The Yellow Pages

Several weeks passed before Peter returned to his ‘search’. Not only had he gotten caught up in a looming project from work, but he found himself feeling discouraged after how poorly his previous attempts had gone over.

“So, how goes the hunt for love?” May asked one Tuesday as she set a coffee down beside his computer. The Wi-Fi at his apartment was out, so he’d decided to work at her’s for the day. 

“Uh, well, it hasn’t been going...” he trailed off into what sounded more like a question than an answer, quickly pressing save before planting his chin firmly in his hand.

“Perfect, because I set up a date for you,” May chirped in a sing-songy voice as she whirled about the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, what?” Peter asked, sitting up in surprise.

“Yes, a woman in my book club was asking around for someone to set up with her granddaughter, and I said you were looking-”

“May,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Come on. It’ll be good for you. Besides, even if you hate the girl, it’ll make for some nice practice,” she smiled, stopping momentarily to wink in his direction.

“Practice- I don’t need practice,” Peter insisted.

“Really? When was the last time you went on a date?” she questioned, eyebrows furrowing, but he smile betrayed her more teasing manner.

“I mean, it’s been a while-” he started.

“A while?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Peter said, putting his hands up in surrender.

“When is this date anyway?”

“Tonight,” May said quickly, turning away.

“T-tonight? And you’re only telling me now?” Peter’s hands flew to his hair, digging into the greasy mop atop his head.

“I- I have to do laundry. I can’t go on a date tonight,” he rushed out, his voice coming out a octave higher.

“You do not have to do laundry,” May snorted, “Just grab something out of the closet here.” 

“No-no. I haven’t showered or shaved-” he started.

“Peter, the date is tonight. You have plenty of time,” she sighed, leaning over the counter to look him in the eyes. 

“Look, I know things have been hard for you since Gwen, but a lifetime is no short thing, and I don’t want you spending the rest of yours alone,” she began.

“I’m not-”

“Don’t- Please don’t, Peter. I’ve watched you these last few years on your own. I’m worried about you. I only want you to be happy,” she insisted.

“I am-” he protested weakly, “I’m getting there, you know?”

He smiled up at May, but she only looked back at him, unblinking, a deep-set frown painted across her features.

“I’ll go, okay? If it’ll make you happy, I’ll go on that date,” Peter sighed, giving in, his mind already wandering to what could possibly be in store for him.

Peter wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d last felt this scared. His hands fiddled mindlessly with the Sticky Note May had given him with the girl’s name. Kat. Kat, Kat, Kat. He allowed each letter to make its way through his mind and tested out the feel the single syllable on his tongue. 

“Kat, Kat, Kat,” he muttered to himself below his breath, “Hi Kat, I’m Peter. It’s so nice to meet you.” He practiced the line a couple more times before entering the small Italian restaurant.

The inside of the building felt far darker than the outside despite the fact that the sun had already set. Though, Peter supposed that’s what he got for living in New York City. The ceiling had been covered with thin vines of plastic leaves, stapled haphazardly to the plasterboard tiles someone had taken the time to paint black. Scattered within the mass of fake shrubbery were the occasional string of twinkle lights, accompanied by bunches of artificial grapes. Still, as Peter slid into one of the stiff, red booths, he couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of comfort one often finds themselves with when the restaurant in which they sit makes no attempt to pretend to be something it is not. He felt his shoulders relax: there was nothing to worry about. It was just dinner.

Shifting his focus to the menu, he buried his face in the large plasticky folds, scanning the entrees. 

“Peter? Peter Parker?” a voice quickly cut through his thoughts, and he scrambled to greet his date. Except he knew this girl; they had met before.

“Katherine?” Peter stared up at the redhead, mouth ajar, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh my god, I should have known she would do this,” Katherine groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Do what? I’m sorry, what’s happening right now?” 

“Your aunt set you up on this date, right? Through some woman in her book club?” 

Slowly the pieces began to fall into place within Peter’s mind. Kat, Kat, Kat- Oh.

“You’re Kat?” Peter asked.

“The one and only,” she feigned a curtsy before taking the seat across from his. 

“Look, I’m really sorry. I had no idea this was gonna happen,” she sighed, staring at her hands. 

“It’s fine,” Peter laughed gently, “honestly, if anything, I’m glad it’s you; there’s less pressure that way. Plus, I’m not even sure if I’m ready to start dating right now.”

Peter seemed to deflate as those words left his mouth, ready for Kat to get up and leave.

“Oh my god, me too. I think my grandmother is convinced I’ll die alone if I’m not married by twenty-six,” she laughed.

“Right? My Aunt May is the same way,” Peter’s face broke into a smile.

“So what if we just hang out as friends? I mean, neither of us really feel ready to date, and it’ll still be good practice for the real deal,” Kat suggested, and Peter felt himself nodding.

“Yeah, sure, I’d like that,” he agreed.

“Do you wanna maybe get out of here? A sit-down dinner feels kind of weird now,” Kat explained.

“I’d like that a lot, actually,” Peter said, already getting up to leave.

Talking felt easy with Kat, or at least easier than it did when he’d found her address through her dead mother’s name and showed up on her doorstep unannounced. She didn’t laugh easily, despite the semi-permanent smile etched across her face, which made every half-snort and giggle feel like a reward. The two of them walked the streets seemingly without direction, eating their ways through the cones of ice cream Peter had insisted he pay for.

“So, Kat, who are you?” Peter asked casually after catching a drop of melting ice cream on his tongue.

“What? You couldn’t find enough on me when you were stalking my dead mom?” Her brows raised at him, and Peter cringed.

“Sorry about that, again,” he sighed, dragging a hand across his face. 

“I’m messing with you,” she giggled.

“Well, you know, I’m just a normal adult woman. I’m a total failure, I graduated college early so I could spend the next two years doing nothing, I wrote and finished a screenplay that I hate, so everything is just about right on track for me,” she answered finally, her tone taking on a more biting nature.

“I don’t think you’re a failure,” Peter responded.

“That’s because you don’t know me.”

After a brief pause in conversation, Peter spoke up once more.

“Don’t you wanna know who I am?” 

“Oh, your cards already told me everything I need to know, Tiger.” She smiled as though she knew something he didn’t.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” he asked, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“That your life is nothing but conflict and strife. And that you are the hero type-”

“Oh really? And what’s so bad about that?” Peter cut her off, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t do heroes, Peter Parker.” She smiled bitterly, but there was something else there: a certain sadness he elected to ignore for now.

“Well then, it’s a good thing we’re just friends,” Peter teased.

She looked him up and down for a moment, and he couldn’t help but notice a dot of strawberry ice cream decorating her upper lip. Slowly, as though he was trying not to startle her, he lifted his hand to her mouth and wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. She inhaled sharply but didn’t move away from his touch.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” she said finally, turning away. “Come on. I just remembered I have something for you.”

Conversation slowed for a while as Peter trailed behind Kat. She walked with determination, weaving her way through the crowded sidewalk. He almost wanted to reach out and grab her hand— to somehow tether himself to her as they pressed past all the people (to help him keep up of course). When she finally came to a stop, it was in front of a used bookstore Peter recalled passing by several times. The Ink Pot. He smiled softly at the words hand-painted on the store’s front window.

Kat pulled him into the store by his arm before whipping around to face him. 

“Wait here,” she said before marching off towards the back.

Peter brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck as he looked around, feeling out of place. His eye caught on a picture of a familiar redhead hanging beside a copy of The House on Mango Street. He quickly scanned the sign on top of the shelf: Employee Recommendations.

“You work here?” The words slipped out as Kat flew past him once more, a blur of red hair. He watched as she ushered an employee out from behind the register to scan a rather large book before turning back to face him.

“Part-time,” she smiled, returning to his side and dumping the contents of her arms into his expectant hands. The Yellow Pages: 2020. Peter tilted his head in slight confusion.

“You said you found my mom’s name in The Yellow Pages, so I figured you could use a more recent copy,” she offered with a shrug, “I looked it up, and it turns out the online version is not, in fact, free. Anyway, we had this copy in the back of the store, and we can’t really sell them after the year they’re made for, so I thought maybe you could use it to find your…” she trailed off, uncertain.

“MJ,” Peter finished, impressed she had even remembered.

“So wait, you work at a bookstore, but you want to be a screenwriter? How does that work?” Peter questioned as the two made their way towards the subway.

“Well, reading and writing do go hand in hand,” she responded easily. “Besides, where do you think writers get their inspiration?”

“I see,” Peter nodded along.

“It’s kinda like that whole ‘there are only seven original stories’ thing. Every story is based on something. Especially today,” she finished.

“And where do you get your inspiration from?” he asked, his head tilting to the side.

“That is a very general question,” came her response. 

“Okay, okay. What’s your favorite book?” He tried again.

She seemed to think about it for a long time before speaking again.

“My real favorite book? Or the answer I give people at parties, who I don’t know?”

“Both,” Peter said, his curiosity piqued.

“Well, I tell people my favorite book is Jane Eyre-” she started.

“Jane Eyre?” Peter’s face pulled into a grimace.

“Judge all you want. Nobody asks you questions when you say your favorite book is Jane Eyre,” she tsked.

“Alright, alright, what’s your real favorite book,” he asked.

“Oh god, this is embarrassing,” she dipped her face into her hands, hiding behind them.

“Anna and the French Kiss,” she admitted finally.

“That is embarrassing,” Peter snickered, and she shoved him playfully.

“Shut up. I read it in middle school. It’s stupid and catty and anti-feminist, and I love it,” she stated, attempting to appear proud of herself. He only laughed some more.

“Oh yeah, big shot? What’s your favorite book then?” she snapped, crossing her arms, but the smile on her face betrayed her.

“I’m not really a big reader-”

“Doesn’t matter. There has to be at least one book you’ve read that stuck with you,” Kat reasoned.

“Alright, alright. I always liked The Outsiders. We read it for school, and I guess it had a bit of an impact,” Peter admitted. She smiled softly in return.

“Solid choice,” Kat hummed.

The two stilled upon reaching the platform and sat in comfortable silence, waiting. On the other side of the tracks, an unusual man slipped in and out of the shadows, his movements barely perceptible. Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention, but by the time his eyes landed on the other platform, he was gone.

“Mr. Connors, you have a visitor,” the guard announced before slipping away to reveal the man from the platform.

“It’s Doctor,” the man in the cell corrected weakly before turning to the strange man before him.

“Who are you?” he questioned, though his voice displayed little interest.

“My name is Mr. Negative, and I’m here to break you out.”