Chapter 3: P.S. I Love You

"Mom! Doorbell for you!"

At her son's call, Monica groaned and rolled out of bed. She dragged herself out of what was now just her bedroom, pausing only to adjudicate her reflection in the hallway mirror. She frowned hard at how her hair resembled a rat's nest in the worst sort of bedhead she'd had in a while. Still in her pajamas, she felt a bit frumpy.

Middle age was a bitch. A slight facelift hadn't been the shot in the arm she thought it would be. She had been heartened and laughed when Chandler had told her he would still love her even when they were old and nothing more than fossilized sideshow attractions for millennials and Gen Zers to gawk at in Ross's old museum. "You could be old, young, balloon out or shrink down to two inches tall, and I would still love you, babe," he'd expressed.

Monica remembered how he had said something close to similar back when they had been engaged – at least about the ballooning and shrinking to two inches tall part. She huffed down the stairs and into the foyer, nodding her thanks to Jack. If it was a solicitation, it was way too damn early in the morning, and perhaps her just-rolled-out-bed appearance would scare the caller away.

She tugged open the door, only to find a package-delivery guy on her front stoop.

"Mrs…..?" Checked notes. "Geller-Bing?"

Monica swallowed hard. "That's me…." she whispered. Technically, she had never taken Chandler's surname when they married, but Pheebs had often referred to her in such a hyphenated manner, causing the surname to stick. Monica wondered if maybe Chandler (or Phoebe) had filled out her personal info on the USPS website this way as a sort of joke. She wouldn't have put it past either one of them.

"Great. If you would just sign this here, ma'am…."

Monica dashed off her signature without reading the document, even as she muttered bemusedly, "I haven't ordered anything recently…." The most mail she had gotten these past few weeks had been nothing but sympathy cards.

That apparently was what this was, as the deliveryman waved on forward some colleagues, who now carried forward a bouquet of roses. "Enjoy, ma'am," the deliveryman passed the bouquet to Monica. "Compliments of a Mr. Chandler Bing."

Monica went white, and sucked in a gasp. "What did you say?" she breathed.

The deliveryman shrugged, checked his paperwork. "That's the name on the order placement."

Monica shook her head, bewildered. "I'm sorry, there must be some mistake: my…. my husband passed. Recently."

The deliveryman's face fell. "Oh. Goodness…. My condolences, ma'am…." By now, Jack and Erica had gathered at their mother's back in the foyer to see what was going on. "It says here everything's been paid in advance, with roses to be delivered to a Mrs. Monica Geller-Bing, beginning on this date, every month….."

"Why today?" Monica asked, befuddled.

The deliveryman pursed his lips haplessly. "I'd assume today holds some special significance, ma'am?"

Monica blanched as she realized that, yes, there was….. May 15th. Today would have been her and Chandler's twenty-third wedding anniversary. She could feel tears streaming down her face, and she nodded.

The deliveryman fidgeted awkwardly. "Well, your husband's instructions were very clear: delivery of flowers on the 15th of every month for the next…." He checked his notes again, and Monica was almost tempted to whack him with the clipboard. "…. 25 years…. Say, GARY! Who wrote this order form? Is this a typo?"

"Nope," Gary clipped in a sloughing monotone, out by the truck on the curb.

Monica felt herself sway into the doorjamb, dazed. She could feel her children rubbing her back, speaking to her, but she was too stunned to acknowledge them. She couldn't speak.

She was crying harder now, even as she had a beaming smile on her face. That sweet, thoughtful, wonderful man…..! She didn't know how Chandler had done it or when, but seeing as he had…..

Well, at least he had timed it to be activated monthly and not weekly, or even every day. She was pretty sure she would have noticed their bank accounts taking that kind of a hit just to purchase flowers.

Overcome, Monica passed the bouquet back behind her to her daughter before stepping forward to hug the deliveryman. He stiffened, adorably flummoxed, before awkwardly patting her on the back with a blush.

"Sorry…." Monica giggled. "Just…. thank you."

"Er…. You're welcome…" The deliveryman, a young guy, looked askance. He tipped his cap. "Ma'am." And he performed an about face and jogged back to his truck.

The moment Monica closed the front door behind her, her twins were peppering her with questions.

"What's going on, Mom? Are these really from Dad?"

"The delivery guy was kind of cute…." Erica twittered, her eyes going dreamy.

Monica chuckled and nudged her daughter. "Calm down, Juliet. But…. yes, Jack…." She gazed at the clump of roses, now in Jack's arms, stunned and touched. "These are from your father…."

"Check it out!" Jack suddenly yelped. "There's a note taped to the stems!" He peeled the tiny envelope off and handed it to his mother with an almost awestruck expression.

Monica acutely felt how she was trembling. Her palms shook so badly as she opened the card, it was a wonder she didn't get a paper cut. Scanning the contents, she instantly recognized her husband's handwriting, her eyes going wide.

Happy Anniversary to us, babe. Wish I could be there in person.

I'll be waiting….. on London time.

Yours Forever and Always,

Chandler

P.S. I love you.

Monica's head was spinning. How…. ? How had he…..?

If the poor delivery guy was right, this was the first of 300 batches of roses that she was guaranteed to get, without fail, every month for the next quarter century.

"Why does Dad think Heaven runs on London time?" Jack frowned.

Erica was dabbing at her eyes. "Oh….. it's so romantic, I can't even deal!" She finally burst into tears.

Crying bittersweet tears of her own, Monica enveloped her babies in a crushing hug. Casting her eyes heavenward, she smiled wetly. "He's just trying to send a message that he's still with me – still with us….." Still glancing up, Monica quietly mouthed the words, 'Thank You.'

Her husband's love for her was like the wind. While she could no longer see it, she could still feel it – by this gesture, Chandler was letting her know.

Knowing that she was still loved by him, even though he was now gone, Monica was now sure, would be enough to get her through.