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Ten minutes, then it was twenty, and suddenly, thirty minutes had passed, and Monica was still alone in this booth. Her date, who had gone through the lengths of asking her out to this very restaurant and telling her how excited he was for their dinner, didn’t show up, and Monica had the grim feeling that he wasn’t going to any time soon. The waiter made his rounds, repeatedly asking Monica if she would like to order, but she was well-mannered above all.
“I’ll wait. He’s almost here, I bet.” She said each and every time, with a smile, and waved the waiter away.
But the people in the surrounding tables all noticed that the girl in the red dress had been sitting alone for half an hour. She saw their apologetic looks, and it only encouraged her to stay longer. To prove them all, and herself, wrong. Except that it’s been thirty minutes and she was nurturing the same glass of water since she arrived.
She picked at her cuticles, scraping the skin just carefully enough not to draw blood but enough to keep herself calm. Normally, Monica doesn’t struggle with anxiety in public spaces, but she’d been waiting forever and ever for a real relationship and trudging through one bad night after another. Going home now would be adding another defeat to her long list. Everyone at the surrounding tables knew this too, just by seeing the morose look on her face. So, she’d stay for another ten minutes, because he’s sure to come, right?
Just as she had made that promise to herself, rapid footsteps came rushing behind her, and suddenly, she saw none other than Chandler swinging around the booth and falling into the seat across from hers, her glass of water shaking from the sudden weight against the table. His hair in a frenzy, a light shade of pink across his face as he regained his breath. Once he finally came to, he huffed out, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Sorry I’m late. Traffic’s a mess.”
Confused, Monica didn’t respond right away. She looked him up and down; he was dressed for the occasion, a dark grey blazer unbuttoned to reveal his light blue tie. If they weren’t before, then the other tables were definitely staring at her now. She leaned forward, and whispered harshly, “What are you doing here, Chandler?”
“You’re supposed to be on a date tonight, right?” He asked. “I’m here to save the day.”
How he knew that she’d been stood up was beyond her. Maybe, his plan was to wreck her night and embarrass her, perhaps some dumb joke Joey put him up to after he lost at foosball. She didn’t believe Chandler would do such a thing, part of her even felt guilty for even thinking that, but she can’t think of any other reason why he’d come stumbling into that seat.
“Well, my date’s in the bathroom, he’ll be back in any minute.” She said with folded arms, intending not to give him any sort of satisfaction by admitting how awful her night has been. She paid one last glance to the restaurant door. “...He could be here any minute.”
He raised a single skeptical eyebrow. “I’m willing to bet he’s not here.”
A beat of silence went by, and Monica surrendered. It was no use hiding the obvious. “I guess you win, then.” She slid one of the untouched menus towards him, slouching into her seat.
He picked it up eagerly and began flipping through the pages. “So whatever I order, it’s on you?”
“It’s barely been five minutes, and you’re already breaking the rules of a date.”
“Okay, okay, fine! You’re right!” He said in a panic, “I’m a gentleman.” He dug his hands around his pockets, before unearthing a green bill and winking, “A gentleman with a 50.”
“You realize all these people are going to think that you’re an asshole who made me wait a half-hour, right?”
He shrugged. “Eh, it’s better than being the asshole who never showed up.”
Monica found his performance sort of endearing; she was grateful that he didn’t resort to making fun of her situation, despite how many jokes he was sure to have thought of already. What she expected when she woke up this morning was for a nice guy to take her out for dinner, and to help distract her for a night if not well-suited for a long-term relationship. The man sitting in front of her wasn’t far from that expectation, so she’d entertain his act for a little longer. Just so that she wouldn’t have to call this a bad night.
“Really, what are you doing here? How’d you know I’d be alone?” As if he could see into the future.
Chandler shifted around in his seat nervously, “I didn’t! I was…on a walk. Nearby.” His eyes darted around to the second glass of water on the table, still full, presumably for Monica’s date. She slid that towards him too, but the ice had already melted.
“A walk? This late at night?”
“Of course. Fitness is very important.”
“Right…” She continued her interrogation. “Because you always go on walks at night, in a suit.”
He looked down at his clothes, shocked, like he didn’t know what he was wearing. “...they say the stiffness burns more calories.”
His excuse was lousy, and clearly fake. Chandler wasn’t the best at lying. He was good at sarcasm, which is almost like lying, so Monica always found it odd how quick he crumbled whenever he was dishonest. When he lies, he breaks eye contact and looks for something to do with his hands, like wiping away the condensation of another man’s glass of water. Sometimes he’d scratch his nose— exactly as he did just now, while Monica thought of why Chandler felt the need to lie to her, or why he thought she wouldn’t figure him out.
“You really think I’m stupid enough to believe that?”
He opened his mouth, about to continue his charade, but all that came out was a heavy sigh. “Okay, well, the truth is…a lot more sad. And pathetic.”
“Ooo, my favourite kind of truth.” She grinned, sipping on her straw.
He leaned in closer, both elbows resting on the table, the pose of a man in defeat. “I also happened to have a date tonight.” There was a hint of hesitance in his voice, his gaze was stuck on the table beneath their arms, which in a way, reminded Monica of herself. “And I thought things were going well, but then she left for the washroom. With her jacket. And didn’t come back.”
“Oh, Chandler, that’s awful.” She rubbed his arm comfortingly, “I’m really sorry.”
It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to— Chandler’s list of bad dates rivaled Monica’s, heaps of women who got a small taste of Chandler and didn’t like what they were served— but it didn’t make her any less upset hearing her friend struggle so badly with romance, especially when he wasn’t offered proper chances.
“It’s fine,” Chandler’s vulnerability was quick, always ending his confessions with it’s fine before moving on. But he knows Monica is there for him, and she knows Chandler will always trust her, and that was enough for the both of them, even if it went unsaid. “I was just outside waiting around for a cab when I saw you in here, alone, and without any plates, so I put two-and-two together.”
The look in his eyes was bashful, though Monica couldn’t understand what he had to be embarrassed about. At least Chandler had the gall to do something about his own injustice, Monica did nothing but wait.
“I know you were probably all worried about these people watching you or something. So, now you’ve got a fake date!” His words were considerate, deepening Monica’s guilt for assuming he came with bad intentions. If anyone understood her anxieties, especially when it came to romance, it was Chandler.
Ignoring how pitiful both their dating-lives were, she simply said “Thanks, Chandler.” and took hold of his hand, which felt like a reflex when he was around.
It was a bit of a peculiar story, because he could have left by himself, or if he really cared that much, he could have brought Monica along home. Instead, he was pretending to go on a date with her. Despite his story, was there still some sort of ulterior motive? Or was this really just a mere favour? She still couldn’t quite shake the why off her mind.
Ulterior motive, what could that even mean in this context?
Suddenly, as if he realised just how long her fingers had rested on his knuckles for, he quickly grabbed the laminated menu once again. “Soo…I’m sure you have this whole thing memorized by now.”
She, herself, didn’t realise either how long she’d been holding him.
“There’s only so much you can do when waiting for a guy.” Her whole order was already planned in her head. She’d know what she’d be eating for the rest of her life and the one after this one. “I want to try the paella here. Rachel told me it’s really good.” But her plans for the night had changed, she’d have to readjust her meals for her new guest. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t get that, since you’re allergic.”
“I’m allergic to paella?” He questioned.
“No, silly.” She giggled, “It has shellfish in it.”
“I’m allergic to shellfish?”
“Yes?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish.” He repeated once again, astonished, like a child discovering Santa wasn’t real.
Monica lightly jabbed his arm, “I can’t believe you forgot!”
“Hey! It’s not like I’m eating seafood enough for that to even matter. In fact, I’m surprised you even knew I was allergic to that.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll never forget.” Her posture relaxed as leaned back into her seat, “Why do you think all our kitchen chairs are different?”
This question brought Chandler to rest his chin on his palm, ready to hear whatever story she was about to tell.
“1991. You just moved into the building when Ross told you about that empty apartment across from mine. I invited you over to my apartment and made some shellfish tacos as a welcome gesture, but mainly because I needed someone to test out my recipe. Anyway, you must’ve not known then either, because you had two tacos and your face went all red and you vomited all over the whole table set.”
“Oh my god.”
“That’s not all! When I ran to go get a bucket for you, I slipped in it. Your vomit.”
“Oh my god.” This time, muffled underneath Chandler’s hands covering his mouth.
“I couldn’t get the smell of barf out of those chairs no matter how hard I cleaned them! And you know I clean hard!” She pointed an authoritative finger, “Then I just threw them out. A lot of my furniture back then was my grandmother's. I never found that same table set, so I just bought random chairs. At first, I hated that they didn’t match, but I’ve grown used to it.” She finished. “That’s all because of you, Chandler Bing, and your shellfish allergy.”
“Oh…my…god.” By now, his face was completely red, just like in that unfortunate story. He could barely look her in the eye. “I completely forgot about all of that. Mon’, I’m gonna spend every night of my life thinking about that story now.”
Monica had a thought that she never quite really had. Seeing how embarrassed he was, shriveling into his seat, in his suit just a few inches too big for him, she thought it all adorable. It’s not a completely alien idea but it never felt as intense as it did in that moment. But she caught herself mid-stare, and shook her head, because it was weird to think that of the guy who vomited all over her kitchen.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She apologised, “Ever since that, and the kiwi incident with Ross, I’ve been very careful now about remembering everyone’s allergies.”
Chandler took a large swig of his water— well, technically not his water, technically Monica’s date’s water, technically not a date that they were on, technically not weird for Monica to smile and laugh as hard as she did— and composed himself to the best of his abilities. “Well, someone’s got to, I guess.” He said, still blushing. “What’s Joe allergic to?”
“Nickel. Nothing food related.” She answered.
“Lucky boy.”
Finally, the waiter that had been hesitantly circling around Monica earlier returned once again, this time visibly relieved to see that she was no longer alone. He gave a dirty look to her “date”, which Chandler pretended not to notice, before writing down their orders— and as he wrote down their orders, Monica wore a big triumphant smile, because sitting in front of her was living proof that she wasn’t the pathetic lonely girl the waiter had to assume she was.
“So, did you guys have anything planned aside from dinner?” Chandler asked.
“I saw that they were doing a screening of When Harry Met Sally nearby, I was thinking of asking him to that afterwards.” As she spoke, she still couldn’t hide that hint of disappointment.
He rolled his eyes. “Ugh. That movie is so unrealistic.”
“Why? Because Sally actually showed up for dinner?” She snarked, and Chandler could only give a strained smile.
“I don’t buy the idea that they knew each other for that long and never realised they liked each other. I mean, they have sex for crying out loud! And it takes another, what, year? For them to get together? Could you be any more dense?”
“What? That is so not dense!”
“Uh, yuh-huh!” was Chandler’s catchphrase whenever they’d argue over the most unimportant things. “Mon’, I’ve seen girls at grocery stores for five minutes tops, and trust me, it doesn’t take long for me to know I like em’.”
She feigned a face of disgust. “Well, that’s because that is juvenile, animal attraction—” Each adjective had more emphasis than the last, which must have made Chandler feel slightly ashamed, evident through his slouching. “—and what Harry and Sally had was love. Real love. And it’s hard to differentiate that sort of love, from the love you have when you’re already friends.” She said as if she knew from experience.
But Chandler begged to differ. “It can’t be that hard, just look at Ross and Rachel. They were friends, but that didn’t stop Ross from being freakishly obsessed with her.”
“Uh, that doesn’t count.” Monica vehemently shook her head. “Ross had a crush on her before she even knew his name. Rachel, on the other hand, never realised her feelings until Ross started seeing Julie. Why?” No matter the topic, no matter the argument, Monica was sure to win. Chandler knew this. “Because then they were friends.”
Checkmate.
“Hmph, fine.” Chandler shrugged, he had no interest in fighting a losing battle. He enjoys seeing the victorious sparkle in her eyes. “ Four Weddings and a Funeral is better, anyways.”
“Four Weddings and a Funeral?” She scoffed. “You mean the one where Hugh Grant runs away from his wedding for a woman he’s seen twice?”
Astonished, even more so than when he rediscovered his shellfish allergy, Chandler stared intensely at her, mouth agape. “Monica. If that’s all you got from that movie, then I’m afraid you watched that movie with your ears plugged and your eyes gouged out.”
“I watched it with perfectly fine hearing and sight, thank you very much.” She replied. “ That is an unrealistic romcom. I mean, the main couple barely even knew each other.”
“Y’know what?” Chandler slapped the table. “Blockbuster’s not far. After dinner, we’ll rent it, watch it at my place, and you’ll remember how amazing that movie is and forget all about When Harry Met Whatever.”
She blinked incredulously, slightly taken aback by his extension of their fake date. He didn’t need to do any more for her to make up for the jerk that never showed. Chandler must be more serious about romance films than Monica would have ever imagined.
“What? Why can’t we just watch When Harry Met Sally ?”
“You wanna know why Four Weddings and a Funeral is the better movie?” He asked, rhetorically, because she could tell by his stance— one finger pointed up, posture straight, slightly furrowed brows— that he wasn’t looking for a different answer. “Think about it. Harry and Sally already knew all this stuff about each other before they were dating because they were friends. Isn’t that so boring? They get together, and what’s different now? They can talk about the same things they used to but this time they’re allowed to sleep with each other— as if anything stopped them before.” He began, “But in Four Weddings , Charles knew from the moment he saw her that he loved Carrie, he loved her that much. And he was so hung up on her, that he waited, and waited, and waited, then ran away from his own wedding because he knows Carrie is his soulmate!”
“Yeah, and poor Henrietta. The most important day of her life was ruined!”
He rolled his eyes once again. “Forget Henrietta. You don’t think that’s romantic? Love at first sight? Loving someone so much that you can’t even bring yourself to date anyone else, all after a few nights spent together? And then, they get married, and get to spend the rest of their lives learning all about each other. That’s real love.”
“Romantic…maybe. Realistic? No.” Monica concluded. “Chandler, they were practically strangers. I’m not saying you have to know everything about a person, but you can very much have a meaningful relationship with someone even if you’re already good friends. In fact, it might make for an even better relationship.”
“Really?” He challenged, “You think you could date Joey even though you know him down to his allergies?”
She thought for a second, then remembered that nude encounter with Joey long ago that instantly dissipated any romantic feelings she had for him. But stronger than that cringeworthy memory was her refusal to give up a debate. “If there was a real spark between us, then yes. I could.” She triumphed, “Besides, you know me pretty well, don’t you? And wouldn’t you say you’re having fun tonight?”
“I…guess so,” He hesitated, for some reason. “But if this were a real date, it’d be pretty awful, because I wouldn’t learn anything new about you. It’d be just like any other day.”
“There’s a bunch of things you don’t know about me!” She asserted.
“Oh? Like what, pray tell?”
“Well…” Monica racked her brain for anything he hadn’t told her, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised how little she doesn’t share with him. There’s probably not much she doesn’t know about him either.
He took her silence as a victory. “Exactly. That’s why we couldn’t ever date, I know too much about you, and you know too much about me.”
“That’s not true.” She hissed. “There’s no such thing as knowing ‘too much’ about someone. I’d much rather date you now than when we first met.”
He smirked, and Monica instantly regretted her phrasing. “Really~?”
“You know what I mean…” She grumbled, looking around and hoping their waiter would be back with their food already. “You’re a better person now than you were before.”
“That, I can’t argue with. Have you ever thought about dating me?”
“No.” Monica answered, almost too fast. Why was she suddenly so flustered? This sort of joking around wasn’t unfamiliar to them. “All I’m saying is that, hypothetically, I could still date you— if I wanted to — ” she put heavy emphasis on if, and hypothetically, “ —despite knowing you well.”
This time, Chandler didn’t retort with a snarky joke. He sat back in his seat, contemplating what she said, or perhaps writing it all off; it killed Monica not to know what he was thinking. Not that she cares what he thinks— not that anyone questioned if she cares what he thinks— not that they should— who was she trying so hard to prove herself to?
“So— even though you know about how picky I am with women, and you know that I could run away at any second— just like Charles— you would still find the strength to go out on a date with me?” He asked, but without that challenging tone they’ve been ping-ponging since movies became part of the discussion. He really wanted to know.
“Well, I’m here right now, aren’t I?” Monica said bashfully. She really wanted to know too. “Do you think you could get past my, uh…neurotic tendencies?”
“I think I could.” He admitted. “But I don’t think you’d be accepting of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m a really messy person! Too messy. You already get upset with our cupboard organisation.”
“That’s because you have no cupboard organisation.” She corrected, but then quickly backtracked, “—but that’s a separate thing. There are different things that matter when it comes to relationships.”
“Like?”
“You know…I want a guy that’s kind, who thinks about the future, someone who’s there for me—”
—whenever dates don’t show, whenever she’s sitting by herself on a Saturday night,
“So even if you’re a little weird, Chandler, I think I know more good things about you that outweigh the bad.”
“What kind of good things?”
“Is this what you do on all your dates? Interrogate girls on why they’d date you?”
“I’m just curious!” He put his hands in the air, surrendering, and putting an end to their all-too-vulnerable conversation. “Fine, let’s just agree that there’s multiple ways to have a good relationship. You can know the person or not.”
“Fine.”
They reached their hands out and shook on it.
“But just for the record, Mon’, I don’t think there’s a single bad thing about you that would stop any guy from going out with you.” He admitted, still holding onto her hand, tightly, like he didn’t want her to go and repeat the night he already had, “I don’t think there’s a single bad thing about you at all.”
“Chandler—”
“Seriously. And if that guy bothered showing up, he’d say the same thing. That’s all.”
“Thank you, Chandler.” She sighed, her stomach still swirling with guilt, because Chandler wasn’t the only person having a rough night and yet he was the one doing all the sweet-talking. “If that girl stayed, she’d know just how sweet and funny you really are deep down.”
He smiled, she smiled, they held each other’s hand, and they couldn’t think of how else to move forward from this moment, because maybe Monica didn’t want to, maybe this was what she was looking for all along, maybe this was better than that. Maybe she doesn’t know what she’s thinking, maybe she’s better moving on and not dwelling on it.
“So…” She was reluctant to ask, “Were you serious about renting a movie after this? And going to your apartment?”
“Of course.” He answered instantly, then coughed, “Only if you are, that is.”
“We can. If you want.”
Like two highschoolers, both too afraid to be anything but nonchalant.
“But just so you know, that might just put our fake date into real date territory.” Chandler warned.
When in reality, their fake date never really felt fake at all.
“Alright…and just so you know, I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.” She said, with a coy smile.
He snapped his fingers, “Oh, darn. What about the second?”
“Depends how good it goes.” Monica is usually a lot more conservative, but she liked to tease him. She rested her chin on her knuckles, “And look at you, we haven’t even eaten and you’re already planning our next date.”
“I’m an opportunist.” He grinned. “What about tonight? Will I be getting a kiss?”
“Maybe, if I have a really good time.”
Chandler thought it over for a moment, and then decided.
“I guess we’re watching When Harry Met Sally afterall.”