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If the 4:05 bus had been ten minutes later, Mary Jane might’ve missed Peter’s visit. At the doctor’s office, the baby’s heartbeat had swished out of the medical equipment in the most exciting and terrifying moments of her life, not counting her last date with Peter. She’d still almost fallen asleep on the bus ride home. She was so tired her face felt numb. She was making her way to the kitchen to put leftover casserole in the oven, because Andy would be there in an hour or less, when the doorbell rang.
And there was Peter, standing on her walk in the fall afternoon with a handful of grocery store flowers and a sheepish smile. Oops, his expression seemed to say. Late again.
He was a little heavier than Mary Jane remembered. A scrape above his eye had scabbed over, but the bruise around it looked painful. A little patch of white on his jaw proved that he’d cut himself shaving, too. If everything had turned out differently she’d be reaching out to brush that cowlick off his forehead. Still, his brown eyes were clear and focused on her today, not staring off into the distance worrying, and he stood straighter than he had since that terrible fight that broke his back.
“Wow,” he said softly. He looked her over, head to toe. Even though the baby wasn’t showing yet, people were already telling her she glowed more often than they usually said things like that. The lustrous red hair and pale skin pink in all the right places almost made up for her tiredness and morning sickness. “You look amazing.”
“It’s only been six months since we signed the papers, you know.” And what a wonderful, whirlwind six months it’d been. First she'd landed the lead role in Violet. That'd taken off just when she'd needed money after Peter's lost income and work to take her mind off him. Then two more productions had hit it big, and then Andy came into her world. “I was just heating up dinner.” With Pillsbury rolls and heated-up frozen broccoli, there’d be enough dinner for three regular people. “You didn’t save the world this afternoon, did you?” If he had, he’d be so hungry that she’d have to order pizza.
“Not our world, this time.” He held out the flowers. The paper wrapped around them crinkled and the fresh scent hit her pregnancy-enhanced nose like she’d developed her very own flower-smelling superpower. “These are for you.”
Mary Jane smiled and accepted them. Although their hands brushed, the electric shiver that’d once given her had dimmed, after all he’d put her through. In a way, she missed it. In a way, she was glad. “Who else would they be for?” She turned away and left the door open so she didn’t have to watch him when she added, “Andy will be home soon.”
Peter’s footsteps stopped just inside the door. “Andy?”
“You don’t know him. He came to one of my shows.” Four nights in a row, and only after the fourth did he ask her out for coffee. She’d invited him to the afterparty instead.
“You sure I don’t know him?” Peter still hadn’t moved from the doorway, or closed the door to keep the warm air in. Mary Jane found a vase and filled it with tap water. “Do you remember that guy Osborn sent last--”
Mary Jane laughed. She couldn’t help it. What did Peter think she’d been doing? Sitting home alone, pining for him? “You just ask Andy about midtown real estate,” she said. “You’ll know in five minutes he’s not secretly an assassin.”
“Midtown, really?” The door thumped shut and Mary Jane risked a look at Peter. Beneath his green coat, his shoulders slumped. His head hung like he’d returned from a desperate mission, unable to save everyone who’d counted on him. Toward the end, she’d seen that every other time he came home. “Midtown.”
“He works there.” Mary Jane pulled out a cookie sheet for the rolls in a metallic rattle. “He’s an analyst.” And, because she didn’t want to lead Peter on, and she had to tell somebody, and he’d been her best friend, once: “We’re expecting.”
She might as well have punched him in the nose. He staggered back into the coat rack and caught it without looking, before it fell. “You… You’re… Oh.” Several long heartbeats later, his clear eyes clouding over with shock, he said “Congratulations.”
The first person to congratulate her on her new family was the last person she’d thought would be a part of it. “Thank you.” She shouldn’t be smiling so big, probably. “I’m going to be a mom.”
“You’re going to be a great mom,” said Peter faintly. He focused on her again, dragging himself back to reality like he climbed up his webbing. “It’s. Um. It’s not…”
One day somebody would have to sit Peter down and explain the birds and the bees in more detail. Thank goodness it wouldn’t be her. “Me and Andy are the ones expecting.” She dug through the freezer and found the bag of rolls. “Do you want to stay for dinner? You can meet him.”
Peter stared down the hallway toward the family room, which would soon hold her very own family. The rolls slid into the oven beneath the leftover casserole. “You don’t have to stay,” she said to remind him of her question, “But I know what you cook like. You’re welcome to.” He turned a bit hazily toward her.
God, she didn’t miss being married to him. The inside of his head was such a mess. But he was also sweet when he could get himself out of his own head and aching body long enough to be, and the messes he got himself into were more funny than tragic, most days. She’d almost missed the frequent, disastrous surprises.
She reached into the fridge for one of Andy’s beers and waved it at Peter. “Come on. You can tell me what you think of the names we’re considering.” Please, she asked him silently. You can’t be my husband, but please be my friend.
Peter wandered into the kitchen and sank into the creaky chair by the window. On the fridge were playbills from Mary Jane's shows, friends' postcards, takeout menus, and a picture of her and Andy riding the Forest Park carousel, laughing. Andy’s Chinese features and bold smile looked as opposite from Peter’s as it was possible to be.
“Yeah, okay.” Peter’s light tone sounded fake, but he opened the beer, took a long pull, and said, “Hit me with those names.” In the autumn sun coming through the window, Mary Jane was already imagining how she'd introduce her little one to Uncle Peter while the three adults laughed about today.