Chapter 61: Plastic Friendships
The Bar
Monica came back from the restroom, glanced at the pool table, and registered the unfamiliar face standing next to Chandler.
"Hi," she said, with the involuntary warmth of someone who had not been expecting to find something pleasant waiting for them.
"Hi," Adam said.
"Hi," Chandler said, lining up a shot, voice dripping with a sarcasm that Monica had learned to decode years ago. He hit the ball cleanly and stepped back.
Monica moved next to Chandler and lowered her voice. "He's really good-looking. Good call."
"This is for me, not for you," Chandler said.
Monica tensed. "Seriously?"
"What do you think." His lips twitched.
She laughed and looked away quickly, making a mental note that Chandler would probably prefer she not mention this particular detail to anyone.
When Adam finished his shot, Monica stepped forward with her best hospitable energy.
"I'm Monica. Chandler's friend."
"Adam." They shook hands. "I've never been here before. I'm a freshman at Columbia — just wandering the neighborhood."
Monica's expression shifted through several calculations at once. She looked at his face again.
Of course, she thought. Naturally.
"Columbia?" Chandler straightened up with genuine interest. "I went to Columbia. Class of '89, computer science. You're basically my legacy."
"Really?" Adam made the alumni connection with appropriate enthusiasm. "What department?"
"Computer science. My old roommate Ross — Monica's brother — went there too. Archaeology. He has a PhD now."
"He must really love dinosaurs," Adam said seriously.
"You have no idea," Monica said. "He has dinosaurs on his checks."
"His checkbook has—"
"Printed. On the checks. Little dinosaurs."
The three of them settled into easy conversation, orbiting the pool game, mostly at Ross's expense, which Monica and Chandler had clearly been doing for years and hadn't gotten tired of yet.
Across the bar, Rachel's internal debate had reached its conclusion.
In college she'd have acted immediately. The red cheerleader outfit had been her go-to escalation tool — it had never failed. But she was engaged now. Barry's ring was on her finger. Her two best friends were sitting right there watching her with the alert eyes of people who had already noticed what she was thinking.
She set down her glass and tried to look like someone who hadn't just been considering something.
Then Monica laughed at something the unfamiliar man said, and Rachel's gaze sharpened.
That woman.
She looked familiar. Rachel squinted.
Monica felt it — the specific sensation of being watched by someone she had history with — and turned.
"Oh my God," Monica said. "Rachel?"
"Monica!"
Rachel crossed the bar in four steps and hugged her with the dramatic enthusiasm of someone who had not seen a person in three years and was performing a flawless approximation of having missed them.
"Look," Rachel said, extending her left hand.
Monica looked at the ring. "Wow. I can't even find where the Titanic went down."
Rachel beamed. "His name is Barry. He's a dentist."
"A dentist," Monica said, with precisely the right amount of warmth.
"So — how are you?" Rachel asked, executing the pivot with practiced smoothness. "Anyone special?"
"Not at the moment."
"Oh." Rachel's expression arranged itself into something compassionate. "That's totally fine. Really."
"I know," Monica said.
Silence descended between them — the specific silence of two people who were performing friendship for an audience that wasn't there anymore.
Rachel's eyes moved to Adam.
"Is that your friend?"
"One of them, yeah," Monica said pleasantly. "Should I introduce you?"
"No, no, I'm — I'm engaged." Rachel waved the idea away with the ring hand, which did most of the work.
"Right, of course." Monica touched her own forehead. "How silly of me."
Rachel's smile developed a fixed quality.
"Anyway, we should do lunch sometime," Rachel said. "Soon."
"Definitely," Monica agreed.
They did the cheek-kiss goodbye with expressions of mutual delight, and Rachel shepherded her friends out of the bar.
Monica came back to the pool table.
"I will never see that woman again," she announced, nodding toward the door.
Adam looked up. "How much?"
Monica blinked. Then she laughed. "A hundred dollars. She's been three blocks from my apartment for two years and has never once called."
"I'll take that bet," Adam said, extending his hand. "Two years. If she doesn't show up in your life, I pay you. If she does, you pay me."
Monica shook on it with the confidence of someone who had known Rachel Green for a decade.
"You really don't know what she's like," Monica said.
"We'll see," Adam said.
He lined up his next shot and smiled to himself.
He knew exactly what she was like. He also knew exactly what was coming.
Five hundred dollars was going to be a very easy win.
End of Chapter 61
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