Monica Geller was finally in her freshman year of college. She had moved out of her parents' home and relished her new independent life. Semi-independent at least. Since she was only 18, her parents still helped her with money; her Dad insisted she focus on her school work. She appreciated that since her culinary classes could last five hours, plus the core classes she was taking, she didn't have much energy left for a job. So, yes, she was only semi-independent, but it didn't matter. Monica enjoyed being away from her parents, who tended to hound her about getting a boyfriend and comparing her to Ross or any other flaw her mother could find. She could still hear her mother's voice, 'Culinary school? Can't you go into a real profession like your brother?'Being free from that house was a breath of fresh air.

Thanksgiving break was in two weeks, and Monica was still debating whether she should go back home or stay on campus for the week. Being alone on campus wasn't ideal, but how could she go back to what she just escaped from? Her professors and chefs seemed to be trying to cram in as much work before the break that she barely had the time to make a decision. Walking back from her lab class in her chef uniform littered with the velouté sauce they had made, her hair started falling from the once neat bun it was tied in; she searched her key ring for her dorm key. When she made it to her dorm room, she read the very bold, angry-looking message left by her roommate on their whiteboard hanging outside the door.

"Monica, call your Mom!"

Monica grumbled in annoyance, not really wanting to talk to her mother about anything, especially not Thanksgiving in particular. She pushed the door open and put her keys in their designated spot by the door. Their dorm was spacious enough to comfortably move around, even if it was just one large room with a private bathroom. Her roommate looked up from her desk and sighed dramatically in relief.

"Thank God, your mom has been calling every hour since eight this morning," she groaned. "The desk had to come and get me every time because people were complaining."

"Did you tell her I was in class?" Monica knew the answer but felt she needed to ask anyway. She set down the knife set they were given for class on her desk and started unbuttoning her chef's coat.

"Of course I did! I told her you'd be back at eleven thirty and you'll call, but she refused to listen. I don't understand how you put up with her," she practically growled at her textbook.

Monica couldn't help but chuckle at her distress. Her roommate, Georgia, was typically well-tempered. They got along well. She wasn't sure they'd be best friends after school ended, and she had big plans to move to Europe after college, but they were close enough to be considered friends now.

What she really wanted to do was shower. She'd been in the kitchen since six this morning and felt disgusting. She had other homework to catch up on and finish before break, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk to her Mom. But regardless, she fixed her hair, putting it in a simple ponytail for the time being, and grabbed her keys again. "I'll go deal with it."

Monica made her way back down to the first floor and down the hall to the communal space where the phone was kept in a private corner. Unfortunately, someone was already using it, so she took the time to pick up a snack from the vending machine. Monica was still fixing her view on food. She had to remind herself that a snack isn't the end of the world. It was only last year that she lost a lot of weight when the bullying became too much to handle. She's always had such a deep appreciation for food and the ingredients it takes to make a good meal. Food was safe and comforting. She doesn't believe she's ever had a good relationship with food because she would eat and crave the comfort it gave when her mother was being, well, herself, and her father sometimes punished her by taking food away. Going into therapy last year helped. It helped her realize that the culinary field was perfect for her. Cooking gave her that solace. The part she loved the most was when she got to share that comfort with others. Cooking was her outlet, and being here only increased her appreciation of what it takes to make good food. Monica aspired to be a great chef who could cook those comforting foods and create meals that others would love as much as she does.

Monica looked at the bag of chips and couldn't stop herself from checking the nutritional information on the back. In her head, she reviewed what she had already eaten today. Two eggs and toast at breakfast, two bites of salmon with velouté sauce, and asparagus with lemon. Their dishes were shared between the class, otherwise she would've had more since it was just that good. A small bag of chips wouldn't hurt, since she hasn't had a proper lunch yet. She stalked over to one of the empty seats and waited for the phone to be available as she ate her chips in partial peace. (There was a group of guys at the foosball table getting way too into the game.)

She knew her Mom was only calling to bug her about the holiday when she still hadn't made a decision. Monica wondered how many terrible jokes and comments she would hear about her weight. When she told them she was going into culinary school, all they heard was that she was going into free food, binge-eating college. She briefly wondered if everyone else here had the same problem with their parents, but she assumed everyone else was lucky enough not to have cruel parents like hers.

The guy on the phone finally hung up, and she quickly headed over before anyone else could get to it. Monica picked up the phone and held it to her ear as she dialed the number to her parents' home. It took a few rings before there was an answer.

"Geller residence," Her Dad answered.

"Hey Dad," Monica smiled slightly at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Hi, Mon! It's nice to hear your voice again. You know your mother tried calling you earlier. She was worried you were avoiding her," her Dad said in a hushed tone.

"I was in class, Dad," She muttered, embarrassed. Monica knew her parents didn't think her classes were important, and talking to them about it felt humiliating most of the time.

"Oh, have you learned how to make spaghetti yet? You know, your mother has a great recipe, you could've learned from her," Her Dad commented, making her roll her eyes at his condescending tone.

Monica nervously started to pick at her nails to distract herself from the conversation. "We actually haven't… the class is Contemporary Restaurant Cooking, spaghetti isn't really considered contemporary-"

Her Dad Cut her off with disinterest, "That's nice. Here's your mother; she wants to talk to you."

"Hello Monica," her Mom greeted. She could hear her fake smile through the phone.

Monica sighed in frustration at her Dad before begrudgingly mumbling a greeting to her Mom. She listened to her talk about how amazing Ross was doing at his school and how he'd decided to go for a PhD. Oh, how proud they are of him. They couldn't believe how lucky they were. Monica rolled her eyes at her mother's boasting, tempted to just hang up.

"Ross is getting here on the Saturday before. When are you coming for Thanksgiving?" Her Mom asked.

It was time for her to make a decision. Either go home and deal with her family, or stay here on an empty campus except for staff. Thanksgiving was on a Thursday, so she supposed she didn't need to be there the entire week, although that would give them more ammunition against her since Ross would be there as soon as possible, apparently. If she didn't go, Monica knew she would never hear the end of it. No matter what she did, they would find a way to make her feel terrible. "I-I'll be there on that Sunday. I just have a few things to take care of before the break…"

"That's fine dear. I assume things at your food school are going well?" Her Mom asked.

"CulinarySchool, and yeah, Chef Crandall said I was the best in the class. I made an amazing seared tuna yesterday that she loved. She's the toughest grader, so I was determined to impress her," Monica smiled at her personal achievement. Sure, it wasn't getting a PhD, but they didn't understand how challenging this place could be. They strived for perfection,and Monica worked hard to give that to them.

"That's nice…" Monica tried to ignore her bored tone and was caught off guard by the next question. "Have you found a boyfriend yet?"

"Uh-" Monica hesitated. She didn't have the time to meet a guy yet. It was only her first semester, after all. She's been to a few parties with Georgia and the typical new student fairs, but a boyfriend? She's never had one before.

"We assumed since you lost all that weight last year, it would be easier for you," her mother added, already disappointed that she hadn't even answered. Ross is bringing his girlfriend Carol to Thanksgiving. Isn't that lovely?"

Monica's jaw clenched at the unnecessary comment. Her weight was never holding her back, she never had the confidence to go up to guys big or small. Three guesses why her confidence was so low. She just wished she had something to throw back at her. To prove that she was just as valuable as Ross. There was no thought behind what she said next. "I do actually have a boyfriend. I'm bringing him with me. Did I not mention it before?"

She was thankful they were only on the phone because Monica smacked her forehead with regret as soon as she said it.

"No, you didn't," her mother said, sounding as surprised as she felt. "What's his name?"

"Why don't we just waituntil I can introduce him properly when I—I mean,weget there?" she said quickly, her mind scrambling to find a solution.

"Oh, all right then. I can't wait to meet him." Monica could hear the skepticism in her voice, making her cringe.

"Right, well, I better go… There's a line for the phone, so" Monica lied as panic started to build, the more she thought about this boyfriend she didn't have.

"Okay, dear. I'll see you soon, with your boyfriend," her Mom said, adding salt into this stinging wound.

Monica said a rushed goodbye before hanging up the phone. She didn't have a clue about how to get a boyfriend in two weeks who would be willing to spend a week with her family. All she could do was panic and go back to her dorm room.

She slammed the door a bit harder than she intended, forcing Georgia to look up at the sudden noise. "What happened?"

"I'm so stupid! My Mom asked if I had a boyfriend, and what do I say? 'Yes, of course! I'm bringing him to Thanksgiving!' What am I supposed to do now!?" Monica shouted in a panic. She sat at her desk with a miserable groan, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh God, you really are stupid," Georgia said, more out of pity than insult. "You know who you could ask? Will down the hall, he's a total man whore, he'll do anything for a chance."

"And then what? He'll expect something in return, and I'm not exactly keen on giving him what he wants," Monica muttered. She tried to think of all the guys she knew here, and they were either taken or going to their own families for the holiday already. "Is there like a number I could call and hire somebody?"

Georgia smirked slightly and laughed, "There are if you want to hire a prostitute who's double your age."

She sighed, looking at her desk and the pile of homework she needed to do. There was no easy way out of this. Even if she just called back and told the truth, her Mom wouldn't hesitate to laugh in her face at her pathetic attempt to have something of interest in her life. There was a full two weeks until she needed this sorted. Even if she had to ask the first man she saw on the train home, she would be bringing someone to Thanksgiving.