Chapter 2: Twenty-Two Years Later

He was sunbathing, with her by his side, alone on a beach somewhere. The memory, bathed in amber, was from the far reaches of his memory, from that trip that Rachel and Ross had roped the whole gang into taking.

All right, there's a nuclear holocaust; I'm the last man on earth…. Would you go out with me?

Monica pushed herself up onto her elbows, squinting at him through the glare of the sunlight. Her pursed lips upturned into a smile, and then she was reaching for him and pulling his mouth down onto hers.

Sinking into the kiss, Chandler embraced her and they rolled around in the sand, letting the tide roll in and wash over them. From here to eternity…..

The scene shifted, this time depicting him and Monica outside Central Perk. From the recesses of his recall, Chandler had to estimate that this particular memory had occurred about a year before London, about a year before they had originally gotten together.

Hey now, besides, if worst comes to worst….. I'll be your boyfriend.

She still laughed at him, much as she had then. A potent combination of affront and liquid courage fueling him, Chandler now tugged Monica sharply into his lap so that she was now straddling him. Their faces quite close, Monica gaped at him in disbelief, before her eyes softened, the lashes fluttering until they were lidded and heavy with want.

At the moment that Chandler's lips met hers and he kissed her, Monica let her eyes drift, flutter closed completely, as she embraced him and hesitantly kissed him back…

The motherfucking alarm clock interrupted him again. Chandler jerked awake, rubbing the bleariness out of his eyes before moving on to rub life into his cheeks; he scoffed at the days-old stubble he found on his jawline. Sitting up in bed, he glanced about hopelessly at his bedroom in Apartment 20.

The room that, in another lifetime, he had once shared with the love of his life. The love of his life that he only now saw, and was happy with, in his dreams.

The guest room, on the other end of the apartment, had, in past epochs, been Phoebe's room, then Rachel's room…. and now it was Joey's room, as it had been for more than two decades.

Shit, he and Joey had gone through 9/11 in this very apartment. They had gone through January 6th in this apartment, watching the TV screen aghast as a mob of insurrectionists had disrupted the peaceful transfer of power. Joey had spent much of that day answering text messages in their friend group's group chat on behalf of both himself and Chandler, along with DMing many of his theatre friends to make really rude jokes about the rubarbs and retards currently committing domestic terrorism against American democracy.

Yo, Phil Collins called – he wants his Broadway cast of Tarzan back!

Lol, they're really Trashing the Camp by throwing their feces everywhere….

Are they trying to Kill the Beast?

Idk, but I think they left it at the Ellipse!

Fuck… Worst. Revival. Of Les Mis. EVER! #doyouhearthepeoplescreech?

Chandler had only sent one text that day, to her, asking her if she was all right. When Moncia had texted back, the terse reply of Fine made him wonder if Richard had hijacked her phone and answered for her.

Back in the present, Chandler staggered out into the hallway and groped his way for the fridge. Joey was already seated at the table, morosely eating a bowl of cereal. The best that could be said was that his roommate was at least clean shaven, which was more than Chandler could say.

Goddamnit…. Was this really their life, at 55 years old? Still slumming in an apartment on Bedford Street, the same one that…. well that he had had ever since his twenties?

Chandler fished around in the fridge, hand closing around an amber glass of beer. He was just pulling it out and lifting it to his lips, when he jerked, startled by Joey, now right in his face.

The…. actor with now decently steady work (though he was still far from famous) snatched the beer out of Chandler's hand, and threw it out the picture window – the same one where Monica had once chucked a basketball lo so many decades ago. It shattered on the brick wall opposite their building, across the thin alley that separated them.

"What the hell, Joe?" Chandler spluttered.

Joey merely felled him with a hard look. Glaring, Chandler opened the fridge again. "You won't find your stash…." Joey warned. "I poured the rest of the heap down the drain. Shoulda known I would have missed one."

"Why are you doing this?" Chandler sighed.

"Because we're meeting Ross, Rache and Em down at Central Perk today, and you, sir, are going to look your best."

Chandler sneered. "What are you, my mother?"

"No, and thank God you never came out of me!" Joey shuddered. When Chandler didn't move, Joey gestured towards the bathroom. "Do you really want your goddaughter and your best friends to see you looking like a hobo?"

Chandler shrugged. "Makes no difference to me," he grunted.

"I'm sorry you feel that way…. because they'll be up here in five minutes."

"What?!" Chandler yelped.

As if on cue, the door banged open, and Rachel Geller-Green came striding into the place like she owned it. She had designer shades on and was digging through a fancy Gucci purse. Chandler attempted his best smile; he could feel the pockets of stubble stretching itchily along his dimples. "Hey, Rache."

She marched up to him and greeted him by way of a slap across the face.

"OW! Jesus – what was that for?"

"I'm mad at you, honey!" Rachel admonished, complete with a pointed and wagging finger in his face. "Joey told me how you went on another bender again. Have you ever thought about setting a better example for my daughter – whom would, heaven forbid should anything every happen to Ross and me, end up living here? In this dump? With you two?" she gestured helplessly, if not quite contemptuously, at him and Joey, who was now greeting Emma warmly.

Chandler sighed. Rachel was no one to be around when she was angry, though in his experience, her getting angry at him usually came from a place of caring. She had openly expressed to him, more than once, how she disapproved of his drinking.

Emma now came gliding up to her godfather, a bright smile on her face that showed all her teeth. She had the same set of thick, curly hair that her dad did, which both elated and tortured Chandler.

Emma favored her father, which meant that she also favored….. her aunt….. All he had to do was take one glance at his surrogate niece's face and he could pick out Monica everywhere.

"Hi, Uncle Chandler!"

"Hey, kid…." Chandler gave her a side hug, marveling at how she was grown. Could she really only have one year of school left, her senior year at NYU?

Rachel was now rummaging through the fridge. "Good, you dumped everything," she nodded with approval at Joey. "Did something right for once…."

Emma pouted and folded her arms. "Uncle Joey…. Why didn't you save at least one for me?..."

"Absolutely out of the question, young lady!" Ross chided, crossing the room to give Chandler a backslapping hug.

"Why not? I'm 21; I'm old enough to drink…."

"Coffee….. In our house, we drink coffee, Emma, not beer – no matter whether we are old enough to consume every manner of beverage or not!"

Chandler smirked at Ross. "Do you always use your professor voice when disciplining your daughter?"

"Shut up!"

Rachel moved between the group, appraising Chandler up and down. "Well, you may be sober, but you're not as clean as I would like. Em – help me get your godfather washed up?"

Before Chandler knew what was happening, the girls were attacking him. Mother and daughter more or less manhandled him into the bathroom and put Chandler through something that was quite similar to what hazing had been like back in college. His head was dunked into the sink and Rachel almost gleefully took a razor blade to his face and jawline, shaving him impeccably.

"Why….. are you…." Chandler spluttered. "….. doing this?..."

"Because you have to look your best for lunch," Emma chirped. From her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Chandler saw her eyes sparkle and his heart went through a spasm. Great….. as if he needed another reminder of her today, now to top it all off, he was going to have to interrogate Joey to rustle up some Tums.

"Auntie Monica will be there…."

In the mirror, Rachel frowned hard at how her daughter was waggling her eyebrows in a teasing and even suggestive manner. "Emma Sandra, be nice to your uncle."

Chandler sloughed it off. He couldn't really be annoyed at the kid. It was his own damn fault that he had once, when she was small and he had been babysitting her, ended up having one too many cold ones before putting her to bed and telling her a drunken bedtime story that was truer than any fiction: about how he would have really been her uncle if he had married her Aunt Monica like he had wanted to. The hangover he'd experienced afterwards might have made him forget about the incident, if Rachel hadn't called days later, screaming at him after Emma had gotten it into her matchmaking head that she was going to make Uncle Chandler and Auntie Monica fall in love, like in the fairytales.

Chandler now studied his niece, trying not to let his face betray his emotions: terror, despondency, elation. "Really?"

Emma nodded triumphantly. "Uncle Richard's away at a conference; Jack and Erica are both at summer camp, so she was able to finally get back here to the city!"

"Summer camp?" Joey poked his head into the bathroom. "Aren't they supposed to be getting ready to move out for college this fall?" The only answer he got was Emma and Rachel shrieking at him to get out, as if they had been the ones he'd walked in on.

Fifteen minutes later, the whole group was standing inside Central Perk. Glancing around the old coffee joint, Chandler was trying not to let the flashbacks, the memories, send him either running for the bathroom or running out into traffic. At this point, being hit by a car would probably be less painful than being made to sit through this dog and pony show.

"I'm surprised Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Mike are the ones missing out, for once…." Emma was prattling next to him. "Usually, it's Aunt Monica who begs off…."

And isn't that better for us all, Chandler thought. At least then, he could pretend that get-togethers in their old coffee house haunt had always involved five people instead of six. He chanced a glance at his surrogate niece, silently cursing at how she almost always and unwittingly ruined that fantasy with her very presence, given how much she resembled her aunt.

The group took a seat on the orange couch, Emma glued to the side of her favorite uncle, and Chandler tried not to stare. Good Christ, the young lady even sat like Monica…..! The same mannerisms and everything…..

Behind them, the bell jingled, and then….

…. She was there, having been blown in by a driving rainstorm. Struggling to close her umbrella and even as she still looked half-soaked, her dark locks plastered to her forehead, Chandler could only gaze at her in wonder.

She was still, far and away, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even after all these years…. As beautiful as the day he had lost her…

Next to him, Chandler could feel Emma nudging him, ribbing him, and he almost involuntarily leapt to his feet. Rounding the orange couch, Monica lifted her head.

Their eyes met.

Time stood still. If only it could have also melted away! The most that it did was in her lovely face; Monica did not appear to have aged a day.

How long had it been, since they had last seen each other? Chandler tried to estimate, then gave up. It had to have been a decade, at least, if not more.

Frozen, Chandler could only breathe out, "Mon….."

She smiled, a pink to her cheeks and a twinkle to her eyes, and his heart damn near stopped. "Hi, Chandler….."

His tongue was refusing to work; he was gaping like a fish. "You look fantastic – terrific!" That dress….. that body….. Wait – had he said that last part out loud?

He didn't think he had, though from how he could hear someone (probably Emma) snickering behind them, Chandler feared that he had.

An awkward pause, and then Monica gestured lamely, "You…. you look good…."

No, I don't, and Chandler thankfully at least had the foresight to keep that thought to himself. I haven't looked or felt anything close to good since I lost you….

"Why don't we all sit down?" Rachel encouraged. Emma now very deliberately scooted to the side, leaving her aunt no choice but to sit between her and Chandler.

Gunther, his hairline receding, now approached to take their orders. Chandler was surprised when Monica ordered a beer, rather than coffee. It gave him the permission structure to get ready and order a beer too, until Joey pressed down on the insole of his foot, and he winced out, "Coffee. Black."

While they waited for their drinks, Chandler tried not to stare at the beautiful woman next to him. The woman he had dated. Once slept with. The woman he had, in another life, been inches and seconds away from getting engaged to. If he did look, he tried to second-guess how long was appropriate. Was three seconds too long? Four? He didn't know, and at the same time was quite certain that no amount of time was long enough.

"So, Aunt Mon, how are the twins?" Emma was asking.

"Your cousins are great, sweetie. Jack is really excited about the University of Rochester."

"Isn't he going to play rugby for them?"

"That's right."

Chandler stared down at the floor, pretending to find the carpet quite interesting.

Gunther returned, but only with some of their drinks; when Chandler next glanced up, Rachel was stirring her tea.

"And Erica?"

"Set to study musical theatre at Syracuse." He could hear in her tone how Monica was just bursting with pride.

"That's a fine BFA program right there," Joey nodded approvingly from where he lay sprawled, as usual, in the side easy chair. "I'd have loved to go there myself, if I'd had the money…."

And the talent, Chandler stewed bitterly, even as he knew that that was hardly fair to his roommate and dear friend. Sweet Jesus, where the fuck was Gunther with his coffee….?

She had kids. She had had kids with him. Of course, he'd always known that, even as his friends had been sparse with details to him at the time, when they had first learned about the babies. Joey had spent months walking on eggshells around him; Chandler had spent half of 2003 and fucking 2004 not sleeping. Worrying for her. Was her pregnancy proceeding normally? Would she miscarry? Bitter as he had been, and as tempting it would have been to see Richard knocked down a peg or two, Chandler couldn't bear to wish for that, even out of jealousy. Not for her. He would never want to see Monica hurt like that….

He'd heard next to nothing throughout the better part of those two years, his friends probably withholding as much as possible in some misguided attempt to spare his feelings. Though he had finally received some evidence in the form of the Christmas card Monica had sent to him those holidays, showing a picture of her and Richard each holding a bundle, and seated on a park bench.

The image now danced behind his vision, making it spin. Damn it all, Gunther, where are you….?

"…. Chandler….?" He snapped back to reality, only to sense that his head was now pretty much between his knees, and how he could feel a cool hand rubbing the back of his neck. Her hand….

He lifted himself out of his shell just enough to see Monica staring down at him, eyes brimming with concern. "Sweetie, are you OK….?"

That was the last straw. Sweetie….. that had been her pet name for him, back when she had…. loved him…..

"I can't do this," he breathed. And then he was leaping to his feet, all but running out of the coffee house and into the rainstorm, blocking out the shouts of Rachel, Emma and her calling his name.