Chapter 17: The Monkey
Ross walked into Central Perk on December 1st carrying a pet carrier and looking simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.
"I got a monkey," he announced to the mostly empty coffeehouse.
I looked up from grinding espresso beans. "You got a what?"
"A monkey. Capuchin. His name is Marcel." Ross set the carrier on the counter and opened it.
A small, furry face peered out at me with intelligent brown eyes. The monkey climbed onto Ross's shoulder and surveyed the coffeehouse like it was evaluating real estate.
"That's a monkey," I confirmed.
"I know! I adopted him from the zoo. Well, not adopted officially—they were placing him and I met him and he just... we bonded."
Marcel jumped from Ross's shoulder to the counter, moving fast. I grabbed the milk pitcher before tiny monkey hands could knock it over.
"Hey!" I said firmly. "No."
Marcel looked at me, tilted his head, and climbed back onto Ross.
"He listens to you," Ross said, sounding surprised. "He doesn't listen to me half the time."
The gang arrived shortly after—Chandler and Joey first, then Monica and Rachel together, Phoebe trailing behind with her guitar. They descended on Marcel with varying reactions.
Monica was immediately setting ground rules. "Ross, you cannot bring a monkey into a food establishment. There are health codes!"
"Marcel is very clean," Ross protested.
"Marcel is a primate. He probably has diseases we haven't even discovered yet."
Joey was trying to feed Marcel a cookie. "Come on, buddy. You like cookies, right? All animals like cookies."
Marcel grabbed the cookie and threw it at Chandler.
"Why does the monkey hate me already?" Chandler asked. "What did I do to the monkey?"
"Maybe he senses your commitment issues," Phoebe suggested. "Animals are very perceptive about emotional unavailability."
I watched the chaos unfold from behind the counter, trying not to laugh. Marcel was exactly like I remembered from the show—curious, mischievous, completely unpredictable.
Over the next hour, Marcel stole food from three different tables, climbed the curtains, and attempted to operate the espresso machine.
That's where I drew the line.
The monkey had made it halfway to the steam wand when I reached over and said firmly: "No. Off."
Marcel stopped. Looked at me. Climbed down.
Ross stared. "How did you do that?"
"I used to work in a zoo," I lied. "Animals respond to confidence."
That was complete bullshit, but it sounded plausible.
Ross - 3:15 PM (December 3rd)
Ross Geller sat in Central Perk with Marcel on his lap, thinking about how his life had become simultaneously better and weirder.
The monkey helped. Gave him something to focus on besides Carol's pregnancy and his divorce and his complicated feelings about Rachel. Marcel needed food and attention and rules, and providing those things made Ross feel competent.
But Marcel also scared him. What if he couldn't handle this? What if the monkey got sick or escaped or bit someone?
Gunther brought him coffee without being asked—regular, no sugar, exactly how Ross took it.
"Thanks," Ross said.
"No problem."
The barista went back to the counter, and Ross noticed something: Gunther always seemed to know what people needed before they asked for it. Coffee at the right time, first-aid kits during emergencies, firm boundaries with misbehaving monkeys.
He's good at this, Ross thought. Reading people. Being helpful without being intrusive.
It was a skill Ross wished he had. Instead, he over-explained things and made situations awkward and generally tried too hard.
Marcel chittered softly and Ross scratched behind his ears. At least the monkey liked him, even if the monkey also liked throwing things at Chandler.
Small victories.
December 5th brought a different kind of chaos.
The gang was gathered around their usual couch, and I was close enough to overhear their conversation while restocking napkins.
"So we're all agreed?" Monica was saying. "No dates on New Year's Eve. We celebrate together, just us."
"No dates," Chandler confirmed. "I am officially removing myself from the dating pool for New Year's."
"Me too," Rachel added. "Paolo and I broke up anyway, so it's not like I have options."
"I'm in," Joey said. "No women, just friends. And food. Lots of food."
Ross nodded. "I'm obviously in. Who would I even date? I have a monkey now. That's not exactly sexy."
"I'll bring my new scientist," Phoebe said. "David. He's very smart and going to Minsk soon, so it's not really a date, just... a goodbye hang."
"That's still technically a date," Monica pointed out.
"It's a science goodbye. Completely different."
I finished with the napkins and went back behind the counter, processing what I'd heard.
The no-date pact. I remembered this episode. Everyone would break the pact—Chandler would reconnect with Janice, Phoebe would have David, Monica would resist temptation from some guy, Rachel would deal with Paolo drama.
And somewhere in all of that, my Fateful Encounter power would activate. One romantic opportunity per month, and December's hadn't happened yet.
I could orchestrate something. Use the power, meet someone, start a relationship.
But the timing felt wrong. Let them have their pact, their drama, their New Year's chaos. I didn't need to insert myself into every moment of their lives.
December would pass, the Fateful Encounter would remain unused, and that was fine.
Not every opportunity needed to be seized.
December 6th brought problems.
A woman in a business suit walked in at 11 AM, ordered a latte, and then noticed Marcel sitting on Ross's shoulder.
"Is that a monkey?" she asked, voice sharp.
"Capuchin," Ross corrected automatically.
"In a food establishment?"
"He's very clean—"
"This is a health code violation. I'm calling the city."
She pulled out a cell phone—one of those new mobile ones that cost a fortune—and started dialing.
Terry emerged from the office, having heard the commotion. "Ma'am, please. The monkey is just visiting. He's not staying permanently—"
"He shouldn't be here at all!"
Ross looked panicked. Marcel chittered nervously, sensing the tension.
I stepped in before the situation escalated.
"Excuse me," I said to the woman, using my most professional tone. "I understand your concern. The monkey won't be in the public area. We have a back office where he can stay during business hours."
Terry looked at me. Ross looked at me. The woman looked at me.
"You have an office?" she demanded.
"Yes ma'am. For storage and administrative work. The monkey can wait there while his owner finishes his coffee."
She seemed to consider this. "Well... I suppose that's acceptable. As long as it's not near the food."
"Absolutely not," I assured her.
She left, still looking skeptical.
Terry grabbed my shoulder. "Do we actually have an office that's monkey-proof?"
"The storage room," I said. "Ross can keep Marcel there temporarily during inspections or complaints."
Ross stood up, cradling Marcel. "Hey, thanks man. That was... you totally saved me. What was your name again?"
"Gunther."
"Right. Thanks, Gunther. Seriously."
Second time Ross had used my name properly. First time he'd asked for it like he actually wanted to remember it.
Progress.
Terry showed Ross the storage room—small, windowless, but clean and dry. Marcel could stay there for an hour or two when necessary.
Ross emerged looking relieved. "This is perfect. I owe you one, Gunther."
"Don't worry about it."
He rejoined the gang, telling them about the narrow escape. They laughed and teased him about having a monkey in the first place.
And I went back to making coffee, satisfied.
Marcel became a regular fixture after that. Ross brought him in most days, kept him in the storage room during peak hours, let him out when the coffeehouse was quiet.
The monkey and I developed an understanding. I gave him boundaries, he respected them. When Marcel tried to grab the espresso machine again, I just pointed at the storage room and he climbed off the counter voluntarily.
"I don't understand it," Ross said, watching this happen. "He never listens to me that quickly."
"Maybe you're too nice to him," I suggested.
"I'm establishing a relationship of mutual respect!"
"You're letting a monkey run your life."
Ross looked offended, then thoughtful. "Maybe you're right. I should be firmer."
"Just a suggestion."
Through a monkey—a literal monkey—I was becoming more visible to Ross. We had conversations now. Brief ones, but real.
He remembered my name. Asked my opinion. Trusted my judgment on animal control.
Small victories. But they accumulated.
Chapter 18: The Mrs. Bing
She walked into Central Perk on December 10th like she owned it, and maybe in some metaphorical way, she did.
Nora Bing—romance novelist, talk show guest, and walking embodiment of why Chandler had intimacy issues—wore a designer coat and smile that suggested she knew exactly how attractive she was.
I recognized her immediately. Not from personal memory—Gunther had never met her—but from years of watching the show. Chandler's mother, the woman who'd kiss Ross and create maximum awkwardness.
She approached the counter with confidence that bordered on theatrical.
"Coffee, black," she said, making eye contact longer than necessary. "And maybe a smile from the handsome barista?"
I smiled politely. "One coffee coming up."
While making her drink, I added orange light—creativity boost, figured a romance novelist could always use more inspiration. Nothing personal, just professional service.
When I brought it to her, she touched my hand while taking the cup.
"Thank you, darling. You're very good at this."
"Just doing my job, ma'am."
"Nora," she corrected. "Call me Nora."
I nodded and escaped back behind the counter, grateful for the physical barrier.
Chandler walked in five minutes later, saw his mother, and visibly deflated.
"Mom. What are you doing here?"
"Hello to you too, sweetie." Nora stood and hugged him. "I had a book signing in the city. Thought I'd stop by your little coffeehouse."
"It's not my coffeehouse. I just drink coffee here."
"Well, introduce me to your friends."
The gang trickled in over the next hour—Ross, then Joey and Phoebe, then Monica and Rachel. Nora held court like a celebrity, telling stories about her romance novels with barely concealed innuendo.
"The key to good erotica," she was saying while Chandler looked like he wanted to die, "is authenticity. You have to experience passion before you can write about it."
"Mom, please—"
"Chandler, don't be such a prude. Sex is natural. Beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of."
Ross was nodding along, clearly interested. Monica looked uncomfortable. Rachel seemed fascinated and horrified simultaneously.
I watched from the counter, mentally cataloging Chandler's mother issues for future reference.
Chandler - 4:47 PM
Chandler Bing wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
His mother was discussing her latest novel—something about a duchess and a stable boy—with entirely too much enthusiasm. Ross was asking questions about historical accuracy. His mother was touching Ross's arm while answering.
Please don't let this get weirder, Chandler thought.
It got weirder.
He stepped outside for air, needing five minutes away from his mother's sexual frankness. When he came back, she was leaning close to Ross, laughing at something he'd said.
Then she kissed him.
Just leaned over and kissed Ross Geller on the mouth in the middle of Central Perk.
Chandler's brain short-circuited. "MOM!"
Nora pulled back, looking entirely unrepentant. "What? He's sweet."
"He's my FRIEND!"
"He's also a grown man who can make his own decisions."
Ross looked shell-shocked. "I should... I'm going to... bathroom."
He fled.
Chandler stood frozen while his mother calmly sipped her coffee like she hadn't just destroyed multiple relationships simultaneously.
The gang erupted in chaos. Monica was horrified. Joey was impressed. Phoebe seemed to think it was cosmically significant. Rachel couldn't stop laughing.
Chandler stormed out, needing to be anywhere else.
He walked around the block twice, trying to process what had just happened, then returned to Central Perk because he'd left his coat.
Gunther had coffee ready when he walked in. To-go cup, lid already on.
Chandler took it automatically. "How did you know—"
"You looked like you needed it."
The coffee was perfect. Better than perfect, actually—it had this quality that made Chandler's racing thoughts slow down slightly. Made the situation feel less catastrophic.
He took another sip and felt his jaw unclench.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
Gunther nodded and went back to wiping down the espresso machine.
Simple kindness. No commentary, no jokes, no judgment. Just coffee at the right moment.
Chandler finished the drink outside, staring at the December evening, and thought: The barista gets it. Somehow, Gunther just... gets it.
Two days later, Rachel came in limping.
"What happened?" Monica asked immediately.
"I slipped on ice outside my building. My ankle is killing me."
"You should go to the hospital," Ross said. "Get it checked out."
"I don't have insurance yet. Terry's still processing my paperwork."
The gang went into problem-solving mode. Joey offered to carry her. Chandler suggested cab fare. Monica wanted to check if anything was broken.
I quietly called a cab from the coffeehouse phone and told them someone with an injured ankle would need a ride to the nearest hospital.
When Rachel dropped her tray while trying to hobble back to the counter, I picked it up without comment. Cleared the table, wiped the surface, put everything back in its proper place.
Joey was watching me do it.
When I looked up, he nodded once. "You're good people, man."
Simple statement. But coming from Joey—who usually didn't notice anything outside his immediate needs—it meant something.
"Thanks," I said.
The cab arrived ten minutes later. Ross helped Rachel outside while the others gathered coats and bags to accompany her to the hospital.
Monica paused at the door. "Gunther? Thanks for calling the cab."
"No problem."
They left in their usual chaotic cluster, and I finished the closing routine alone.
December was moving fast. Nora's visit had come and gone, leaving awkwardness in its wake. Marcel had become a fixture despite health code violations. The New Year's pact was set.
And I was becoming more visible. Not dramatically—still just the barista who made good coffee—but people were noticing the small things.
Joey's "good people" comment. Chandler taking the coffee I'd prepared without question. Ross asking my name and actually remembering it. Monica's repeated thanks for small kindnesses.
They were starting to see me. Not as part of their core group—that would take time—but as someone reliable. Helpful. Worth acknowledging.
The network of wealthy regulars was growing. My savings had reached $1,580. Caroline and Marcus had both returned multiple times, bringing colleagues, building connections.
The foundation was getting stronger. Slowly. Patiently.
I locked up Central Perk and walked home through December cold, thinking about progress.
Not every victory was dramatic. Sometimes it was just a cab called at the right time. Coffee made without being asked. Quiet competence noticed by people who mattered.
I was building something real. One small moment at a time.
And somehow, that was enough.
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