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Foie Gras in New York
🕑 Added 2020-09-27 18:59:26 +0000 UTC
3 AM
Carpe diem, Mary Jane. Let’s get married right now. Who needs a cake tasting—what if Surtur invades again? It wasn’t the first time Mary Jane had wished she could go back in time and kick her own ass, but usually it took longer than a week for regret this spirited to sink in. Then again, that week had been the breadth and span of her engagement.
Bruce sped his Ferrari through the streets of New York with his usual reckless, skilled speed. It still seemed risky, the engine roaring so loud, the tires squealing on every turn. Wouldn’t that be a trip? Mary Jane asked herself. All the soul-searching and I end up not making the wedding because I was in a car accident. Peter wouldn’t drive this fast with me in the passenger seat… and Peter wouldn’t be caught dead in a Ferrari.
“Almost to the airport, princess,” Bruce said. “Sorry I couldn’t give you much time to think, but a Ferrari doesn’t drive slow.”
“And you can afford the speeding tickets,” Mary Jane retorted gently. “It’s almost like you’re rich or something.”
He was older than her, with a commanding air about him—handsome and knowing it, carrying himself with a confident lack of humility that was itself appealing. Mary Jane could admit that she was attracted to him without wanting him, but wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she denying herself, sabotaging her own happiness for Peter already? Or was she just not willing to settle for a man she didn’t love?
She wanted so badly not to let herself run away from a good thing because of her own insecurity, but was that blinding her to the warning signs of an unhappy life? It wasn’t like any of the women in her family had had much luck with men. But on the other hand, Timothy and her father had nothing on Peter Parker. Did Bruce?
“You know, Bruce, I do love a man who knows what he wants, but you give me much more of a hard sell and I’ll begin to worry about you. It is my wedding day after all.”
Bruce sped up to catch the light while it was still yellow. The Ferrari briskly accelerated to respond to his wishes; Mary Jane hoped she wasn’t being handled so adroitly. “You know me, Mary Jane. I’ll never be accused of being a gentleman, but seducing a bride on her wedding day—that would just be tacky.”
“So why the Ferrari?” she asked. “And the two tickets to Paris? I might’ve found it charming for a guy to try and outbid my man once, but I’m finding it’s losing its luster now.”
“Wedding gifts!” Bruce said defensively. “No strings attached, nothing expected in return. If you don’t want to go to Paris with me, take Peter—any man who can make you happy deserves Gay Paree. Now are you really angry with me or is this meant for someone else?”
That shut Mary Jane up. She’d never been a big believer in ‘lead us not into temptation.’ As far as she was concerned, a relationship that couldn’t take some temptation was a bit like a sandcastle. Only really there until the tide came in. Timothy Byrne certainly hadn’t resisted the temptation to run when the going got tough. She didn’t want to have a child with Peter before she found out he couldn’t take the heat. Or that she couldn’t.
That’s what she’d told herself—that it was best to test herself this way, to be absolutely sure of what she wanted before she went through with this marriage.
But how jealous would she be if Peter were ‘letting’ the Black Cat try to talk him out of getting married with one last little ‘fling’? He wouldn’t have to worry about Doc Ock anymore… I’d take him out myself!
“I hate to be a broken record,” Bruce said, jarring MJ from her thoughts. “But if you’re feeling locked in because you already told mommy and daddy and your dog groomer that you’re getting married, that’s no excuse to ruin your life.”
Mary Jane scoffed and laughed almost simultaneously. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Ruining my life?”
“Are you sure that’s not what you’re doing? Getting married to the wrong guy could do a number on you—your life, your career, even that beautiful red hair. You could have kids that get taken away from you in a divorce, have to give Peter half your earnings. Or he could just make you miserable. I’ve seen it happen when beautiful girls rush into being married. They want a husband, then they find out they don’t want the guy they married.”
“Trust me, it only looks like a rush from the outside. Peter and I have been dancing around each other for years. And now that we’ve…” Mary Jane clenched her hands together, “found each other, we want as much of that connection as possible.”
“But you’re in a Ferrari with me instead of at home with him.”
Don’t remind me, Mary Jane thought viciously before biting back the retort. Bruce hadn’t done anything to deserve being rude. He was right; she should be sure of Peter and her before she committed to them being husband and wife.
But could she be sure? Maybe it just wasn’t in her nature not to have any doubts about marriage and children and Peter and herself. And maybe if it wasn’t in her nature to commit without reservation, then she shouldn’t be committing at all.
“Well, we’ve still got a long night ahead of us,” Bruce said. “Time for one last look at what you’d be missing out on. And if you don’t want it, you don’t want it. At least you’ll know.”
4 AM
Peter looked out at the city from the Brooklyn Bridge, the dizzying array of lights that almost turned night into day. Not only did the skyscrapers hold endless jeweled windows as they stabbed up into the clouds, but the lights reflected off the dark waters of the East River, so they seemed to stretch onto infinity in either direction. Then there were the cars flowing in and out of the city at all hours, headlights blazing, a million candles shuffling through the darkness.
Peter wondered which one of them was Mary Jane. When they were married, would he be able to sense her, feel some constant connection to her, or would she always be the mystery she was right now?
You’re projecting, Parker, he told himself. You had one bad dream and you’re letting all your doubts use you as a punching bag. Mary Jane isn’t like that. She doesn’t have any doubts. Yeah, right…
Of course, bad dream wasn’t the phrase to describe it. Nightmare fell woefully short. In his sleep, all his self-assurance had dropped away and all he had left was the fear that being close to him would get MJ killed, just like it had Gwen. That wasn’t some imagined fantasy about being chased by dinosaurs. That was real life; it just hadn’t happened yet.
And it won’t happen, Peter told himself firmly. You won’t let it happen. How many people have you saved? How many times have you protected your friends? Even Jolly Jonah would be dead right now if you hadn’t rescued him multiple times.
“Yeah, and how many people did you fail?” he asked aloud, knowing he would think it endlessly, so he might as well say it.
He pulled his mask back on, vainly hoping that would make him into some fearless crusader like Captain America or Thor, but no dice. It might not let other people see how scared he was, but Peter had the view from behind the mask.
He leaned back until all he could see was the flag over the bridge tower and the night sky. Then he shut his eyes. God, I know we’re not really on speaking terms a lot of the time, but if this is a bad idea—just, give me a sign. Let me know if this is going to hurt her and I’ll let it go, honest I will. But if I can have her… let me wake up and it’s time, we’re getting married. I know everyone probably feels this way when they’re getting hitched, but how many of them have to fight Electro too? Lay off a guy, willya?
4:30 AM
Bruce took her to the Hotel Excalibur, where he showed off by getting the kitchen opened up to serve them foie gras in an otherwise abandoned hotel restaurant. The meal was good, but to Mary Jane it came off a little petty. She knew from experience that the hotel kept staff on call exactly for high rollers like Bruce; part of her wanted to ask him if he could lift a city bus, but if he could, he still wouldn’t have the guts to do what Peter did. Going out night after night, risking his life without thought of reward, just for the possibility that there was someone he could help.
Mary Jane left a generous tip to compensate their servers for the inconvenience. Her money, not Bruce’s. They got back into his Ferrari.
At night, all the city lights ganged up on the streets of New York. The streetlamps, the lit up stores, the roaming headlights—they bleached the night into a gray twilight, not really awake or asleep.
Mary Jane had never really noticed before how New York had lights but no stars. But the other night, Peter had taken her up to the Empire State Building. From the air, she could see the darkness, but also see the lights set in amber within all that black, looking precious, priceless, even in their endless numbers, because the blackness was all around. And one of those lights—even if she could never find it—was the home she’d share with Peter. 410 Chelsea Street.
Bruce reached down to adjust the gearshift. In the small, cramped two-seater—anything would seem cramped after she’d swung through the city on Peter’s arm—his hand brushed against Mary Jane’s bare thigh.
“Sorry,” he said. Not sounding very sorry.
Mary Jane supposed he wasn’t that bad—just inveterately himself. Part of a steady parade of men who were fun and charming and nice… but what else? And what was she? Fun and charming and nice herself, but not a wife, not a mother. Just a disposable girl for disposable trysts.
What had he called it—Bruce or someone very much like him—‘dirty dishes and rugrats’? She’d been so worried about what she’d be missing out on by being married to Peter that she hadn’t even considered what she’d be missing out on without him. Life. Dirty dishes, rugrats, dinners that weren’t foie gras. It might not’ve been Ferraris and Paris all the time, but what kind of shallow person wanted a life that was just that and nothing else?
She looked at Bruce. “I think you’d better take me back now. Even I need a few hours of beauty sleep if I’m going to be a properly blushing bride.”
5 AM
Maybe it was being on top of the Brooklyn Bridge suspension towers, two hundred and seventy-eight feet in the air, hearing the cars below muted by the distance… but Peter dreamed he was in his uncle’s 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88. That car was never far from traffic, but inside the cocoon of safety it represented, the horns and engines outside were muffled anyway.
Just sitting there in the passenger seat, he realized how unfamiliar it had become, getting around in cars, and how much Ben had simply been there. Picking him up from school, dropping him off, taking him to movies and the library and science expos. It had been a part of his daily routine and even now, as a grown man, Peter missed it. The feeling of being watched over. The knowledge that he was being kept safe.
“I suppose a dream can only be so bad if you’re in it,” he said to Ben.
“Oh?” Ben said without looking at him, keeping his eyes on the road but sort of glancing over to make Peter feel noticed.
“Yeah. Even after you were gone, I didn’t really dream of what happened. The bad dreams were of Aunt May getting hurt and the good dreams were… just a release. No worries. Peacefulness. Serenity.” Peter looked through the windshield, but he couldn’t see where they were going. To him, it was all fog, but Ben seemed to know the way. “Getting married, being in love, that’s supposed to make you happy, right? So why do I feel this way?”
“Because it’s not just about making you happy,” Ben said, good-naturedly amused, like when he had to help Peter with a math problem simply because Peter had read the question wrong. “I figure you’re worried about Mary Jane. Whether she’s going to be happy. Well, you know I quit being a weatherman because I can’t see the future, but I reckon it’s a good sign that she has someone like you trying to make her happy.”
“How can you say that?” Peter demanded. “I tried to make Gwen happy… I tried to make you happy… I keep letting everyone down. I can’t do that to Mary Jane. I won’t.”
“So you do want her to be happy?”
“More than anything,” Peter sighed. “But how can I? What makes her any different than Gwen? How can I put her in the same danger?”
Ben chuckled. “I think the fact that she wants that ring on her finger says more about it than I ever could. That girl’s spent a long time figuring out what she wants. I don’t know if I’d argue with her, but if you’re marrying her, that’s your prerogative.”
“And what if I know better than her? She doesn’t know how dangerous it is—she hasn’t fought Puma or Hobgoblin or—“
“So tell her. Let her know,” Ben interrupted. “It’s rare to meet someone who knows you. It’s rarer still to meet someone who wants to. And as long as she wants to know everything about her and you want to know everything about her, you might as well make it official.”
Peter leaned back in his seat, staring out again at the billowing clouds of fog breaking over the windshield. “You’re pretty gung ho about this, considering what happened to you.”
“Well, they say ‘till death do you part,’ but I’m not much of a stickler for tradition. I know your aunt would go just crazy, seeing you with a family before she comes over to my side of the pond, and I still want to take care of her. And you.” Ben turned to face him, one hand on the wheel while he put his other elbow up beside the headrest. “Tell me something, Pete. You want Mary Jane to be taken care of, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Is there anyone in this life you’d trust to do it besides you? Anyone but yourself that would have you walking away, saying that she’s looked after, that she’s happy?”
Peter frowned at the thought. Even if Mary Jane started dating Iron Man tomorrow… no. It made as little sense as trusting someone else to shave him. As stressful, as impossible as it might be, keeping her safe… who else could be responsible for it?
Ben put his hands back on the wheel. “It’s not just a privilege, son. It’s a responsibility. But I think you’ll find that responsibility a lot more rewarding than the carefree life you dream of. As nice as dreams can be.”
“Ben?” Peter said after a long time.
“Yeah, Peter?”
“I know you’ve said your piece, but… you think we could just drive a little bit?”
Ben shrugged. “Ain’t going nowhere.”
“That’s okay. I’ll go somewhere when I wake up.”
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