Prologue

Happy

Monica Bing was very tired.

These last few weeks, she has been feeling every bit of her eighty-nine years. Every day it seemed the aches grew exponentially as her strength waned earlier and earlier each evening. Today, though, was the worst of them. Her legs felt like stone; heavy and uncompromising. Moving around the house became such a difficult chore, that she decided to stop fighting what her body was telling her and planted herself on the couch for the rest of the day. She napped intermittently, all afternoon, yet she still felt as if she needed to close her eyes and rest. All evening she has felt a constant chill that sent shivers across her shoulders. No matter what she did, she could not stay warm; needing a shawl around her shoulders and a blanket over her legs, as she sipped her hot tea. She was not very hungry today and ate sparingly. Chandler had brought her over some graham crackers to nibble on when he refilled her tea cup, insisting she try to get something in her stomach before bed.

She did not like feeling this way; weak, tired, stiff, cold, burdensome. Up until recently, she was a rather active octogenarian. She still cooked meals and performed light housekeeping duties, which she liked to do despite the fact that Chandler finally got her to accept help. Monica had been so self-sufficient all her life, that no one could believe that she had allowed him to hire a cleaning service. She used her free time to read and she took walks. She played with her great-grandchildren, and just five short years ago, she took her last plane ride to Bermuda for a week at the beach with her family.

She laughed a bit to herself, "Where did that spry woman of eighty-four go? Hell, where did that girl of twenty-four go? I'd like to get some of those years back."

Monica looked down at her hands, inspecting all that time had wrought on her once supple, smooth skin. She let her fingers travel along the length of each arm, in search of some familiar muscle tone to prove to herself that she was still the same woman. She wanted to feel something that she carried with her through all these years and held onto. Monica folded her hands in her lap and sat back, allowing the couch cushions to gently support her weight as she took a moment to rest.

Lately, one of her children or grandchildren would come to the house every day. She pondered if it was because they have seen how tired she has been or if they still worry about their parents being alone in this big house. She assumed that is why Erica left the assisted living brochures on her coffee table last year. Her daughter no doubt hoped for them to look at them and find some sense of clarity about how they chose to live during the twilight of their lives. All of her children worried they could no longer take care of themselves or their home. She was grateful when the kids finally stopped bringing it up once she and Chandler agreed to move their bedroom down to the first floor. She didn't care if her family thought it was too much house for two old people to maintain. She was not going to leave. This was her home. Where she raised her children. Where she lived more than half of her life. Where she had enough room to fit her entire family on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Nothing was going to take away her ability to host. Not time, age or her own children.

"Don't they know who I am? I am Monica Geller-Bing. I don't do weakness. I don't need help. I don't need assistance. I raised four children and took two of them in when they needed help raising their own kids. I planned and organized seven weddings. I have hosted over sixty years of holidays and parties; I booked family vacations; I took care of funeral arrangements for half a dozen people. I get things done. I don't need things done for me!"

She was feeling particularly nostalgic earlier today and asked her son Daniel, who apparently had been the designated visitor of the day, to fetch some of the family photo albums from the bookshelf. A few of those albums, which have been waiting more than a decade to be adored again, were now stacked up on the coffee table. Others were in a pile on the couch next to her. Their pages already felt the tender touch of her fingers as she ran them over the protective clear plastic pockets. Tracing each figure in each photo, as if this tactile sensation would wash her frail body away and sweep her back into the past, so she could stand there once again and savor every detail of every day that is now long gone.

Monica sipped her evening tea and looked over at her husband, who, as usual, was dozing on his recliner with the TV on. She smiled in his direction. Chandler seemed to be taking to his old age better than her recently. His wit was still very sharp, and still so very embarrassing. He moved around much better than you would think a ninety-year old man could. When he had turned seventy, he bought himself a bicycle. He read in some magazine or book at the time, that a daily bike ride for seniors would keep them fit and was easier on the joints than walking. He took it very seriously and researched bicycles for weeks, trying to find the perfect one for his needs. Finally, once he made his selection and picked it up from the local shop, he began riding, weather permitting, every day. He still rides, despite the protests from their children, afraid he could fall and hurt himself. To assuage their fears, he purchased an adult tricycle a few years ago. He had joked that next, his children would buy him a wagon to sit in as they took turns pulling him around the neighborhood. He loved to play the indignant victim with his children, seeing them backtrack and trip over their own tongues as they tried to explain themselves without inadvertently offending him. Just like Monica had done to him so many times over the years. That nervous fumble to find the right words was just one of many traits they shared with their father. She laughed to herself, thinking about how much of his personality had rubbed off on their children. She had hoped to have at least one little Monica clone among the group. Someone with her sense of order and with her exuberance to be in charge, but for the most part, all she could see in her kids was Chandler.

She returned her attention to the photo album in her lap. She opened the cover and smiled. Erica and Jack's graduation party. Nearly forty years ago. She gently shook her head, wondering where all that time had gone. Instead of renting out a banquet hall at a local venue, they opted to have it in the backyard of their home. It was Erica's idea. She was keenly aware that her time living in their home was coming to an end and wanted to savor every moment. They decorated the night before. Just Monica and her two daughters. When her girls were teenagers, every day seemed rife with confrontations and arguments. Slammed doors and declarations of frustration was the only way the three of them seemed to be able to communicate back then.

"Mothers and daughters."

she remembered how worried she was that the bond between her and her daughters may have permanently fractured as it dissolved into sharp words and dismissive attitudes. Yet, that night before the party, for the first time in what felt like ages, she had her girls back. The doting daughters who were best friends and hung on Monica's every word. That night, they laughed, made fun of boys, talked about dating and the future, and they shared stories from the past and embraced each other with tearful hugs.

She turned the page, ready to view another set of photos from that night. The first one was of Erica, Jack and a group of their friends. Eight or nine teenagers who thought they were more than ready for adulthood. Having no clue what the next chapter of their lives would hold. Wide smiles, full of potential, hormones, and invincibility. She glanced at the next photo on the other page; Monica, Chandler and her own gang of friends. The photo purposely placed in juxtaposition with the one of her children. There they all were, perhaps a little older, a little greyer, a little wearier. Looking at herself, Monica finds it hard to believe that she felt so old back then, but now, as she studies her own face in the photo, all she can think about is how young she was.

"If you thought you were old then Mrs. Bing, I hate to have you see me now."

She traced her finger around the faces of the people in the photo. She stops at the first one. Joey, always so happy when they could all get together. He never liked the change in their dynamic, as the entire group transitioned from spending time with friends to raising families. Over the years, the ability to get all of them together in one place at the same time dwindled. People moved further apart, they had babies. Their babies had babies. It became too hard to organize a busy life of work, family and home, while also trying to hold on to each other like they used to.

It was at this very party that Joey sprung his masterplan on them. Throughout the years, people thought Joe was dumb; Chandler knew that it bothered him, even when Joey would laugh it off or try to ignore it. Chandler used to tell him, "You can't judge people based on the things they don't know. If you do that, you'd think everyone was stupid."

No, Joey wasn't stupid. Naïve, childlike, maybe a little uneducated about a number of topics; but he had good instincts and he was shrewd. He knew once everyone's kids started leaving home for college it would open up more free time for his friends. Armed with that knowledge, he purchased a beach house on Long Island and offered keys to everyone.

"I bought it for all of us! This way, everyone can use it whenever they want. I have one rule though. We all need to promise to get together once a year, like the old times. Wait! Also, no one have sex in the hot tub. Oh, and if I leave food there, don't throw it out. I'm coming back for it. Okay, so that's three rules."

That night, he succeeded in forcing everyone to commit to spending at least one long weekend every summer there, together as a group. And for the most part, everyone did.

Joey died eighteen years later.

Monica recalls one evening, a few weeks after he had gone, when she found Chandler crying at the kitchen counter. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back in an attempt to comfort him, assuming he was still working through his grief. She was surprised when he turned around, a stunned, half-smile on his face and an open envelope with some forms in his hands.

"Monica, look what he did. Look what he did for Jack. He never told me he was planning to do this. I can't even thank him. He did this wonderful thing and I can't even call him to thank him."

His eyes brimming with tears as Monica studied the financial forms that were contained in the letter. They held each other for most of that night, crying and celebrating the generosity of their friend. Whom they both missed dearly.

She continued moving her finger across the photo, stopping once it brushed over the image of Phoebe. She probably had the most energy out of them all the night of the party. She danced, laughed the loudest, told the most embarrassing stories.

"Remember when we stayed on the balcony all night just to see George Stephanopoulos naked?"

She pushed everyone to let loose.

"I love drunk Monica!"

She spread her infectious laughter throughout the entire yard as she poured round after round of margaritas.

As Monica prepared to consume her third drink that night, she was silently appreciative that Chandler convinced her to hire a host and servers for the party. She knew that soon enough, she would be in no condition to run it herself.

Over the years, Phoebe was the one Monica and Chandler lost touch with the most. It was no one's fault. Just one of those things that happens when people get older. Once she and Mike had their two daughters, they started spending holidays with his parents. Chandler would encourage Monica to travel back to Manhattan for a mini-reunion with Phoebe and Rachel as often as she could, but once they had all four kids and were outnumbered, it became harder to find time for those social excursions.

Phoebe and Mike would come to visit them, mostly in the summer, with their daughters in tow. Chandler referred to the Hannigan girls as "The Coven." Both daughters dressed, looked, and talked exactly like Phoebe. Sometimes, she would insinuate that her daughters were just her reincarnated spirit, living in two separate bodies. Chandler would become exasperated at Phoebe's insistence that it was so.

"Don't you need to die for that to happen first?"

But she would ignore him, and carry on about how Phoebe Buffay would live forever. Her spirit passed down from daughter to daughter.

Monica laughed at the memory to herself.

"I guess, in a way you did. Your granddaughter was telling people her name was Regina Phalange almost as soon as she could talk."

Phoebe passed away a little over twelve years ago, outliving Mike by a three. Monica remembers the funeral service; virtual reality glasses, fog machines, a drummer and everyone had to wear a feather boa. Phoebe's last manipulation to make everyone look foolish.

Monica focused her gaze now on Ross and Rachel. Ross, who finally got it right the fourth time when he and Rachel were married. Leading up to the wedding he would harp on the fact that if Rachel had just gone along with him and if they never filed for divorce after Vegas, that they could have avoided all of this hassle.

"We'd already be married!"

"But then, I wouldn't get to have a wedding! My wedding! Ross, do you understand why that is important!"

They bickered the entire time, up to and including at the rehearsal dinner.

It wasn't until the reception for their wedding was almost over that it occurred to Monica; her and Rachel were now sisters. Tears formed around the corners of her eyes as she stood up from the table abruptly, startling Chandler, who thought something was wrong. She darted through the room and pulled Rachel aside, frantically sharing her new revelation. Large, happy tears began to stream down their cheeks as their bewildered husbands closed in. Ross, always quick to suffer a fit of jealousy, complained.

"Sure, we get married and nothing, but this you cry about?"

Monica took that as a personal victory over her brother.

Ross and Rachel had one more child, a boy that they named after Rachel's father. They also moved back to Long Island when Ross got a job running the paleontology department at Stonybrook University. Rachel commuted to the city for her job, which ended up causing some friction in their marriage for a few years. Ross never felt anyone else's job was as important as his own, and his wife was no exception. He couldn't understand why she had not simply quit and raised their children, or, at the very least, tried to find a different job closer to home.

During that time, Rachel would confide in Monica. Confessing all her doubts, fears, and concerns about their marriage. For a brief time, she was sure her brother was heading for yet another divorce. Then, one day, the fighting was over. Rachel and Ross figured it out. The couple who seemed perpetually driven towards disharmony, had compromised and reconciled. It wasn't until years later that Monica learned Chandler had intervened. When Rachel told her what he had done, it led Monica to discover that over the years, Chandler reached out and secretly counseled the others, helping them solve problems. In all that time, he never brought attention to it. Never sought recognition. She wondered if he had ever realized what he was doing in those days when he would speak to his friends. Underestimating his own wisdom.

Ross died almost fifteen years ago.

Monica remembers spending more than two weeks with Rachel after he died. She stayed with her at her home on Long Island. She ended up taking care of all the funeral arrangements. It was the hardest thing she ever had to do. She needed to be her organized, high energy, take charge self at the same time that she was mourning her brother. Despite all their differences and skirmishes throughout their lives, Ross was more than just a sibling, he was her friend. He was her very first friend. Long ago she had learned to cherish the fact that he was a constant presence in her daily life.

After that, her and Rachel spoke every day. Even if it was just for a few minutes to discuss a TV show, or a grandchild's latest accomplishment. They would occasionally meet for dinner and spend a night in the other's guest room. It was the closest they ever got to being the friends that they were when they were roommates in Apartment 20 on Bedford Street. They used to joke about becoming the Golden Girls, how they would soon spend their eighties together, like Blanche, Betty and Rose. Chandler told them he would only play if he could be Sophia.

Rachel lived on for another eleven years before she passed away.

She left a giant hole in Monica's heart. Monica was very sad for a long time. She missed her friend dearly, and missed the connection they had rediscovered. It wasn't until her daughters began calling her every day that she was able to move on. During their last trip to Bermuda she found out that Chandler had spoken to the girls, explaining how important it would be for them to call and speak with Monica on a nightly basis. Just another one of those undisclosed good deeds by her husband. He knew his wife was in pain, and that he could never be a proper substitute for Rachel, but figured, maybe his daughters could.

Monica looked over at her dozing husband again. She lifted the remote and turned off the TV. His eyes opened to half-mast.

"I was watching that."

She laughed and continued sipping her tea. He took his phone to turn the tv back on. She hated that their grandson keeps Chandler up on new technology. He showed Chandler how to run all the electronics in the entire house from that phone. He spent a week just turning lights on and off from his easy chair.

She closed the photo album and placed it on the couch. She lifted a cracker and bit off a small piece as she reached for the next book. She smiled at the photo on the cover. It was from their wedding. Ever since she was a child, Monica dreamed about living a life of love, family and happiness. She never could have known the package that those dreams would come in. Falling in love with her best friend, adoption, living outside the city; the life she had eventually lived was nothing like the one she imagined in her childhood fantasies.

"This turned out a bit better."

She laughed again. As she looked back, she realized that her entire life seems to be filled with laughter. Even despite some dark times, which felt like they would swallow them up whole. Those sad memories fade as life shrinks, and now all she can remember are the days when her entire family would be sitting around the dinner table for a holiday meal. Children, grandchildren, and her husband, laughing, loving, everyone happy.

"Chandler. Honey. You did good."

"What Mon?"

Monica started to lift the blanket off her legs. "You did good on your promise. You made me very happy."

Chandler closed his eyes again, and mumbled sleepily. "That's good dear, because my warranty expired a long time ago. You definitely are not getting your money back."

She tried to stifle another laugh. Something she had done countless times before.

"No, seriously. I look at everything, all those years, and I think about what you said. How you promised to make me happy. You did. I don't think anyone could have had a better life than what you gave me. I hope I've told you that enough throughout the years."

Chandler opened his eyes and turned his head so he could look at his wife.

"Well, Mon, you made it easy. You took care of all of us."

"Sweetie, you took care of me. In a way no one else ever could."

She brushed a stray tear from her cheek and looked down at a flier that had come in the mail earlier that day.

"The Lion's Club is hosting a dinner and a dance for seniors in a couple of weeks. I think we should go."

Chandler, picked up his phone and started using it to change channels rapidly on the television. "Even at a senior night we'd be the oldest ones there. I think we qualify as super seniors. Do they have a dinner for those?"

Monica scoffed. "You don't know that. Why don't we go? I'd like to try and get out of the house more anyway. Besides, we could show those young seventy year old kids how it is done."

Chandler turned to look at her again and flashed her a sly smile. "Mon, are you asking me out on a date? Because, I don't know if I can put out like I used to."

She lifted herself up from the couch slowly and made her way over to her husband to kiss him on the head. "There's a lot of stuff you can't do like you used to. But, sure. I'm asking you out on a date." Monica rested her hand on his arm.

Chandler smiled, still made content by the touch of his wife after all these years. "Well, we're already outdated models, we might as well be out dating. Sure, let's go. Maybe I'll even dance with you if they play a slow song." He put his hand over hers and gave her a sympathetic smile. "You look tired. Why don't you go to bed. Me or one of the kids can get this cleaned up tomorrow."

"Well, don't leave the crackers or the tea out overnight, okay?" Chandler nodded in submission. "Thank you. I love you Chandler."

"I love you too Monica."

Monica shuffled down the hallway and into her bedroom. She gingerly changed into her night dress, climbed under the covers, closed her eyes, and fell asleep for the very last time.

Chandler Bing and his daughter Erica were standing side-by-side, cleaning up dishes in the sink together. Chandler initially had started rinsing off the plates, but Erica insisted he was doing it wrong and relegated him to drying duty. She wouldn't even let him put the dishes back in the cabinets because she was certain he would mess up the order. She already had to move the coffee mugs back to where her mother always kept them. Erica was sure, that if she left her father alone for an entire day, he would have the whole house in disarray.

Chandler looked over at his eldest daughter, who just got finished explaining to him that the towel he was using was not for drying dishes but was a seasonal decoration.

"Monica, she is just like you."

Chandler no longer has an internal thought without addressing his wife. It has been two weeks since she he said his last goodbye to her, and he still needed to talk to her. He still needed to feel connected to Monica in some way.

Erica has been coming over every night for dinner these last two weeks. She was worried about her father. Everyone she knew thought that her parents' marriage was the gold standard. She did as well. She knew that they had fights and heated disagreements, but they never let those problems linger and fester into resentment and acrimony. They made each other laugh. They shared private moments together, even well into their senior years, holding hands, whispering and smiling as they shared gentle touches and knowing glances. They had their own language that they spoke without ever using words. They were never bored of being around each other. Now, with her mother gone, she hated to think of her father being lonely and sad.

"You know. I can wash my own dishes. I am ninety years old. I've washed things before."

"What you were just doing was not what anyone would call washing. Least of all Mom."

Erica's breath caught in her throat. It was so easy to talk about her mother as if she were just in the other room. But knowing that she wasn't sent a sharp pain through her chest which forced her to stop what she was doing and bring her hand to her chin.

Chandler put his arm around his daughter's shoulder and hugs her.

"It's okay to miss her. You're allowed to still feel sad about it. She would probably be pretty mad at you if you weren't. She liked when people cried over her. She was kind of weird like that."

Erica looked up at her father with tears in her eyes.

"Dad. I'm supposed to be over here taking care of you. Making sure you aren't sad. You're not supposed to be taking care of me. You've done that enough."

Chandler laughed. "You're my kid. And you never stop taking care of your kids. No matter how old you are and no matter how old they are. There is no goal line with parenthood. You don't get to walk away. You will always be my child and I will always worry about you, even when I know I don't have to."

Erica wiped at her cheek and hugged her father.

"Dad. I love you. You're the best man I have ever known."

Chandler rested his chin on Erica's head.

"Well, You're mother was the best person you ever knew. Never forget that. She was the best person any of us will ever know. I'm not who I am if not for your mother. She is the reason I became the man I was supposed to be. It was all her."

Erica pulled back and smiled.

"I know Dad. I know."

Chandler wiped his eyes just as a tear was beginning to form around the edges.

"Now will you get out of here and go tend to your own family. I'm okay. I promise."

Erica turned off the water in the sink and leaned up against the counter.

"Are you sure? Because I can sleep here. You have like three guest rooms. I can make you breakfast and make sure you have some clean sheets."

Chandler laughed again. He heard his wife through his daughter's words.

"No, I'm good honey. I kind of want to be alone for a little while anyway. I love you, thanks for everything."

Reluctantly, Erica packed up her purse, grabbed her coat, kissed her father on the cheek and left for the night. Asking him if he was sure the entire time. Once she left the house, Chandler made his way into the living room.

"Oh Mon, what did you do to her. She is just like you. You know she is going to turn her own granddaughter into you. They already named her after you. I guess she was cursed from the start."

Chandler looked down at his feet as he remembered the day Monica found out her first great grandchild would have her name. She cried when she finally got to hold little Monica Geller Simmons. She was speechless. Through the years, It seemed no matter how much her family told her they loved her, it took gestures like that for her to truly understand how important she was to everyone.

Chandler eased himself down on the couch. He sat, quiet and alone, for what felt like a long time in the darkened room. Not interested in TV, not ready to go to sleep. He just moved his eyes around the room. The house seemed so empty to him now. It was just missing one person, but that person was everywhere. She was everything.

He looked down at the coffee table and spied the slip of paper that Monica had shown him the night she died.

"The Lions Club Senior Dinner"

"Another weekend plan not working out for us, huh Mon?" He chuckled to himself as he thought about all the times they tried to make plans to get away together, and how horribly wrong some of them had gone.

Suddenly, Chandler began to feel something similar to indigestion. He thought about getting a drink of water and worried he might be experiencing some acid reflux. Before he could stand, his breath shortened and a dull throbbing sensation shot up his arm. Chandler reached up to try and take his pulse, but the strength to lift his fingers seemed to have escaped him. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to catch his breath, but his chest started to feel like iron. Each time he tried to breathe was more difficult than the last. He started to feel an inviting drowsiness which beckoned him to close his eyes and rest for a while.

Oddly, he took a moment to allow a smile to spread across his lips. Without knowing how or why, he realized what was happening, and it allowed a peaceful ease to wash over him. He lifted his right arm and pushed through the haziness that was his vision and grabbed a framed photo from the end table next to him. He pulled it to his chest and looked down to make eye contact with Monica one last time. His eyes closed as the world around him started to go black.

"Ha, okay…all right. I can't believe you're still telling me what to do. I can't wait to see you. It's been a really long two weeks. I guess….I guess we're going to have that date after all. Let's hope they play something slow that we can dance to."

A/N – Hello, if you are reading this than you got to the end of my obnoxiously long first chapter to my new story in my ongoing Mondler series. I know it is a pretty stupid thing to do, trying to write three stories at the same time, but in my defense, I am a pretty stupid person. I promise though, I will be keeping up with all three currently running stories for anyone who is invested in them. I have too many ideas about what I want to do to abandon anything.

This is going to be all about Monica and Chandler after the final episode of the show. It will be canon compliant but since there are no episodes to tell me what happens, I'll be making most of it up. It will probably be the longest story I ever do, and it may never end.

I had this crazy idea to write the end of their story first, but as for the rest of this, I haven't decided if I will go chronologically or just bounce around the timeline. If anyone is still reading this and has a preference, I'd love to hear it.

For this chapter I based Chandler's active senior life on a man my aunt lives with who is 93 and still rides a bike every day. His speech is a bit slow and he forgets a name or two here and there, but for 93 he is in pretty good shape. I used June Carter and Johnny Cash as inspiration for how close to each other they died. Monica, looking through her photo albums is based on an uncle of mine, who did exactly that, looked through pages of memories, went to sleep, and never woke up. As if he knew it was his last day.

I might share where some of my inspirations came from in these author notes which will be different from how I do the other two stories. Thanks again for taking the time to read and indulging me.