The Private and Intimate Life of the House
Peter flipped his pillow over. His tears had soaked one side far past the point of comfort.
He wasn’t angry at May for the things she had said. Because she had only repeated what that voice in the back of his head had screamed at him for months.
You’re a murderer.
You could have stopped it.
You could have saved him.
It should have been you.
Because she was right, wasn’t she? As she threw all of the things she bought him around the room, things he had no right to, she told him that she had never asked to be burdened with him, she had only asked for Ben, and Peter had fucked it all up and turned it all around.
And now, staring at the possessions scattered around the floor, catching the light of the setting sun and casting long, dreary shaddows over the wall, he knew that she was right. He was nothing but dead weight.
His eyes landed on his Spider-Man mask, crumpled in a heap in the corner. May had snatched it out of his hand the second she saw him in the costume, and it had lain there ever since, abandoned but holding far too much truth that both of them knew.
That he could have saved the love of her life, but he didn’t.
He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a sob. He wanted May to forget he was taking up her space, even for just a few blissful hours.
Tears streamed down his face silently. Peter curled his body into the smallest ball possible, drawing his knees up to his chest. He just wanted to disappear. He wanted to curl into himself until he was so small he couldn’t be seen and May could renovate his bedroom into something for her, an office or workout room or just a place with no Peter.
Soon, the fading twilight turned to darkness. He heard the front door open and close the moment May slammed his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the hinges, but nothing had moved in the apartment since. Silence and deep gray moonlight blanketed his bedroom in a dreary, empty melancholy.
Some hours after her storming footsteps had faded, they returned, soft and gentle as her jingling keys unlocked the door.
”Peter?” She called quietly throughout the apartment. “I got dinner.”
”O-okay,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
He sat up, wiping his cheeks and sniffling. Here he was, nothing but a killer, and she had still spent her time and money on him. Food for him, and he smelled that it was his favorite Thai restaurant. The delicious scent only emphasized the ache in his chest. He had cost her a husband, a chance to be young, and now, five dollars and seventy-nine cents more.
He stood and opened his door, blinking at the bright light. Once his eyes had adjusted, he crept down the hallway, hesitating at the border between it and the kitchen.
May sat at the table, unloading two packages from the plastic bag they came from. The crinkling noise grated his ears. She placed one styrofoam container in front of herself, one at the only other spot on the table. Peter’s spot.
It should have been Ben’s.
He sat silently down before her and opened the package. He realized that she had gotten his order wrong; rather than his regular chicken fired rice, the bed of grain was studded with beef. He kept his face neutral as he forced himself to take a bite, but his chewing was reluctant. He hated beef.
As May took a bite of her perfectly steaming larb, she said, “Look, Peter, I said some really awful things earlier.”
Peter swallowed hastily. “No, May, it was—“
”Don’t interrupt me,” she commanded, and he shut his mouth instantly. Then, she continued in her former gentle tone, “I crossed lines that I shouldn’t have. I accused you of some awful things, and I should apologize. I was mean, but you have to understand where I was coming from. When I saw you in that mask and knew you could have saved Ben, I just—I saw red. I couldn’t help myself.”
Peter forced down another bite, but it did nothing to fill the growing hole in the pit of his stomach. May continued.
”When you got left with Ben and I, it was hard, but I had him to help me figure things out. But I’ve been doing everything myself this past year. I’ve been so stressed trying to keep us two afloat, trying to rearrange my life to accommodate you without Ben, and the stress snapped me. Seeing what you did to him, and seeing that you’d lied to me for so long—I just couldn’t handle you any more. But I’m not going to stop taking care of you just because of how badly you hurt me. I would never abandon you. Do you understand that?”
Peter nodded around the lump in his throat.
”Good. I knew you would,” she said. Taking another bite of her larb, her gaze landed on Peter’s meal.
“Oh, Peter, I messed up your order, didn’t I?” Concern turned her voice sweet, raspy as it was.
”Oh, yeah,” he said, poking at the rubbery meat. “It’s alright, though, I’ll just eat it.”
”Are you sure? I could always go back.”
Something warm bloomed in Peter at that moment. Her offering to replace his meal meant she cared about his comfort, right? At least to an extent, she was forgiving, and she surely did far more than she had to do for him.
A small smile turned his lips upwards. “No, May, it’s alright. It’s still good. Thank you.”
May returned his joy, his relief. “You’re welcome,” she said. They finished their meals in comfortable silence. Peter ate every bite of his, and the relief that washed over him from May’s forgiveness made it taste delectable.
Once finished, he threw away both plates. He realized as his eyes began to drool closed against his will that he was exhausted, drained, so he bid May his goodnight.
She stood up and kissed his forehead, just as she had every night. “Goodnight, Peter,” she murmured into his skin.
He nearly stumbled over the discarded pictures and school projects that littered the floor, but made it to his bed without falling. He stripped off the day’s clothes and put on a pair of old pajamas. Peter crawled in between his sheets, full and warm.
It was as he drifted off into a calm darkness that he realized May had forgotten her usual I love you.