, looking at the three of them wistfully. "I don't blame you. I miss them."
"I know. They're in good hands, though," I remind her.
"I can't believe Erica and Jack are three," she exclaims suddenly. "How did that happen?"
"Are you questioning how I've managed to keep them alive for three years? Because I'm wondering that myself."
She smacks my arm, putting the frame back on the dresser top. "William's almost two," she says softly, keeping her eyes on the picture of the three of them at the twin's birthday party last month. "They're growing up so fast."
"But they're growing up amazing,' I answer, pulling her into my arms for a quick hug. "They're wonderful little people."
She tightens her grip on me for a few seconds, taking a couple of deep breaths before I feel her body relax. Crisis averted. "All right. I'm going to get changed."
"You know, that's really not necessary. I'm just going to rip it off of you in a few minutes anyway."
"Chandlerrrr," she whines. "I never buy new undies anymore. Just let me have the moment."
"Hey, I'm not complaining," I answer quickly, throwing my hands up in surrender. "You do what you've got to do, and I'll be out here, waiting impatiently."
She leans up to kiss me, snagging a fancy-looking bag out of the drawer before she disappears into the bathroom. I finish putting my clothes away as I hear her rustle around, muttering to herself occasionally. "You all right in there?" I ask, barely able to contain my amusement.
"Stupid tags," she growls, and I just shake my head.
Who ever said married life is dull?
I finish stowing our bags in the closet when I hear the bathroom door creak open. I turn and feel my knees go weak. Monica leans very casually against the door frame, the light hitting her from behind perfectly, giving her an otherworldly glow. "Oh, dear lord…"
"You like?"
What she's wearing—a glorious satin-and-lace concoction—is the same exact blue of her eyes. I don't know how she managed it, but it's beautiful. Really, it's only a bra and panty set, but it's never taken much to get me excited when it comes to Monica. "Oh, I like."
"Happy anniversary," she answers, taking a few steps toward me. At that moment, my body reminds me that I sat in a car for more than four hours, and drank a lot of coffee in the process. So sexy.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, gesturing to the bathroom behind her. "I've just got to—argh. Sorry."
She grins at me, meeting me in the middle of the room. "Romance isn't dead," she teases, pulling me in for a quick kiss. "I'll just be on the bed. Waiting. Alone."
"I'll hurry. I swear."
She slaps my ass playfully as I duck into the bathroom, sighing with relief as I empty my bladder. I brush my teeth and scrub myself down with a washcloth for good measure as I strip off my clothes. I wish I'd thought ahead to new underwear, too, but at least what I'm wearing is clean. I open the door and lean against the jam playfully, trying to mimic her earlier position. "All right, Mrs. Bing. Happy anniversary…oh, Mon."
There she is, curled up on her side…fast asleep. I sigh regretfully, but I know I won't try to wake her. Sleep is such a precious commodity that I can't stand the thought of taking it from her, even if it is our weekend away.
With another sigh, I plug our phones into the wall and grab one of her tank tops and a pair of shorts out of the dresser. Carefully, I nudge her into a sitting position, shushing her when she mumbles to me. With practiced ease, I pull off the bra and put on the top, knowing she'll be much more comfortable like that, and leave the shorts at the bottom of the bed. I grab my clothes out of the bathroom and toss them into the closet for later before I crawl into bed next to her, turning off the bedside light.
Almost immediately, she turns over, draping her arm across my chest. "Sorry, honey," she mumbles, kissing my shoulder. "I can wake up, I promise."
"It's okay," I whisper, yawning as I feel exhaustion settle over me suddenly. "We have all weekend."
"Love you," she breathes, and I squeeze her tightly for a few moments.
"Love you, too."
*A/N…I think I'm going to rename this story "Seinfeld," because it's basically about nothing. Nothing really happens, it's just day-to-day life. But it's cute, right?
Anyway, The Belfry Inn is a real place. I've never been there, but the pictures are gorgeous. I highly suggest you look it up.
Also—fifty chapters! How did that happen? I'll probably be fixing this chapter all weekend, though, so keep an eye out.