Joey arrived at the clinic at 4:57 PM.
"I'm early," he said. "I didn't want to be late."
"Come in."
He followed me to the treatment room. Sat in the chair.
"Okay, so here's what happened. I was at this Italian restaurant. Free dinner because I know the owner. I was eating this amazing bread. Really hard crust. And I bit down wrong and now my tooth hurts when I smile."
I examined his mouth. The filling I'd placed ten days ago looked fine. But the adjacent tooth had a small crack. Hairline. Not serious yet.
But it would be if left untreated.
"The filling is fine," I said. "But you cracked the tooth next to it."
"Is that bad?"
"Not yet. But it will be if we don't fix it."
"How much?"
I hesitated.
Joey was an actor. Unstable income. Already paying me $50 a month for the previous work.
I could charge full price. $300. Add it to his payment plan.
Or I could solve the problem preventively. Charge what it actually cost me in materials and time.
"$150," I said. "I can do it now. Take about forty minutes."
"Can I add it to the payment plan?"
"You can pay me $25 now and $25 a month until it's covered."
His face transformed. Relief. Gratitude. Something like wonder.
"Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because you're trying. And because I can help without it costing me anything but time."
"Time is worth money."
"Not on Saturday afternoon when I was just sitting at home reading."
He laughed. "You're weird, Barry. But the good kind of weird."
I fixed the crack. Bonded a small patch. Reinforced the structure.
Forty-five minutes later, Joey's tooth was stable.
"Smile," I said.
He smiled. Wide. No pain.
"Perfect! I can ace this audition now."
At checkout, he pulled out a crumpled twenty and a five.
"That's all I have on me. I'll bring the rest Monday."
"That's fine."
"No, seriously. I'll bring it Monday. I promise."
"I believe you, Joey."
He grabbed my hand. Shook it. "You're a good guy, Barry. I mean it. If you ever need anything—anything—you call me. I've got your back."
"I appreciate that."
"I'm serious. You need someone to move furniture? I'm there. You need someone to vouch for you? I'll tell everyone you're the best. You need someone to punch somebody? I probably won't do that because I'm a lover not a fighter, but I'll think about it really hard."
I laughed. "Noted."
After he left, I locked up again.
Walked home as the sun started setting.
Another Saturday appointment. Another favor.
Another relationship built.
The math didn't make sense on paper.
$25 today. $150 total over six months.
But the goodwill? The word of mouth? The loyalty?
That was worth more than any single transaction.
Sunday morning, I slept until 7:30 AM.
Unusual.
But my body apparently needed it.
I made coffee. Real coffee this time—I had bought better beans yesterday after Mrs. Chen's appointment.
It tasted significantly less like gym socks.
Progress.
The answering machine blinked. Two messages.
[BEEP]
"Dr. Farber, this is Margaret Chen from the venue. We received your first payment. Thank you for being prompt. Looking forward to receiving the remaining five payments on schedule."
[BEEP]
"Hey Barry, it's Chandler. Monica's doing brunch Sunday at 11:00. You should come. Fair warning: Ross will be there and he'll probably talk about dinosaurs. But there will be good food. Monica's making her famous pancakes. Okay, I don't know if they're famous, but they're really good. Anyway, come if you want. Monica's place. 11:00. Bye."
Brunch with the group.
I should probably decline. Sunday was my only full day off.
But I also had no plans except laundry and reading.
And the group had been... nice. Easy. Normal in a way I hadn't experienced in either life.
I called Chandler's number. Left a message on his machine.
"It's Barry. I'll be there. Should I bring anything?"
Then I did laundry. Read more of my book. Made a grocery list.
Ordinary Sunday tasks.
They felt revolutionary.
Monica's apartment at 11:00 AM on Sunday was controlled chaos.
Monica cooked. Ross set the table. Phoebe played guitar in the corner. Chandler and Joey argued about sports. Rachel attempted to help Monica and was gently redirected to "just sit and look pretty."
"I can help!" Rachel protested.
"You can help by not burning anything," Monica said. Not unkindly. Just factual.
"I haven't burned anything in three days."
"Because I haven't let you near the stove in three days."
I stood in the doorway with a container of orange juice I'd bought at the bodega downstairs.
Monica saw me. "Barry! You came! And you brought juice. Perfect. Put it on the counter."
I did.
Ross appeared. "Hey, Barry. Good to see you again."
"You too."
"So I was thinking about what you said last week. About Carol and the baby. You were right. It is complicated. But I've decided to embrace the complication. Be the best co-parent I can be. Even if it's weird."
"That sounds healthy."
"My therapist said the same thing. Are you a therapist?"
"Orthodontist."
"Right. But you seem very... wise."
"I'm just practical."
"Wisdom and practicality. Same thing, really." He grabbed plates from the cabinet. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"How did you know? That you weren't right for Rachel?"
I glanced toward the kitchen. Rachel was laughing at something Phoebe said. Lighter than I'd ever seen her.
"Because I was more worried about what people thought about us than what we thought about each other," I said.
Ross nodded slowly. "That's... that's actually really insightful."
"It's just honest."
"Honesty is underrated." He set down the plates. "I'm trying to be more honest. With myself. About what I want."
He looked at Rachel when he said it.
I saw the longing there. The decade of pining compressed into one glance.
Canon was already in motion.
Ross would eventually tell Rachel how he felt. They'd dance around each other for years. On again, off again. Drama and complications.
But that was their story.
Not mine.
"Being honest is harder than it sounds," I said.
"Tell me about it." Ross carried the plates to the table. "But I'm working on it."
Monica called everyone to the table.
Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. Fruit. Orange juice.
More food than seven people needed.
"Monica, this is amazing," Joey said, already on his second helping.
"It's just breakfast."
"It's ART."
She smiled. Pleased.
The conversation flowed. Easy. Comfortable.
Chandler told a story about his boss. Phoebe shared a strange encounter with a street performer. Joey talked about his audition tomorrow. Rachel described a particularly difficult customer at Central Perk.
I listened more than I talked.
But when I did contribute, people listened.
Really listened.
Not because I was saying anything profound.
Just because they seemed to value my perspective.
It felt... nice.
END CHAPTER 5 (2)
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