Another Preview to Chapter 43

(Aunt May’s Apartment)

Peter Parker is once again standing outside his aunt’s door, but this time not as anxious as he was the last time. Because this time, he knows what he has to do. He has to tell her the truth.

‘Except the truth is way more complicated now than it was a few days ago,’ He reminds himself.

A few days ago, he would have told May he was Spider-Man. As hard as that conversation would have been, at most there would have been shock and maybe some dismay, no pun intended. Of course, he’d have to disclose his relationship status. Now though? He’s got so much more to tell her about.

Not the least of which is Gwen.

May has already been through a similar situation when he dealt with that Gwen clone years back. ‘Course that wasn’t actually a real clone but something else that gives him a headache to think about.

Miles Warren is one twisted man, and one of the many worries that Peter has to deal with now that Gwen is alive again.

‘And don't even get me started on my relationship status.’ He thinks with a groan.

The best thing going on in his life right now is his relationship with Mary Jane, Felicia, and Sonja, and he can’t tell his aunt May without first telling her about Spider-Man.

Oy.

He knocks on the door and waits patiently for the door to open. When it does, it’s not May that opens it but her husband, John Jameson Sr.

“Peter?” The man says in surprise, “What brings you by?”

Parker smiles and waves at the much older gentleman, “Hey Mr. Jameson,” He greets him before he asks, “Is my Aunt May around?”

“She’s stepped out for a minute.” The elder of the Jameson men informs him, before he steps aside, “Come on in and wait for her.”

“Thank you.” He says before stepping in.

The apartment smells like May's lavender potpourri and the faint ghost of this morning's bacon. Peter follows John to the living room, noticing how the older man moves with that slight stiffness comes with age.

"Coffee?" John offers, already heading toward the kitchen.

"Sure, thanks." Peter settles onto the familiar floral couch, easing back into the worn cushions. He takes a look around, pictures of May and her new husband dotted the walls, interspersed with a few of him at various ages. He felt a twinge of guilt knowing he’d been a part-time figure in her life lately, but he pushed it down.

He’d rehearsed what to say the whole walk over. How far back to start, how to phrase what happened with everything recently, what to do if May started to cry, what to do if she didn’t. There’s not a script for this, not for telling someone you love that the child they raised has been breaking every rule she ever cared about for almost half his life. Especially not now, after everything.

He can picture it a dozen ways. She gasps, clutches her chest, and collapses into the armchair. Or her spine goes iron-rod straight, hands folded in her lap, and she asks him to leave. Or maybe she just smiles and says, “Peter, I’ve always known,” like this is the setup to a joke she’s heard before.

But the real reason his hands won’t stop trembling is that nothing in his life has ever gone the way he pictured it. Not a date, not a career, not even a day where something didn’t happen that made him wonder why he even bothers. He always winds up two steps left of where he means to be. He’s terrified he’ll say the thing wrong and lose her for good.

“Can’t help but notice you are unusually quiet.”

Peter clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably under his step uncle’s gaze. “It’s just uh, the last time I was here, I left things…”

“Tense? Awkward?” John provides which prompts a raised brow from the younger man, “May told me. She’s been worried for the last week.”

He rubs the back of neck, “I wanted to come by sooner, but, uh… things got complicated.”

John's expression softens. "Life has a way of doing that. Especially yours, from what I've gathered."

The understatement of the century. Peter manages a weak smile. "You could say that."

The man gives Peter a comforting smile, one only an old person gives to someone young.

"It's about responsibility," Peter says finally, the words coming out slower than he intends. "About choices I've made. Things I've kept from people I care about."

John's eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn't interrupt.

"I've been living this... double life," Peter continues, his fingers tightening around the mug. The ceramic is warm against his palms, grounding. "For years. And the people closest to me—May especially—they don't know. They've never known."

The older man leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "That's a heavy burden to carry alone."

"Yeah." Peter's voice comes out rougher than intended. "The thing is, I told myself it was to protect them. That if they didn't know, they'd be safer. But lately..." He trails off, thinking of Gwen's face in that hospital bed, the betrayal in her eyes when she realized how long he'd been lying to her. Even from beyond death.

"Lately you're wondering if you were protecting them or yourself," John finishes.

Peter looks up sharply. The older man's expression is knowing but not judgmental.

"I disappeared from Jonah's life for years," John says, settling back in his chair. "Told myself it was because of work, because he was better off with his mother, because of a dozen other excuses. Truth was, I was scared. Scared of screwing up, scared of not being good enough, scared of facing the disappointment in his eyes."

The parallel isn't lost on Peter. He stares down at his coffee, watching the steam curl upward.

"When I finally came back into his life," John continues, "he was angry. Had every right to be. But you know what hurt him more than my absence? The fact that I'd made that choice for him. Decided what was best without giving him a say."

The front door opens with a familiar creak. Peter's shoulders tense automatically.

"John? Whose jacket is—" May's voice cuts off as she rounds the corner, purse in hand. "Peter!"

“Hey Aunt May,” he greets her warmly as she hugs him and he returns it.

“I owe you an explanation for what happened last time I was here.” The youngest person in the room states.

“Does it have something to do with Mary Jane?” May asks him.

Peter recoils, “What?” He says in bewilderment. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, after you avoided me for nearly a week, I needed another way to find out what’s going on with you.” She explains, making him grimace in guilt. He knows she’s not guilt tripping him, just telling him it wasn’t right that he ghosted her. “So I called Anna, who called Mary Jane. And then I didn’t know what to think after everything Anna told me.”

Now Peter is confused. “What do you mean?” He asks.

“Anna said that Mary Jane is opening up a nightclub.” May explains, “And while she seemed excited about this business venture, Anna noticed that her niece was since the last time they spoke. When she asked, Mary Jane said that you and her were trying again.”

“She said that?”

“Yes. Why do you look tense?”

“I’m not tense. It’s just that… we are trying again, but it’s a little more complicated than it used to be.”

“Why?”

“I'm uh, I’m going back to school.” He finally gets out. But feels like a coward.

May seems to be taken back by this news, clearly not expecting this. “Oh? Well that’s… wonderful to hear.” She says but Peter can see she is clearly confused.

“I want to get a doctorate.” He explains, rather poorly too. “

That’s her subtle way of asking him if he’s sure he doesn’t want to say more.