A/N Thank you to everyone who is still reading and for the many lovely words of encouragement - very much appreciated!
This is a bit of an angsty one I'm afraid, but I hope that by the end you'll like how things are set up for the next chapter.
Stupid. Selfish. Reckless.
What on earth had she been thinking?
All of this time spent fantasizing about his lips, his fingertips, longing to feel his arms wrapped around her, dreaming of drawing him in deep.
As if that moment of bodily connection represented the absolute pinnacle, when really, giving in to that temptation would only be the beginning.
What happens after that?
Had she actually considered Chandler at all?
Thought about what she could offer him beyond her hot mouth and yearning flesh?
It was not that she did not want to offer more, she adored him, and in another life maybe they might have explored this.
In another time and another place she could have offered him the world.
She had been living in some dreamlike state for weeks now; believing that it was possible to exile the best parts of herself to a sublime land of make-believe where the two of them could exist forever, sustained by spine-tingling secret smiles, electrifying touches, and embraces that made her melt.
But in all that time she had never once stopped to seriously consider what it would mean to leave Richard.
Stone-cold reality.
Where would she even go?
Did she really think she could appear at Chandler's apartment door with a suitcase and a dog, citing intense eye-contact and lascivious thoughts as reasons that he and Joey should accept a new lodger?
Would she spend her nights lying in a heap of shame on a sofa at her brother's place, or at Rachel and Phoebe's, until she eventually exhausted their patience and goodwill?
She doubted that she had the financial wherewithal to find a new apartment of her own with any particular ease; places that were decent, dog-friendly and affordable were as rare as hens' teeth in New York City.
No, she would most likely end up back in Long Island, festering in her childhood home, attempting to put the broken pieces of herself back together whilst cowering beneath the judgmental raised eyebrows of friends and neighbors as they gloated that they had always known her marriage would never last; and worst of all, trying not to drown in the deluge of disappointment that would inevitably rain down like a monsoon from her mother.
Square One.
Actually, Square Minus Ten.
Because this time around she would not be a slightly gawky and naive nineteen year old with a pretty face and enough pluck and optimism to take on the world.
This time she would be an almost thirty year old divorcee with a dodgy ankle, who was quite honestly wiped out.
A catastrophic failure.
And for what?
Was she really going to end a marriage on the basis of butterflies in her tummy and shivers down her spine?
Fundamentally, nothing had changed. She wanted what she had always wanted, didn't she? A strong and healthy relationship, a family of her own. And she was so close in so many ways.
The idea that she could possibly give up on having that with Richard; the man she had already promised to love and cherish until her dying day; and just insert her wonderful but skittish best friend into her life plan instead was beyond laughable.
There was no reason for her to believe that Chandler even wanted anything like that with her, and it would be completely unreasonable of her to presume it.
Even if by some miracle he had decided to cast aside his phobia of commitment and envisaged a meaningful future relationship, who was to say that it would work? They had no idea of their compatibility beyond their solid friendship.
This exhilarating physical compulsion that suddenly existed between them could simply vanish into the ether just as quickly as it appeared, and Monica, of all people, knew only too well that even feelings that felt certain and eternal, were not necessarily so.
Chandler's lack of enthusiasm for a date with this Sophie girl, followed by his intoxicating display of desire for Monica, had made her realize that what she was doing was not fair:
She was keeping him dangling on a string, enticing him towards her web of fantasy with flirtatious glances and provocative smirks but offering him nothing tangible in return; Basking in his attentive affection but continuing to sleep in the bed of another man; Distracting Chandler from finding his own rightful path to happy ever after.
He deserved so much better than he was getting from her.
And so did Richard, for that matter.
He was a kind, decent man who loved her.
A significant chasm might have developed in their bond, but as soon as that rupture began to appear, as his wife she should have toiled tirelessly and diligently, for as long as it took to repair it. Instead she had retreated into delusion and turned her wanton attentions elsewhere.
After a night of thrashing restlessly in her sheets, her skin slick with sweat, and tears of both self-loathing and self-pity cascading intermittently down her cheeks, Monica knew what she had to do to make it right.
But she also knew that doing so would break her heart.
She was glad when Chandler phoned her that morning. She had no idea how she could possibly have done what she needed to do face to face, such was the obliterating intensity of the need that overwhelmed her whenever she fell into the azure of his eyes.
Even the sound of his voice on the phone caused her unruly heart to give a defiant skip.
"Hey Mon, listen, I'm really sorry about yesterday, I got totally carried away and I must have made you feel so uncomfortable..."
"Chandler..." she tried uselessly to interrupt the apology she had neither earned nor required, but he continued in earnest.
"I really think we need to talk about stuff... I mean, not now, not over the phone, but later maybe? Can I see you?"
"It's fine. There's nothing to talk about. We just need to forget it and move on" she told him stiffly.
He took pause and she imagined kissing away the concern she could picture on his brow.
"Look, I'll try to get out of work for a while and come over later, OK? But for now, can you please give me Richard's work number? I need to cancel this exhibition thing and I don't want to leave it so late that the girl can't find someone else to go with. I'm just going to tell Richard I'm sick I think... "
"You should go out with her." Monica croaked softly as the first of her quiet tears rolled a slow and solitary trail down her cheek.
There was more silence on the line followed by a loud, frustrated sigh.
"I already told you Monica, I don't want to go. Can I please have the number?"
His stubborn response helped her out somewhat, as it kick-started her God-given instinct to dig in her own heels and stand firm in her decisions.
"I mean it, Chandler. There is no good reason for you not to give this date a try. She sounds great. She might be good for you." Monica spoke more bravely now, her voice betraying only the slightest waver, yet two more hot salty teardrops stained her skin.
"There's actually one really good reason" he refuted with a gruff scoff, "And like you said yesterday, it's not up to you, is it? It's my choice, and I don't want to go out with her."
"Well you should," she snapped, "Don't use me as an excuse not to take a chance. In fact, don't think about me at all. I already made my choice. Remember?"
Another stinging silence ensued.
"Look, I know yesterday freaked you out Mon, but you don't have to be like this; we can figure this out."
Tendrils of hurt spiraled from the receiver and sought to curl their way around her heart, contorting Monica's face accordingly.
"Chandler, whatever this... weirdness is, that's been going on between us? You know as well as I do that it has to stop. Now. Before people get hurt."
"What, so you're telling me that you're not hurting already?" he demanded hotly before a long exhale softened his tone once more, "You're unhappy, Monica. You can deny it all you like, but I know that you are. And it's OK to admit that, you know? It's OK to accept that maybe... you made a mistake. It's not too late to change things that aren't right, I know it won't be easy, but you deserve to be happy, and you shouldn't settle for less!"
Monica had not predicted such brutal candor and it momentarily sucked the wind from her sails.
Being read in this way, being given unsolicited advice when she had just convinced herself that she finally had it all figured out made her skin bristle.
"Richard's not "less"" she whispered, "He's a good husband and a good man."
Her solemn eyes were glistening and tense as she awaited Chandler's response, and she heard him swallow hard and take a steadying inhale.
"That's not what I'm saying" he mumbled "This isn't about him, it's about you. What you need."
"Of course it's about him! He's my husband, Chandler! My entire life is tied up with his. My whole future. We're trying to start a family together for God's sake!
I can't just throw all of that away for a... teenage pipe-dream! I'm not going to walk out on everything I've worked so hard for and go right back to where I started!
Worse than where I started, in fact, because I'm ten years older and I'll be carrying so much baggage! If I turn my back on this marriage, I'll have nothing. I'll be at rock bottom."
Every pause felt more excruciating than the last, and she squeezed her eyes tight shut and cradled her face in her hand.
"Is that really all that you see? Nothing? Rock bottom?" he asked in a voice so small and defeated she had to move the phone away from her face to stifle the sob she was sure he must still have been able to hear.
She had no words left.
The line crackled with nothing but anguish for what felt like an eternity.
"That's not what I see," he stated simply, before conceding defeat.
"But I get it. I'll see you later".
As 6.30 approached Monica began to wonder if Chandler had actually made good on his threat to cancel the date, and the desperate part of her she was determined to smother hoped that was the case.
But then came his signature rhythmic knock on the door. It was a sound that had signalled the arrival of so much joy of late, but this time around it made her stomach lurch.
She welcomed him wordlessly, glad that Tilly was dancing around their feet as it gave them both a little focus beyond their mutual awkwardness.
For the first time in a long time there was no hug.
"I should put her in the kitchen in case Sophie doesn't like dogs" Monica murmured as she urged Tilly away from Chandler's strokes, "I uh...wasn't sure if you'd gone ahead and cancelled."
Chandler eyed her soberly, searching for any hidden meaning concealed within her statement.
"You said you wanted me to go out with her, and I didn't want to piss off Richard, so I thought I might as well go." He looked down at his foot as it scuffed uneasily against the patterned rug beneath his feet "It's just an exhibition, it's not like it's a big deal."
"I also wondered if you might come round a little earlier" she mentioned hoarsely.
"Well, you made it pretty clear that you wanted some space."
His eyes fixed hers with a sudden shocking intensity.
"But we're not done with this, Monica".
Monica did not have time to breathe, much less react, as the sound of voices in the hall and the rattle of the door indicated the arrival of Richard and his friend's niece, and she and Chandler swung around in preparation to greet them.
As she held out a gracious hand to welcome Sophie to her home, Monica could not even bring herself to glance in Chandler's direction.
She was beyond convinced that his eyes would be out on stalks, his jaw on the floor, and that inwardly, at least a small part of him would be eagerly awaiting the opportunity to gloat to Ross and Joey about this most fortuitous of blind dates.
The woman was drop dead gorgeous: Tall and willowy, with wide green eyes, full rosy lips and sculpted cheekbones to rival Monica's own.
Her hair was a mass of soft, dark blonde curls that bounced attractively around her shoulders as she approached to take Monica's hand.
When Monica looked towards Richard, she could not help but feel that he was enjoying parading this girl around like some kind of prize show pony.
Despite Monica's insistence that Chandler should go through with this date, a part of her had been desperately hoping that this whole thing would be short lived.
It was not that she was wishing for a disaster, but she did not quite know how she would cope watching him fall hard for another woman. Not right now. Her poor confused heart needed to be eased softly and gently back into a world where it knew that Chandler did not belong to her.
But this woman was a vision so spectacular, she seemed like the type that might easily provoke an instant searing golden arrow from Cupid's bow.
Secretly and selfishly, Monica been hoping that Sophie would resemble that much overused stereotype of Britishness, that she would carry the air of clipped aristocracy one might encounter in a Hugh Grant movie, that her accent would be so plummy and posh that it would leave Chandler feeling gauche and over-awed.
But despite her considerable beauty, there was nothing remotely intimidating about Sophie. She seemed every bit as likeable as Richard had suggested.
Her ready, wide smile exuded an easy and natural warmth that even Monica found herself a little charmed by, despite her significant envy-driven bias.
"Hi Monica, it's so lovely to finally meet you." Sophie greeted her with a twinkly-eyed, white-toothed grin, but Monica barely had time to respond before Richard began to steer the woman in Chandler's direction.
Monica watched nervously, convinced she could see an approving sparkle in the woman's crystalline eyes as she drank him in.
"Hi Chandler."
His name sounded fantastic emerging from her lips. There was something lilting and melodious about the way she spoke, presumably with some regional dialect that Monica was unfamiliar with. She would have liked to ask her where she was from, and might have done so, if it was not for the fact she felt so utterly nauseated.
She still could not bring herself to turn and gauge Chandler's response.
"Thanks so much for offering to come along to the exhibition. You must think I'm a right sad case not to be able to find anybody to go with me!"
Her rueful chuckle was as mellifluous as her voice.
"Are you a fan of Fellini?"
"Well, I haven't seen a lot of his work.." Chandler began evenly.
Monica finally turned to look at him in order to splutter an incredulous laugh "That's an understatement!"
"Hey! I've seen some of his stuff!" Chandler refuted, firing her a mildly amused glare, relieved to have finally made eye contact, even if it was a gaze full of ridicule.
"Oh please! Name one!" Monica challenged, only half joking, "I don't know a lot about Fellini myself, but I'm pretty sure he didn't direct a single Die Hard movie, or Beavis and Butt-Head Do America"
Sophie let out a hearty laugh, clearly enjoying their banter, as Chandler shot his friend a sarcastic smirk.
"Thank you for that Monica."
He turned back to Sophie and told her apologetically, "I've only seen La Dolce Vita"
Monica did nothing to hide her skepticism, suspecting that even this might be a lie, but it suddenly occurred to her that he might have done some cursory research ahead of this date in the name of impressing Sophie, and she felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest.
She only realized that her wince must have been discernible when Chandler raised an inquiring eyebrow in her direction, and she looked quickly away.
"You can't beat a bit of Die Hard!" Sophie told him pleasantly, gracing him with another megawatt beam "Funnily enough, my dissertation was about the representation of masculinity in 80s action movies, and John McClane featured a lot!"
Chandler gave a cordially interested smile that caused a knot of jealousy to tighten deep in Monica's gut and another churlish interjection flew from her lips.
"I don't think Chandler sees much beyond the explosions"
She felt immediately mean and embarrassed, and her shame was only exacerbated when Richard eyed her coolly and offered a light rebuke.
"Come on honey, I think Chandler's a lot more sophisticated than you give him credit for."
"Nah, she's right." Chandler admitted, his eyes landing on Monica with undeserved gentleness, "I'm all about the explosions."
"Well they're good explosions, to be fair," Sophie conceded, with what Monica perceived to be a mildly flirtatious smirk "That plane crash in Die Hard 2 is one of the best I've seen!"
Monica looked down at her feet, her ability to regulate her emotions was depleting by the second, and she found herself fighting back a bitter sting of tears.
"Fellini's not so great on the explosions front I'm afraid," Sophie continued with a wry grin and another ribald chuckle, "But his films are beautifully shot, and they usually feature a fair few good-looking, busty Italian women too, so hopefully there'll be something for everyone!"
"Well, that I can always get on board with!" Chandler looked pleasantly surprised by the boldness of her remark and Monica could tell that his laugh was both appreciative and genuine.
His apparent enjoyment of the woman's humor tore at Monica's heart so viciously that it took her breath away.
Being forced to observe a purely physical, flash in the pan, attraction would have been one thing, but the idea that Chandler might actually like this woman was pure agony.
Of course he liked her.
Monica liked her too. Or at least she would have done, under different circumstances.
She felt her skin become clammy as Richard's eyes burned into her, scrutinizing her every reaction.
She chewed hard on her cheeks before looking up and meeting his gaze, determined not to let her chin wobble as it wished to.
"Why don't I fix us all some drinks? Anyone for an Old Fashioned? " he proposed cheerfully.
"Not for me, thank you. In fact, I actually have a bit of a headache... I'm sorry, but I might have to lie down for a while..."
In reality, it was the awful dull ache that throbbed relentlessly in her chest that was dragging at Monica, and she was suddenly desperate to be left alone.
"Well... maybe we should take off now Sophie? If you're ready?" Chandler proposed, his concerned eyes gravitating towards Monica. "We can grab a drink someplace near the gallery if we're early"
"Sounds great," Sophie agreed with an affable smile before turning around sympathetically "It was good to meet you Monica, I hope your headache clears up".
"Thank you. I hope you enjoy the exhibition", Monica managed to return a muttered courtesy.
Chandler's gaze flickered towards Richard with a certain amount of defiance as he approached Monica and wrapped his arms around her with an unselfconscious affection that offered brief respite to her soul.
Her own arms remained limp at her sides, too afraid to return his embrace, worried that she might struggle to let go.
"I hope you feel better, Mon," he told her softly.
As he drew back she could feel him trying to engage her in eye contact but she was too afraid for that too.
Later that evening, Richard pushed the bedroom door ajar and padded softly inside, the light from the hall spilling gently across the room.
Monica's "lie down" had melted into bedtime, and he stood for a moment just looking at her, or at least the tight shroud of blankets that enveloped her, as she lay balled up in the corner of their king-size bed.
"I wonder how they're getting on?" he asked provocatively, "Chandler and Sophie, I mean. They looked great together didn't they? They really seemed to like each other."
He felt immediately ashamed for having said it. There was no need to rub her nose in it.
Monica did not react at all, and he wondered for a moment if she might be asleep, but her breathing appeared too fast and shallow for that to be the case.
Richard's own mind was awash with emotion:
Guilt, that he had played his part in the pain she was so clearly experiencing; but also an angry kind of hurt, that she was allowing Chandler Bing to cause her any pain at all.
However he was sure that her moping would all be worth it in the end, if this date was able to provide the merest trace of hope that they might be able to put this all behind them.
With any luck, seeing Chandler walking out into the night with another woman might have been the reality check Monica needed.
It was not that Richard believed for a second that Chandler and Sophie would fall immediately in love and head off into the sunset together, she was way out of his league and the guy was notoriously terrible with women after all.
But perhaps they would have a little fun together.
And it might make Monica accept the truth: That no matter how indispensable Chandler had made himself seem these past few weeks, his head could be turned by the affections of another pretty girl in a heartbeat. He would not stay single and pining forever.
Chandler was not Monica's, and Monica was not his.
Richard began to undress, folding his discarded clothes and placing them neatly on the chair in the corner of the room.
"The Stevensons have invited us out to their place in The Hamptons on Tuesday evening, by the way. Michael and I have a meeting on Wednesday, he offered to overhaul our entire brand and revamp our marketing strategy; so I thought we could stay over there Tuesday night, and then you can hang out with Linda while I work."
"That's the opening night of Joey's play," Monica pointed out glumly "I told him we'd be there".
"Well, this is a pretty important meeting, honey. Michael is good at what he does and he'll give us a great deal. He'll save the practice a fortune. We can see the play another night. I doubt it'll sell out".
Monica did not have the energy to argue. At this point in time it seemed unlikely that either a play or a dinner would feel sufficiently appealing to rouse her from the safety of her bed.
Richard slowly climbed beneath the sheets, spooning his body around hers and gently peeling away the blankets so that he could access her a little better.
As he brushed her hair to one side and pressed his face into her neck, his touch disturbed the ghost of the kisses that Chandler's lips had scorched on that very same skin just yesterday; and a small, pained whimper escaped from Monica's throat.
But still, she took her husband's hand in her own. Today had left her bruised and shaken, and she was glad of the comfort of warm, familiar arms.
"How's the headache?" he asked in a low voice.
"Still pounding" she whispered hoarsely.
"That's too bad," he mused, moving his mouth to the top of her spine and beginning to pepper increasingly lustful kisses across her shoulder blades, removing his hand from hers and bringing it to her shoulder, his fingers applying gentle pressure as he attempted to coax her resistant body out of its furled fetal tangle.
"Richard..." she warned, the imminence of yet more tears quivering in her voice, "I'm really not in the mood."
He sighed and rolled onto his back before shuffling grumpily away to the far side of the bed.
"Fair enough."
Monica wrapped her own arms more tightly around her torso. Despite not wanting sex she would have quite liked to have remained ensconced in his embrace, but she did not really know how to ask him for such things anymore.
"Where are we at ovulation wise anyway? You haven't mentioned it in weeks. Any particular reason for that?"
Richard's pithy inquiry landed like an unexpected slap in the face.
She did not think that he had ever been the one to instigate such conversation before and his tone felt accusatory to say the least.
Her head whipped angrily over her shoulder as she stared incredulously through the dimness of the room.
"Oh my God! Let's revisit the past few weeks shall we? At which point of me being knocked unconscious and then lying in a hospital bed, unable to move should I have brought up ovulation, Richard? I'm very sorry if my torn ligaments and concussion put a crimp in your sex life, but I've had other things on my mind!"
"Don't I know it!"
His loaded snarl prompted her lips to clamp together with guilt.
He raised himself up onto his elbows and regarded her cautiously, "I just think we should start to get things back on track again. I assume you still... want that."
Of course she did. Didn't she? She'd always wanted that.
Monica's thoughts began to distort and scatter and she could feel her breath becoming labored and rapid. She could not wrap her head around much of anything now, not when she felt so completely consumed by what felt very much like grief.
"I..of course I...look I can't talk about this right now, Richard! My head feels so...full! I can't even think straight" she gasped "I need to rest.I just need to... get over everything; the accident and ... this...this headache."
She absorbed his embittered silence for a moment as she struggled to calm her breathing and allowed the painful chaos of her mind to drag her back inside, the brine of continuous silent tears dampening the blankets that hid her face from the world.
It was Sunday evening and Richard was dining alone, going through his diary for the week ahead with Tilly curled up at his feet, her sleeping form warming his toes.
The little dog flinched and her eyes shot open in alarm when he snapped his diary closed rather more firmly than necessary and gave a loud, bad-tempered sigh.
Monica had barely emerged from the bedroom all weekend; supposedly still blighted by her imaginary headache; and her maudlin display of anguish was beginning to wear pretty thin with Richard.
He could not help but feel wildly offended that she was not even attempting to shield him from her lovesick melancholy. He had expected more stoicism from her than this. She was not generally prone to this kind of dramatic attention seeking, in fact her fortitude was one of the attributes that had attracted him to her right back at the beginning of their relationship.
He had already threatened to call out a doctor, hoping that might snap her out of her histrionics. It was a tactic that had always worked on Michelle when she was a teenager.
And Monica was behaving like some broken-hearted adolescent after all: Barely eating, ignoring all phone calls, her eyes constantly puffy, her expression full of woe. It was all so pathetic he could scream.
His eyes fell on a piece of paper that poked out from the pages of his closed diary. He knew exactly what it was even before he removed it and set it down on the table. He had been staring at it periodically for weeks. A phone number he still needed to call.
Dr. Caroline Palmer.
Richard's head felt full to capacity right now, what with work being so busy, Monica's accident and subsequent issues, so he was reluctant to add to his burden by taking this particular bull by the horns; but in is heart of hearts he knew he could not avoid it for much longer.
And Monica's current behaviour was actually pushing him to act. They could not carry on like this.
He should bite the bullet. Maybe he would call her tomorrow.
His thoughts led his gaze to drift subconsciously towards the phone, and he leaped out of his skin when it suddenly jumped to life with a loud ring, and Tilly was sent scarpering from the room in a fright.
Richard grimaced and rolled his eyes dejectedly as he answered the call and heard a familiar voice.
"Hey Richard, it's Phoebe. Is Mon any better?"
"Hi Phoebe. She's still in her room I'm afraid." he confirmed.
"Still? I've gotta say, we're all getting pretty worried, Richard. Not one of us has heard from her all weekend! Chandler said he left four messages on your machine and Ross said he left a couple too..."
Richard was beginning to get the distinct impression that her friends suspected he was in some way responsible for Monica's refusal to return their calls.
"I know. I've asked her to call them" he replied stiffly.
"It's just not like her. What's going on? Do you think it's something to do with the concussion? Does she need to see a doctor?"
"I don't know, Phoebe. I offered to call a doctor" he replied a little defensively "Look, just hold on for a moment, I'll see if I can get her to speak with you."
He stalked towards the bedroom with the phone in his hand, bursting noisily through the door, suddenly quite determined to drag his wife from her wallowing.
"Monica, Phoebe's on the phone. Can you please speak to her? Just to provide proof of life if nothing else. There are about twenty messages for you on the machine now. People are starting to get worried."
Richard held a hand over the receiver as he addressed his wife sternly, increasingly irritated by her pining and more than a little tired of fending off calls from her persistent friends.
Monica sullenly acquiesced, pulling herself up to sit as she quietly greeted Phoebe, her voice somewhat rasping after not having spoken more than a few words in a number of days.
"Hey Mon!" Forever sunny Phoebe sounded delighted to hear her friend's voice, "Are you feeling any better? We've all been really worried about you. Do you think you should speak to a doctor about this headache? "
"No Phoebe... I'm fine...I'll be alright. It's starting to ease off now, I think.." Monica managed a hesitant, unconvincing reply.
"Oh that's so good to hear! You're still gonna come along to Joey's play, right? If you're better?" Phoebe asked hopefully, "It would be great to hang out. I haven't seen you in so long!"
Monica's eyes drifted closed, "I don't know if I can come. Richard has been invited to some important dinner in the Hamptons, so we may have to go to that instead".
"Do you have to go to that?" Phoebe sounded disappointed, "I was just about to let you know that Chandler gave Richard's play ticket away to Sophie, so it actually works out pretty well that he has other plans. Chandler said he didn't think Richard would mind missing it... "
Monica felt her ribs compress, the confirmation that Sophie was still on the scene crushing her like an iron weight. She could not quite believe that Chandler could be quite so callous as to gift her husband's ticket to Sophie, knowing that would mean that Monica would be forced to socialize with him and his new flame all alone.
She gulped as she dared to probe further into the subject she knew she could no longer avoid.
"So, it's all going well with Sophie then?"
"Oh yeah!"
Phoebe's immediate enthusiasm felt like a punch in the gut.
"She is so great! I can't believe how the two of them have hit it off, she hardly left Bedford Street all weekend. Man, you should see him! He is one smitten kitten! "
"That's... really great," Monica's response grated painfully against her dry throat as her heart plummeted into the bile that curdled in the pit of her stomach.
She wasn't ready for this. Not by a long chalk.
Her breathing became panicked and she coughed back a cry that had potential to bleed into a wail.
"Listen Phoebe, I really don't think I'm going to make that play. Can you please apologize to Joey for me?.."
"Oh, please come, Mon! Rachel's already saying she's not going, because of the whole Sophie thing; she'll definitely bale if you do!" Phoebe begged.
Monica pressed her teary eyes closed as she shook her head in confusion "What do you mean? Rachel doesn't like Sophie?"
She could not really understand why somebody as easygoing as Rachel would have taken against someone as amenable as Sophie, but she could not say that the idea of friction between them did not please her somewhat.
"Well, I don't think she dislikes her. It's just that whole thing, you know? I mean, Rachel always struggles a little when he falls hard for somebody new. "
Monica's pause was long and baffled
"She does?"
"Yuh-huh!" Phoebe met her friend's bewilderment with incredulity.
"Since when does Rachel care who Chandler dates?" Monica's tear-filled eyes were suddenly bright with intrigue as she sat bolt upright.
"Wait... You haven't spoken to Rachel have you." Phoebe confirmed rhetorically, a look of comprehension solidifying on her face.
"No... "
"And you haven't spoken to Chandler? Or Ross?"
Monica tutted and rolled her eyes impatiently "No Phoebe! I haven't spoken to anybody. I'm speaking to you! What's going on?"
Phoebe took a deep breath before explaining, her tone revealing a hint of glee that she was the one to be able to impart this important piece of gossip.
"OK, so the night Chandler took Sophie to MoMA? Ross and I were having pizza and beers over at his place. Chandler called us up out of the blue, and said that as soon as he met Sophie he just knew that she and Ross would get along, so after the exhibition they cancelled their dinner plans and they came back to Ross's place and hung out with us instead, and... Chandler was right."
She could hear Phoebe's shrug, and the wave of relief that began to wash over Monica was so heavenly that it might have inspired a throng of angels to sing their celestial praises to the Lord.
"The four of us had a great night together, Sophie and Ross really hit it off, and they've been pretty much inseparable ever since."
"That's so great!" Monica breathlessly exclaimed, her voice aquiver, and her feather light soul floating blissfully towards the ceiling.
"For Ross, I mean. Obviously, I can understand why it's difficult for Rachel."
Phoebe's glad tidings continued to surge through Monica's veins like some opioid substitute, curbing her withdrawal symptoms in a way that felt quite divine, but at the same time stimulating an insatiable need for an authentic hit of what her heart truly desired.
"Please come to the play?" Phoebe reiterated "Rachel and I really want you to be there."
Every muscle in Monica's body relaxed and her eyes rolled back with the kind of rapture one can only experience after an extended period of unbearable tension.
She had neither the will nor the way to resist her one big temptation.
"OK, I'll be there. I really want to see you too.
All of you."
"Oh hey, you're up!" Richard looked up in surprise as his wife appeared like a spectre at the door, and he placed a secretive palm over the phone number that lay in front of him on the table.
"How's Phoebe? Everything OK?"
"She's good," Monica assured, smoothing her hair with her fingers "Listen, about Tuesday, I think I'm gonna go to Joey's play. I haven't seen Phoebe and Rachel for ages, and I want to be there to support Joey."
Richard looked immediately annoyed "Monica, I told you, I have to go to this dinner -"
"That's fine! You go to your dinner! You don't need me there do you?" Monica swallowed hard, knowing full well that her next shred of truth would transform his demeanor.
"Chandler gave your play ticket to Sophie anyway, he didn't think you'd mind."
Just as she had predicted, Richard's head swung around, interest well and truly piqued.
"So the date went well then?"
Monica nodded slowly, "According to Phoebe, Sophie is a big hit. In fact, it sounds like she's been a permanent fixture on Bedford Street this weekend..."
She knew she was getting carried away with her deceptive honesty when she added
""Smitten" was the word Phoebe used"
Richard examined her dispassionate face with hopeful curiosity.
"And you're happy with that? I mean... I know how close you two are. I'm sure your approval means a lot to him"
"Of course" Monica confirmed with neutral satisfaction "Sophie's great."
"And I love to see him happy."
Richard's eyebrows twitched in slight bewilderment and his lips tugged upwards as he felt gripped by an immediate sense of triumph.
He smiled thoughtfully at his wife as he smoothly slid Caroline's number into his pocket. Perhaps he need not call her quite so urgently after all.
"So you're happy for me to go to the Hamptons for the night? While you go to the play?"
An ecstatic inferno raged in Monica's core but her face remained inscrutably staid.
"I'm very happy", she affirmed.