"Okay," Monica began, pointing to a bunny-eared page in her magazine while sipping her ice tea, "so what do you think? The white dress with the navy blue trim or the gold dress with the black trim?"
Prom was nearing, as was the end of the year, and Monica and Rachel were sitting quietly in a tucked-away nook in the back of Johnny Rocket's dinner with several magazines sprawled across their table, discussing what prom dress and shows Monica should get.
"I don't know," Rachel admitted, opening a different magazine and turning quickly to a specific page, "I think this pink one would look better on you. Plus, I saw these REALLY cute, strappy pink shoes the last time I was in Soho. They'd go GREAT with that." Suddenly, something occurred to Rachel. "Oh, so you ARE going with Chandler?"
"Yeah," Monica answered, smiling adoringly and wistfully. "He officially asked me last night on the phone. It was cute- he was so embarassed. I think he thinks prom is lame, but I guess most guys do."
"Yeah," Rachel answered, nodding, "Ross puts on a happy face, though, because he knows how important it is to girls. Ugh, I'm so glad we already got our dress and tux. It's such a relief."
"Hey," Monica began, closing her magazine and crossing her arms on top of the table, "doesn't it make you a little sad to think about Ross going off to college next year? I mean, prom is kind of the last big milestone before graduation. Have you thought about it at all?"
Rachel's face dropped a bit and she sighed quietly, but was obviously trying to hide her disappointment. She and Ross didn't talk about it much, but she thought about life without him almost every day. Sometimes, she would wake up in the morning with a pit in her stomach after an especially gut-wrenching dream about him cheating on her with some nondescript, 20-something slut at a frat party. She'd pictured his empty attic room and his packed car pulling away down the street more times than she cared to recall. Instead of baring all of this to Monica, though, she just nodded and nonchalantly brushed it off.
"Well, yeah, of course I've thought about it. It makes me a little sad, but I know we're going to work through it. And, there's always the chance he'll go to NYU." Even as she said it, though, she felt like she was lying to herself. Ross was smart. No, Ross was borderline genius. He'd mentioned applying to schools like Cornell and Dartmouth. Princeton had even passed by in casual conversation. NYU was a good school, but she had a sinking feeling that the only reason Ross would ever consider it would be to stay close to her, and that thought made her sick. As much as she loved Ross, she would never be able to live down the thought of holding him back from living up to his potential. Feeling the tears well up in her eyes, she decided to change the subject.
"What about you?" she asked quickly. "Don't you worry about Chandler?"
"I guess I haven't really had time to think about it yet," Monica confessed. She hadn't had time to think about it. Everything with Chandler had been moving fairly quickly. She wasn't even certain that they were a "couple" yet. Besides, Chandler had been pretty confident all along that he was going to NYU. Monica felt bad for her friend, though, so decided not to mention that particular detail. There was a gaping silence between the girls for a few seconds that seemed to wrap themselves around the pair in a crushing grip. Finally, it was brought to an end by Ross' sudden appearance at the table.
"Hey guys," he announced, sliding into the booth next to Rachel and leaning over to kiss the side of her head.
"What're you doing here?" she asked, surprised and delighted to see him. They hadn't talked since their confrontation in his bedroom the previous night, but it had ended well, with a mutual understanding and hours upon hours of silent confessions and cuddling beneath his blankets. Around midnight, he'd walked her all the way down the street to her house in the rain, not letting go of her hand once. He even took off his sweatshirt and held it over her head with the other hand, sacrificing his own dryness. It was the simple gestures like that that made her believe they would be okay. Currently, he was resting his hand on her thigh, rubbing the same spot on her jeans with his thumb and leaning sideways into her a little.
