"Now, Rachel, Repeat after me."
"Okay." Rachel huffed, holding Monica's hands in her own.
"You are only looking for one thing, you are only going to buy one thing, you are only here to get a present for your father."
"I'm only looking for one thing…I am only going to buy one thing…I am…I can't even get a purse?"
Monica sighed, officially giving up with maintaining Rachel. The two were together shopping for a gift as Mr. Green's birthday approached closer, and Rachel had no idea what to get for her dad. Monica's job along with picking out the perfect gift was to make sure that that was all they were going to do– Rachel wasn't allowed to fall into another shopping spree. As her sponsor, Monica would slap her wrist when Rachel's eyes were glued onto department store mannequins for a little too long; but she couldn't keep the lion tame forever. Eventually, Rachel would run off to Tommy Hilfiger and shop as if she had just received her first ever paycheck.
Monica followed closely behind her friend, gazing at the various clothes the store had to offer. Occasionally, she'd find a shirt that someone had tossed back onto the counter after trying on, and she felt a deep responsibility to fold it up and bring order back to the Tommy Hilfiger shelves. She looks at the classy long sleeves and thinks, I could never pull these off, but I'm sure Rachel would look just perfect.
Holding the folded red shirt in her hands, she hears a familiar perky voice around the corner. She peeks her head around, to find that Phoebe had been shopping there too. Monica greeted her friend, shocked to see that they were unknowingly at the same place at the same time. This group of friends had enough communication to know where everyone was at every single second of the day, making coincidences like this all the more rare– and fun.
"Monica! Hi! Wow, I'm collecting everyone today!" Phoebe greeted.
"What do you mean?"
Phoebe's stray dog entered from behind the shelf, holding up two sweater vests of contrasting colours.
"Phoebe– No jokes– Be serious– which colour brings out my eyes?" Asked Chandler, holding up the two garments close to his face. He argues that he is as masculine as they come, but ever since Rachel taught him the importance of colour theory in fashion, he couldn't hide his effeminacy. His eyes lit up once he saw Monica, making it hard to compare them to the vests.
"Oh, hey Mon'. I was just asking Phoebe here which sweater brought out my arm muscles more." He coughed out.
She forced a simple smile in the placement of a laugh, which visibly caught Chandler off guard.
"You see, I was walking around the mall, because everyone knows that malls are the best place to find vengeful spirits– and wouldn't you know it, I find this guy sniffing around the store! You're trying to keep secrets from me, Bing?" Phoebe grabbed Chandler's shirt collar, bringing him down to her level. "You said you were busy today because you were out with coworkers."
"I was! They're…invisible." He choked.
Ignoring his pathetic excuse of a lie, Monica let Phoebe know that she was accompanying Rachel on a journey for the perfect birthday gift. Phoebe, filled with the excitement of finding three out of five of her friends, offered both her and Chandler up to help with the job. Rachel found the group of three talking, holding several clothing items in her arms that everyone could swear she already owned.
"Hey you guys! What a coinci– Chandler? You said you were busy today!"
"Oh, all of a sudden, everyone remembers the things I say?" He scoffed. His annoyance was quickly replaced with eager curiosity now that his fashionable friend was in his presence. He held up the two sweater vests again. "Quick! Which suits my undertones?"
Without a second to waste, Rachel answered his question. She was proud to see that Chandler remembered everything she taught him. "Oh, the light blue, obviously. Throw out all of your orange stuff."
"Thank you! See, Pheebs? Is it so hard to give a proper answer without laughing?"
"When you ask me which scarf frames your figure best? Yes!"
Chandler could only roll his eyes at the blonde's response– and Monica did the same. She found this whole interaction to be nauseating. All she wanted was to accompany her friend on a simple shopping trip, but now she was forced to show face to the last guy she wanted to see right now.
Rachel theorised that the most optimal gift would be a simple and elegant article of clothing; a professional choice for a man as mature as her father. It was nice enough to show genuine care but not too nice that she'd have difficulty upstaging herself for her dad's next milestone birthday. All that was left was to find something that would fit that criteria, which shouldn't be so difficult now that there were four people on the job.
At some point during the safari, Rachel and Phoebe separated from the group, leaving Monica and Chandler all alone. There was an awkward silence that followed them around the store, one that Chandler wasn't familiar with. Anytime he'd say something, Monica would respond with nothing more than a dismissive sound. All of his questions were answered with a simple nod or head-shake, so Chandler figured he'd have to ask something a bit more complex to get a sentence out of her.
"So, what do you plan on getting for Rachel's dad? Because I was thinking a bouquet of roses, but I'm not quite sure if we're there yet." He joked.
No response. Maybe she doesn't understand that he's kidding.
"In fact, he never got me a birthday gift, so why should I give him one? It's like I'm putting in all the effort into our relationship."
Still no response. She just continued looking around.
Whenever Chandler told a joke that didn't land, he could at least count on Monica to give a pity-laugh to spare him from the crickets. Her lack of a reaction left his throat dry, hungry for her attention again. Chandler knew that with his uneventful life, his existence was ultimately worthless if not acknowledged by others. There needs to be at least one person listening to his stories or laughing at his jokes every second of the day, or else he'd cease to exist. There was no Chandler Bing outside of the interactions he had with his friends– just the constant need to prove he was still worthy of being around, or else he'd be forgotten. So, when Monica, his number one cheerleader who promised he'd never be left behind, was currently ignoring him, that had to mean something.
"Hello? Earth to Geller?"
She perked her head up from the array of socks she looked entirely too interested in. Her eyes were wide, as if she had only now noticed Chandler standing next to her, which gave him a pretty good idea of what kind of impact he leaves on the world. Despite her constant denial, Chandler wasn't convinced that everything was alright.
His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, almost ashamed that they were back to square one. A mixture of sincerity and desperation formed his tone. "Monica, I promise this is the last time I'll ever ask you– but is there something bothering you? Anythi-"
"Hey, Pheebs, come over here for a second." Monica called out for their friend, who stood not too far from them. "These are really nice socks, aren't they? Really soft."
"Ooo, yeah! Like a pillow! You don't see much of that anymore." Phoebe jumped into the conversation, caressing the different pairs of socks laying before them. "You know, when I was younger, I'd use newspapers and crumple them up around my feet as make-shift socks, which wasn't a really good idea, since, y'know, it's just so wasteful!"
The depressing image and the casual tone Phoebe described it in made it difficult to give an appropriate response, so Monica decided to throw the spotlight back onto Chandler.
"Oh- Chandler, you were saying something?"
She had the same look in her eyes anytime they challenged each other to a game of foosball– the cocky glare of a woman who knew she'd win against him, but took up the offer anyway, just to see him lose. With Phoebe as their audience, there wasn't much he could say to Monica.
"I was just thinking the same thing. Soft socks. Very nice."
"Really nice. Glad we could agree on that."
There, Chandler could recognize the sarcastic tone that Monica rarely weaponized, confirming that she was in fact upset over something, even if she refused to tell him. The smile on her face was not the one that Chandler had been aching to see, but the kind that felt conniving– waiting for Chandler to crumble and lose at the game he didn't know they were playing.
If Monica wants to speak in code, then Chandler will give her just that. "Don't you have any other thoughts about these socks? You know you can tell me anything– y'know, about these socks."
"Well, I'm not sure you'd care. They're just socks."
"That's not true– these are nice socks. We can talk about nice socks all day if you want to."
Phoebe put an end to their unintelligible secret interaction. "God, stop saying socks! It doesn't even sound real anymore!" She begged, and they obliged.
"I'm gonna go find Rachel– I don't trust her alone here." Monica excused herself and hurried off to find the girl in question.
Leaving him in a path of confusion and her leftover passive-aggression, Chandler was stunned. That was not the kind of conversation that happens between two people on good terms, and unfortunately, Chandler wasn't the only person to make that observation. Curiosity was painted all over Phoebe's face, and he knew that if Phoebe had even the slightest idea that there was friction between the two, she would eventually put the pieces together and discover the skeleton in their closet. Before she could ask a question he couldn't answer, Chandler tried to appease her growing suspicion.
"I have a feeling that Monica doesn't really like these socks."
Their shopping journey ended with Chandler purchasing the light-blue vest Rachel picked for him, Monica getting a new concealer, and Rachel buying everything she could find that came with a price tag– including a classy sage tie, perfect for Mr. Green.
Chandler sat alone with his newspaper in Central Perk, securing a small paper cut on his finger after turning the page too quickly, which made him question how Phoebe could manage to walk in this material. The surprising part is that Phoebe's sad sock-anecdote wasn't even the weirdest thing about that whole conversation.
He remembers the feeling of being yelled at by his parents, and sitting around all day in his room, afraid to leave. He would wait on his bed patiently, hoping his parents would come in to bring him lunch, as a sign of truce. Waiting for some sort of indication that the storm has calmed and his parents were no longer angry, because he couldn't afford to lose their unconditional love. What he was feeling with Monica was ten times worse than that.
But today wasn't the only odd interaction they had in recent times, there was a similar tension when Chandler visited Monica during work. Usually, he'd drop in when he was free, and Monica would jump up and down like a puppy at the sight of him and the promise of one less lonely lunch. She would grab onto his arm and beg him to stay when he'd try to leave. Every plea was like a siren's song, but he had to ignore the temptation in order to collect his paycheck. Guilt would wash over him, but at least he could look forward to the coming day and the next break they got to spend together. That day was completely different, though. Her refusal to leave and lack of attentiveness towards him gave Chandler the sense that he wasn't wanted– it felt that at any point, she would grab him by the collar and throw him out back with the rest of their trash.
The possibility that she was simply having a bad day felt less likely given that she behaved the same, arguably worse today. He could make do with living in the ignorant bliss that was assuming Monica was upset for other reasons, or that she just needed time to reflect; that Chandler was absolved of all responsibility and would no longer have to think about her all of the time. He thought he could count on Monica to be the rational person she usually was, but when she brings in Phoebe as a witness to their conversation to prevent Chandler from carrying on their honest conversation, he's not so sure that things were as peachy between them as he initially thought. Monica wants to be immature? Fine. He already made his amends, it was entirely up to Monica what she wanted to do.
Rushing in and taking the seat next to Chandler's, Ross came in with his own dilemma– albeit not as serious, but enough to keep the boy in a frenzy, as not even the copious amount of hair-gel could keep Ross' hair slick in place.
"Chandler! Oh, thank god you're here!" He cried, holding Chandler's hands near his chest once he sat down.
"First time hearing those words."
Putting Chandler's self-deprecation aside, Ross pulled out a sleek black box and placed it on the table. "I looked everywhere for a gift for Rachel's dad. His birthday dinner is this Friday, and I have to make sure this gift is a good one. He already hates my guts."
"Well, let's take a look!" Chandler rubbed his hands together, as if awaiting a fancy meal.
Ross cleared his throat. "So, I decided to keep this a secret from Rachel, just so she can see how great of a boyfriend I am. First, I asked myself, what do you get for a man who has everything? I figured I should stray away from basic monetary gifts, perhaps give him something a bit more abstract or personalised– but then again, is it really my place to do something like that? I'm just his daughter's boyfriend, so by giving such a personal gift, I'd be-"
"-Hey, Ross? If you don't hurry this up, we'll have to plan for his next ten birthdays"
"Right! Sorry– I settled on something nice, but not too nice. Check this out." Ross summarised, and opened the box to reveal none other than a classy sage green tie.
To avoid having to crush this poor man's hopes– and also because the hilarity of the grand reveal coming this Friday was something he dreamed of witnessing– Chandler decided to say nothing other than "Good job."
With an eager smile, Ross tucked away the box for safekeeping. He ordered a coffee and geared the conversation away from himself.
"So, did you end up talking to that Elaine girl? From your office?"
Chandler wanted nothing more than a distraction. As much as he promises himself that he'll stop thinking about Monica, he always finds his mind running back to their hookup. Recently, it had been more than their hookup– if that was even possible. The idea of kissing her again and holding her close was stuck in his mind like a parasite, becoming stronger and stronger for each day he withheld from those urges. That deep desire to feel her again was just his broken libido acting up, and had nothing to do with Monica herself– obviously. If he can just score with another equally as beautiful girl, then he'll forget all about Monica.
"Well- I'm warming up to it. Waiting for the right moment."
"Oh yeah? When's that?" Ross asked, mixing the sugar into his coffee.
"When every other male dies and I'm the world's only hope for repopulation."
Ross chuckled. "Whatever helps you get over Carrie, man."
Chandler gets stuck on her name. "Carrie…right. Exactly."
Deep down, though, Chandler knew that Elaine wouldn't clear the fog in his brain. No woman could. He made the mistake of sleeping with a girl that no one could ever compete with– a girl who he had known for the better part of his life; had always stuck with him through the dark times; and made him feel desired when all he had known in that moment was betrayal. He could keep looking for that intimacy, but the truth was that Chandler dug himself a hole he could never fill. Forever, he'd chase the high of that Saturday night, but there was only one girl who could replicate that with him.