Chapter 2: The Runaway Bride Crisis, Part 2 of 8
Apartment 5A gleamed with Monica Geller's meticulous order, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. Now, a damp, high-fashion catastrophe sprawled across her couch, a testament to chaos she couldn't ignore. Her dark brown eyes scanned the hallway, searching for stray objects that might spark Mrs. Jenkins's wrath. The stress of potential mess sent a tremor down her spine, a physical echo of her need for control. I can't let this unravel.
Mrs. Jenkins materialized at the hallway's end, her silver hair a tight, unmoving bun, her clipboard a shield. "Miss Geller," she clipped, her voice icy and firm. "Section 4, subsection B of the tenant agreement clearly states that unauthorized, long-term guests are a violation. Especially ones that cause a disturbance and leave water damage in the lobby."
Monica planted her feet, her gold necklace glinting under the harsh light. "Mrs. Jenkins, Rachel is a family friend, and she's a guest, not a tenant. She's had a traumatic experience."
"Rules are rules. This is not a shelter. If she is not officially registered or gone by morning, she will be considered an unauthorized resident. And that means eviction." Mrs. Jenkins adjusted her glasses, her lips pursed, the word eviction a judge's gavel.
Before Monica could counter, Ross and Ted jumped in, their voices clashing. "Wait! She can stay with me!" Ross paced, his lanky form awkward. "I'm in 3A. My apartment's mostly empty now, since, you know, Carol moved out. She can have the guest room!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Dino-Dan." Ted stepped forward, running a hand through his hair. "Rachel, you can stay with me. My place is bigger, and I'm a great cook! I make a truly excellent slow-cooker chili."
Monica glared, hands on hips. Unbelievable. Two competitive puppies trying to win the trauma-stricken girl. "No one is staying with anyone! She's staying here. I'm her friend, and I'm in charge," she declared. "Mrs. Jenkins, I'll register her for three nights as an emergency visitor. And I'll pay the extra $50 non-resident fee. But she stays."
Mrs. Jenkins tapped her clipboard, glaring. "Fine. Three nights. And tell your brother to stop leaving his junk mail outside the mailroom. It's a health violation." Her icy voice faded as she walked away, her posture rigid.
Monica exhaled silently, the tremor easing. Control restored, but that mailroom mention is trouble. She fidgeted with her necklace, her annoyance at the men simmering.
Monica sank onto a stool, her fingers tracing the gold chain's links. Rachel stirred on the couch, murmuring softly in her sleep, a faint smile breaking through. For a moment, the hallway's tension dissolved, and Monica's shoulders relaxed. She poured herself a glass of water, the clink of the pitcher a gentle rhythm. Maybe this chaos can work.
Joey Tribbiani grinned, the red velvet booth his command center. The warm scent of beer and leather fueled his infectious energy. New girl means new rules. We gotta have a code. He leaned in, dark eyes sparkling, beside Barney Stinson.
Barney scribbled in his leather notebook, his gold pen dancing. "Article One, Section Alpha: A Bro is always his Brother's Wingman. No questions asked. Article Two: Never choose a chick over a Bro." "Wait, this needs more Joey. Something… punchy."
"How about: Never ask a Bro if that's all the meat he's gonna eat?" Joey suggested, his tone playful.
"Brilliant! But we need a test case. Carl!" Barney called, adjusting his tie.
Carl polished a glass, his dry motion unimpressed. He lifted his head, fixing Joey with a sharp stare.
Joey winked, running a hand through his hair. "How you doin'?"
"I'm working, Joey. Don't do that here," Carl gruffed, annoyance flickering.
Chandler sipped his drink, mocking the failure. "This code's dumber than my job," he said, his sarcasm cutting. "Congratulations, guys. You just wrote the rules for being ignored."
Joey clapped Barney's back, laughing. Carl's a tough crowd. We need better material. "Okay, new page! The 'How You Doin'' clause needs refinement. We'll call it: Article Carl-Zero," he declared.
Barney drafted, his competitive spirit reignited. "Excellent. The Bro Code grows."
Phoebe set up incense cones on a saucer, the sweet scent cutting through MacLaren's aroma. This is why Phoebe and I are best friends. Lily's green eyes twinkled with mischief, her sketchbook ready.
Phoebe lit the incense, smoke billowing upward. "Cosmic Welcome, Rachel Green. We cleanse the bad vibes, we bless the new scene…"
Monica marched over, her face red. "Phoebe! What are you doing? That's incense! We're in a crowded bar! And it smells like a college dorm room after a protest!" Her hands gripped her hips, control at Code Red.
Lily sketched a star, swirling smoke lines. "Monica, relax! It's a purification ritual. Don't you want Rachel to have good vibes?"
Monica narrowed her eyes. "I want Rachel to have a non-flammable environment! And I want that mess out of my apartment before I have to clean the smoke residue off the ceiling!"
Phoebe blew smoke toward Monica. "Breathe deep, Monica. Let the purity in."
Monica recoiled, yelping. She crossed her arms, pouting, momentarily defeated.
Lily laughed, tapping her pen. Phoebe is the best kind of weird. She felt a deeper connection, her creative side flourishing.
Rachel twisted her silver bracelet, anxiety churning in her stomach. I have no money. No plan. I can't go back to Daddy, which means I have to get a job. She sat with Robin at the bar, her voice shaky. "I don't know what to do," she confessed. "I've never, like, had to work. What do I even put on a resume? I was a sorority party planner?"
Robin sipped her beer, her hair bobbing. "Relax. You're in New York. You're young, you're connected, and you're pretty. You'll figure it out. Start small." "You need cash fast. Why not try working here? MacLaren's is always looking for help. Wendy the waitress just quit."
Rachel's eyes widened. "Waitressing? Me? Carrying heavy trays? That's… not really a career."
"It's a paycheck," Robin snarked, rolling her eyes. "It's independence. It's what actual working people do."
Ross overheard, his brown eyes clouding with jealousy. She'll be flirted with, falling for someone who isn't me. He rubbed his neck, fumbling his coffee cups.
Robin leaned back, her scotch glass twirling lazily. Rachel traced a water ring on the bar, her breath slowing. The bar's hum softened, a brief pause in the storm. Robin's smirk faded, replaced by a thoughtful gaze. She might just make it.
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