Chapter 20: The One with the Valentine's Day Teppanyaki
Valentine's Day arrived on a Tuesday, which felt like the city's way of keeping it honest — romantic enough to require acknowledgment, but mid-week enough to remind everyone that regular life was still happening around it.
Ethan was at Central Perk by nine, which was early for a Tuesday but he had a chapter of his dissertation to finish and the apartment had started feeling like the inside of his own head, which was not conducive to clear thinking.
He ordered his coffee, found the good table by the window, opened his laptop, and had been working for approximately forty minutes when Chandler arrived and sat down across from him with the expression of someone who had an agenda.
"Valentine's Day," Chandler said.
"I'm aware," Ethan said, without looking up.
"Julia's back."
"Since Thursday," Ethan said. "Yes."
"So you have plans."
"I have plans," Ethan confirmed.
Chandler slumped back in his chair with the particular energy of a man receiving information he had both expected and still found deflating. "You know what that makes you," he said.
"Fortunate?" Ethan said.
"The reason I'm going to be the only single person in a city that has apparently decided everyone should be in a couple today," Chandler said. "You, Ross has been chasing someone he met on the subway, Joey has—" He gestured vaguely. "Joey has a system."
"The system has mixed results," Ethan said.
"The system has any results," Chandler said. "That's more than I've got."
Ethan finally looked up. "Did you call Janice?"
Chandler made a face that was its own answer.
"That's a no," Ethan said.
"I considered it," Chandler said. "I considered it seriously. And then I thought about the laugh, and I thought about how tonight of all nights the laugh is going to be operating at full capacity, and I—" He stopped. "I didn't call."
"Okay," Ethan said. "What's the actual plan?"
"Joey said he'd set something up," Chandler said. "A friend of someone he knows. Double date situation."
Ethan set down his coffee. "And you said yes."
"I said possibly," Chandler said. "Which in Joey's translation system means yes."
"Do you know anything about this person?"
"Joey said she's great," Chandler said.
"Joey says everyone's great," Ethan said. "Joey's optimism is one of his finest qualities and also one of his least reliable ones."
"I know," Chandler said. "But it's Valentine's Day and Joey is offering me a solution and the alternative is my apartment."
"Your apartment isn't bad," Ethan said.
"My apartment is fine," Chandler said. "My apartment on Valentine's Day is a different environment."
Ethan looked at him for a moment. "Go on the date," he said. "Worst case, you have a story."
"Everything in my life is a story," Chandler said. "I would like, occasionally, an experience."
"Sometimes the story is the experience," Ethan said. "Go. It'll be fine."
He was not certain it would be fine, but this seemed like the right thing to say.
Joey arrived twenty minutes later, coming through the door with the specific energy of a man who had organized something and was pleased about it.
"Chandler," he said. "Elena's friend. Her name is Mary. She's great."
"You said she was different," Chandler said.
"She is great and she is different," Joey said. "Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"Different how?" Chandler said.
"She has a lot of energy," Joey said.
"Define a lot," Chandler said.
"She's very engaged," Joey said. "With everything. She engages with things very fully."
"Joey," Ethan said. "What does she do for a living?"
"She's a performance artist," Joey said.
Chandler looked at Ethan.
Ethan looked at Chandler.
"That's—" Chandler started.
"It's going to be fine," Joey said. "She's not doing a performance tonight. It's a date. She's just going as herself."
"Is herself very different from a performance artist?" Ethan asked.
Joey thought about this. "A little," he said.
Chandler picked up his coffee, held it, set it down. "Fine," he said. "I'll go. But if at any point tonight I need to be rescued, you owe me."
"I won't need to rescue you," Joey said.
"If I need to be rescued," Chandler said, "you owe me."
"Deal," Joey said.
Ethan had the strong and specific feeling that Chandler was going to need to be rescued, but kept this to himself on the grounds that it was Valentine's Day and optimism was appropriate.
He left them to it and went across the hall, where Monica's apartment had the particular atmosphere of three women who had arrived at a collective mood and were sustaining it.
Monica, Rachel, and Phoebe were on the couch, and the mood was the specific one that existed when people had been discussing something that required discussing.
"What happened?" Ethan said, closing the door behind him.
"Tell him," Monica said to Phoebe.
Phoebe had the expression of someone who had done something and had mixed feelings about its reception. "Roger called," she said.
"Phoebe," Ethan said.
"It's Valentine's Day," Phoebe said. "He asked if I wanted to get dinner. And I said—" She paused. "I said I'd think about it."
"Phoebe," Monica said. "He analyzed your guitar."
"I know," Phoebe said. "But thinking about it isn't saying yes."
"Thinking about it is within saying yes's neighborhood," Rachel said.
"It's just dinner," Phoebe said. "And it's Valentine's Day and the alternatives are—" She looked at Monica and Rachel.
"Us," Monica said.
"I love you both," Phoebe said quickly. "It would not be a downgrade."
"But it would be different," Rachel said, with the honesty of someone who understood wanting a different kind of company on a specific kind of night.
"I said I'd think about it," Phoebe said again. "I haven't called him back."
Monica looked at Ethan.
"Don't look at me," Ethan said. "This is Phoebe's call."
"She needs perspective," Monica said.
"She has perspective," Ethan said. "She ended things with Roger for good reasons. Those reasons are still good reasons. Valentine's Day is one night." He looked at Phoebe. "You already know what you're going to do."
Phoebe was quiet for a moment.
"I'm not going to call him back," she said.
"Okay," Ethan said.
"I'm going to stay here," Phoebe said. "And we're going to have a girls' night, and it's going to be better than dinner with Roger."
"It will definitely be better than dinner with Roger," Rachel said.
"Much better," Monica said, already moving toward the kitchen with the authority of someone who had decided the evening's shape.
Ethan picked up his jacket. "Then I'm in the way," he said.
"You're sweet to check in," Rachel said. "Go enjoy your Valentine's Day."
"Happy Valentine's Day," Phoebe said. "Your aura is very pink tonight."
"I'll take that," Ethan said.
He was in the hallway when Ross came up the stairs with the specific energy of a man who had something to announce and had been waiting to announce it.
"I have a date," Ross said.
"I know," Ethan said. "The woman from the subway."
"Christina," Ross said. "We're going to dinner. Tonight."
"Good," Ethan said.
"It's good," Ross said. "It's fine. It's a good thing." He was moving his hands slightly more than the statement required. "I just—"
"Ross."
"I know," Ross said. "I know. Rachel is right there." He gestured at Monica's door. "She's ten feet away. And I'm—"
"Going on a date with Christina," Ethan said.
"Yes," Ross said.
"Because you decided not to say anything to Rachel," Ethan said.
"I'm waiting for the right moment," Ross said.
"Ross," Ethan said, with the specific patience of a man who had had this conversation before and was having it again. "At some point, waiting for the right moment becomes choosing not to act. Those feel the same from the inside but they're different from the outside."
"I know," Ross said.
"You've been saying you know for three months," Ethan said.
"I know that too," Ross said. He looked at Monica's door. "What would you say? If you were me. Right now."
Ethan thought about it honestly. "I'd knock on that door and ask her if she wanted to get dinner," he said. "Just that. No speech. No big moment. Just—do you want to get dinner tonight."
Ross looked at the door. For a moment, something moved in his expression — the particular movement of someone about to do something.
Then he looked back at Ethan. "I told Christina seven-thirty," he said.
"Yeah," Ethan said.
"I can't cancel on Valentine's Day."
"No," Ethan said. "You can't."
"Next time," Ross said.
"Okay," Ethan said, without saying anything about the distance between next time and the moment that had just passed.
"Will you and Julia come tonight?" Ross said. "To the restaurant. I don't — it would be less — I just think it would be easier if you were there."
"Where are you going?" Ethan said.
"That teppanyaki place on 63rd," Ross said. "The one Monica says is too theatrical."
"She's right about that," Ethan said. "But it's good."
"Seven-thirty," Ross said.
Ethan thought about his quiet dinner plans, the reservation at the Italian place on 71st, Julia's preference for small and uncomplicated.
He thought about Ross on a date, trying to be present, with Carol and Susan's situation in the background of everything and Rachel ten feet away.
"I'll ask Julia," he said.
"She might say no," Ross said.
"She might say yes," Ethan said. "She likes you."
"She's met me twice," Ross said.
"She still likes you," Ethan said. "Seven-thirty."
Julia said yes, which he hadn't been entirely certain about. She listened to his explanation — Ross, the date, the ongoing situation with Rachel, the general Ross-ness of Ross — and said: "He needs backup."
"He needs backup," Ethan confirmed.
"That's different from needing us to watch him be awkward," Julia said.
"It might involve both," Ethan said.
She looked at him with the expression she wore when she was being amused and trying not to show it. "Fine," she said. "But I'm getting the wagyu."
"Get whatever you want," he said.
"I always do," she said, and went to get ready.
The teppanyaki place on 63rd was exactly what Monica had described — theatrical, in the way of restaurants that had decided the cooking was the show. The iron griddle ran down the center of the communal table, the chef working it with the showmanship of someone who had understood the assignment. The smell when you walked in was the specific excellent smell of high heat and good ingredients, and the lighting was warm enough to be flattering without being dishonest about it.
Ross was already there when they arrived, sitting across from Christina, who was — Ethan clocked immediately — exactly the kind of person Ross needed to be on a date with if he was going to get out of his own head. She was direct without being aggressive, curious without being interrogative, and had the quality of someone who found people genuinely interesting rather than performing interest.
She was also, based on five minutes of observation, doing the work of two people in the conversation, because Ross had arrived at the table in a state that was slightly elevated from his baseline.
"Hi," Ethan said. "Sorry we're late."
"You're not late," Ross said, with the relief of a man who had been waiting for something and it had arrived.
Introductions went around. Julia and Christina had the immediate ease of two people who were both comfortable in the world and recognized it in each other. Ethan sat next to Ross and said, under the sound of the grill: "Breathe."
"I'm breathing," Ross said.
"More," Ethan said.
Ross breathed more.
The chef arrived, did the theatrical thing with the implements — the fire, the percussion, the egg that got tossed and caught, the onion volcano that the table next to them had already been treated to and which was still impressive the second time — and the food started arriving in the way it arrived at places like this, in an order that had been decided for you and was better for it.
The conversation found its footing. Christina asked about Ross's work and got the genuine enthusiastic version of Ross, which was considerably more attractive than the Ross who was trying to manage his own anxiety. Julia had thoughts about paleontology that surprised Ross, because she'd read something about the Hell Creek Formation in connection with a film she'd almost done, and the conversation went somewhere specific and real.
Ethan watched Ross relax, degree by degree, the way he always did when he was talking about something he actually knew.
The evening was working.
And then Ethan's eye went to the door.
Carol and Susan.
They came in the way couples come into restaurants — together in the easy, habitual way of people who have done this enough times that the logistics are automatic. Carol was visibly pregnant now, the kind of visible that made it real in rooms rather than just in conversations about it. She was laughing at something Susan had said, and the laugh was genuine, and they looked — this was the thing that Ethan registered before anything else — happy. Specifically, quietly happy, the way people are happy when they've stopped trying to perform it.
They were seated two tables away.
Ethan looked at Ross.
Ross had not yet looked up.
"Ross," Ethan said.
Ross looked up.
A moment.
Ross looked at Ethan. Then at his plate. Then at the grill. Then, because the grill was in approximately the same direction as Carol and Susan's table, at Carol and Susan's table.
A longer moment.
"Hey," Ethan said quietly. "You're on a date."
"I know," Ross said.
"With Christina," Ethan said. "Who is right there and is excellent."
"I know," Ross said. "I'm—" He stopped. "She looks good," he said, quietly enough that it was for Ethan only. "Carol. She looks — she seems okay."
"She is okay," Ethan said. "She's actually good. That's a good thing."
"I know," Ross said.
"Ross."
"I know," Ross said. He looked at his plate, then at Christina, who had turned back to the conversation with Julia and was gesturing about something with the animated ease of someone fully in their evening. He picked up his fork. "She's pregnant," he said. "Christina doesn't know about—"
"Might be a good time to mention it," Ethan said.
Ross set down his fork. Picked it up. Set it down. "Okay," he said. Then he turned to Christina with the expression of a man about to say something that could go several ways and was choosing honesty: "There's something I should mention."
Christina looked at him.
"My ex-wife is here," he said. "Two tables over. The one with the — and she's pregnant. With my child. It's — it's a whole thing. I should have led with that."
Christina looked at him for a long moment.
"How pregnant?" she said.
"Seven months, approximately," Ross said.
Christina absorbed this with the equanimity of a person who had decided to assess information before reacting to it, which was an excellent quality. "And you're—"
"Involved," Ross said. "In a co-parenting way. Not a — they're together. Carol and Susan. I'm the—" He stopped. "It's complicated."
"Okay," Christina said.
"Okay?" Ross said.
"I mean—" She paused. "I appreciate you telling me. That's actually a lot more honest than most first dates." She looked at Ethan, who she had apparently identified as the person responsible for keeping Ross functioning. "Does he do this often? The honesty thing."
"When he can't avoid it," Ethan said. "And occasionally when he can."
"It's — endearing," Christina said, in the tone of someone finding the precise word and not being entirely sure whether it helped or not.
Ross looked at Ethan.
Ethan gave him the smallest possible nod that communicated you're fine, keep going.
Julia, under the sound of the grill, said to Ethan: "Is this normal?"
"Largely," Ethan said.
"This is your friends' regular Tuesday," Julia said.
"It's Valentine's Day," Ethan said. "So it's slightly elevated. But yes, this is roughly the register."
Julia looked at Carol and Susan's table, then back at Ross, then at Christina, who had apparently decided to extend goodwill and was asking Ross something about the museum with genuine interest. "He's going to be okay," she said.
"He's going to be fine," Ethan agreed.
"Eventually," Julia said.
"Eventually," he confirmed.
She reached across the table and took his hand, briefly, in the particular way that communicated both affection and amusement, and went back to her wagyu, which was, as she had predicted, exceptional.
The chef came back for the finale — the fire went up, the table next to them cheered, the February evening pressed against the windows outside, and inside the restaurant the grill was warm and the food was good and Ross Geller was on a Valentine's Day date while his ex-wife ate dinner with her girlfriend two tables away and somehow this was just Tuesday.
Ethan looked at Julia.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
"It's the most interesting Valentine's Day I've had in years," she said.
"That's a low bar," he said.
"It's not," she said. "It's genuinely not." She squeezed his hand once. "Your friends are something else, Ethan."
"They really are," he said.
Outside, the city was doing its Valentine's Day thing — the couples on the sidewalk, the restaurants full, the February cold making everything feel slightly more urgent and close. Inside, the grill hissed and popped, and Ross was actually laughing at something Christina had said, a real laugh, and Carol caught Ethan's eye from two tables over and gave him a small nod that communicated I see you, I see Ross, it's okay.
He nodded back.
It was okay.
More than okay.
[Support Goal: 500 PS → +1 Chapter]
[Support Goal: 10 Reviews → +1 Chapter]
Your review helps the story grow.
P1treon Soulforger (20+chapters ahead)