Commitment Issues and Other Sarcastic Comments

The One with the Misunderstanding

Dylan's idea wasn't bad. It wasn't that good either. It was a spin on the cliché hospital romance telenovelas. 

"So, uh, the main character, what do you imagine him like?"

"Well, Doctor Ray Ramirez is a second-generation Mexican-American doctor, who's really smart, is really loving, and also petty and vengeful."

Joey analyzed and started repeating the attributes to himself.

"Hey, by the way, did you talk to Chandler?"

"Yes, he had a date at the coffeehouse the same time as I, what a coincidence, right?" She said ironically. As if there were no more coffeehouses in New York.

"But did you talk to him?"

"Yeah, he said some crap about caring too much for me and how Eddie was a creep. Nothing he hadn't said yet. Except for the drying fruits thing, is that really true?"

"Holy shit he's such a coward," said Joey, and Dylan could hear the barely restrained frustration in his voice "Does he get that you-- I'm -- I just, can we please have some kind of a"

"Listen, Joe, the date went great. I really like Eddie, and I feel like this could be a really good thing, so if you could tell Chandler not to keep saying that kind of stuff about the guy I'm dating I'd be really thankful."

The door flew open and before Chandler could say hey, Joe grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the hallway.

Dylan headed to Chandler's room to change clothes because some guy at work had spilled his coffee on her accidentally. Everyone in the office had gasped but she hadn't thought it was a big deal. She duck into his bedroom and shut the door, taking a deep gulping breath of air. Glancing around the floor, the cleanest clothes all belonged to Chandler; his laundry still heaped under his bookshelf. He barely had any space for his clothes, let alone hers. She hadn't done laundry yet so most of her clothes were in a pile, at the corner of the room. She grabbed one of Chandler's work shirt and one of his boxers. To her short legs, boxers were the equivalent of comfortable calf-length shorts.

She got the door and came face to face with Chandler, who smashed into her.

"Um, hey, Joe and I talked and I think I have to come clean with you about something."

"Chandler," said Dylan, and it might have sounded stern except for how lightly she touched Chandler's back, "I know I kinda went beserk a few days back, and I know you don't trust Eddie that much, but I really like him. Thank you for calling him, really."

She almost leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. A friendly one. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was a snowball that would start an avalanche, and if she so much as leaned foward she might not be able to stop. So she only smiled, ignoring the tightening in her chest.

"It's—" Chandler instinctively looked down. He could feel his pulse on his fingertips. Something about that let him breathe steadier.  Maybe it was just having a rhythm to focus on, although he wasn't sure that, say, an electric keyboard would be the same help. "It's nothing, really—"

Every time he thought about it, he got angry all over again. The words stalled hard in his throat, and he swallowed. His face was burning. But the bonus of standing that close to Dylan, other than the body heat and the softness of her hand and that fruity smell and the pulse still thrumming under Chandler's forehead, was that he didn't actually have to look into Dylan's face, which made it easier to go on.

"I just want you to be happy."

Chandler did want Dylan to be happy. It was just Eddie. The idea of Eddie touching the best person in his life. If it were any other person, anyone who wasn't him, he would have been totally fine with. He tried to picture Dylan with someone else but only scenes from their date came to mind.