The difference of surnames was her idea — although she never told me explicitly, Fletcher was the name my father gave her. Giving it to me was her way of revenge for his leaving — that if he ever came around again, he'd know I was his.
Mom was always a bit of a rebel, in a subtle way. I guess I inherited it from her.
I cried when I first learned Mom died. First in Hell's Kitchen, then with the FBI. It was worst the first time, the second time had only been a few tears. Now, looking at her gravestone, I didn't cry at all. Was there something wrong with me?
I didn't want to bring it up with Peter. I already felt like an outsider, being the last to know. Peter had months to deal with this, and now here he was, experiencing it again. A second time. A third time. I didn't feel sad. I felt guilty. While I loved Uncle Ben, I had never had been as close to him as Peter was. It wasn't that Uncle Ben played favorites, but they just connected better. And I was already so close with Mom. Maybe I had something against father figures.
This thought didn't help the idea that something was wrong with me. Keeping secrets, telling lies, and now this? It was like I'd forgotten how to be normal.
The sudden void of Uncle Ben's loss was just another punch in the gut. Suddenly, I wondered what was going to happen to all of his model airplanes. Had he finished all the ones he said he would? What would happen to all those unfinished projects? It felt wrong to just leave them there collecting dust, but was it bad luck to finish them, either?
It was inane. I didn't know why this bothered me, but it did. I hated leaving things unfinished. But I didn't want to make things worse, either.
And how were Peter and Aunt May managing? Uncle Ben had been the main breadwinner, although May had her own job. Was it harder now, for them? Was I making things worse, giving them another mouth to feed? I didn't even have my own clothes. I was still borrowing May's, even her coat. I couldn't do that forever. Buying a new wardrobe would be expensive; I couldn't do that to them…
What could I do? What could I say?
'Remember what you said to me, that day?' I heard my voice like it wasn't me, like I was someone else far away.
Peter turned towards me, confused. So I licked my chapped lips and continue: 'You asked me if I dreamed of a better life.'
'Oh, yeah,' Peter hung his head, kicked at the dead grass. His tone was sullen. Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up. 'You said no, but I pushed you, and you got angry. We...we fought about it.'
'I hated my life. I didn't think it could be any worse than that,' I said, something cold and hard forming in my chest as I read the names over and over. Benjamin, Richard, Mary, Hedy.
My fingers tightened around my arms. 'I was wrong.'
Then I turned and walked away.
Peter caught up with me, kicking up leaves as he went, suddenly eager and worried. 'I'm sorry I said all of that! I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't mean to call you a-a burden. And then that fight with your mom... If I could, I'd take it all back —'
But I just laughed a little 'Peter, I'm not angry about that anymore. I'm the one who should apologize. I never should've said those things to you. God, the whole thing… it just seems so silly now. Like it doesn't even matter anymore.'
Peter was silent for a moment, keeping pace with me as we headed down the stone path. 'It mattered at the time.'
I nodded, a bit reluctant. 'I guess. I don't know, I just wanted you to know that I-I never wanted those words to be the last thing I ever said to you.'
'I understand,' he replied, quiet. Didn't say anymore than that. Maybe he already knew I regretted those words.
Or maybe he regretted his.
'But you were right.' I added, and his head perked up in surprise. 'I hated it when people told me what I should do.'
'Are you sure that's changed?' Peter asked, and when I laughed, so did he.
'Maybe not,' I admitted, then offered him a small smile. 'But I'll try better to listen this time. And maybe you can stop being so passive-aggressive next time.'
'Duly noted,' Peter grinned, then nudged me with his elbow. 'Hey, wanna get some ice cream at that place in Hell's Kitchen?'
'Peter, we're in Queens. I don't think Aunt May wants us going so far without adult supervision.'
'Okay, fine,' Peter rolled his eyes, and even I was annoyed at my own rule-following. 'There's this new shawarma place a block from the apartment.'
'What the heck is shawarma?'
'Oh, it's awesome. Mr. Stark recommended it to me —'
'Mr. Stark?' I came to an abrupt stop. We stood at the gates of the cemetery, cars rushing by just past the sidewalk. I stared at Peter. 'As in, Tony Stark?'
'Uh, yeah, I didn't tell you?' Peter scratched the back of his head, smiling awkwardly. We both knew he hadn't told me...whatever it was. 'I got an internship at Stark Industries. I, uh, work at the Tower.'
An internship? With Tony Stark? I couldn't believe it. Something like that would've made me excited before. Now, I was worried, which was annoying because it made me feel like Aunt May. I never worried. This was Peter. If anyone could handle a Stark internship, it was him.
Of course, that was kind of hard to get across.
'That thing?' I pointed at the Manhattan skyline. Stark Tower stood out, with its scaffolding and white tarp covering the upper half of the building. 'It looks like its gonna fall over at any moment.'
'Oh, it's totally safe, I swear!' Peter urged, holding out his hands. 'Mr. Stark's rebuilding it, making it better than last time. 'Changing the outlook of this eyesore' he said, whatever that means. All I know is that the sign won't be saying 'Stark' anymore.'
'What will it say, then?'
'I dunno,' Peter shrugged, before leading the way back to the apartment. Or the shawarma place (I still had my reservations). 'But the some of the Avengers hang out there now. Hawkeye. Bruce Banner. Captain America, even. It's really cool. Although security is hell.'
'You've seen them?' I gaped, impressed.
'Well, no,' Peter made a face. 'I mean, Mr. Stark always says I might, but I think he's just trying to keep my hopes up. They're busy, you know? Saving the world and stuff. I think they're still trying to convince the Mayor it's safe with them being there, all in one place. I mean, ever since the Incident —'
Peter cut himself off, and at first I didn't know why. Then I remembered: Mom. I ducked my head, looking away for a moment, studying a passing taxi. I didn't want Peter to tiptoe around me whenever the topic of the Incident came up. That didn't bother me. I wasn't even there. Mom's death felt almost separate compared to that. Maybe I hadn't fully comprehended it yet.
'It's fine,' I finally said, when he was unable to continue. 'I'm not fragile, Peter. I know what happened.'
Peter nodded, then cleared his throat. 'Okay, um, well...ever since the Incident, people've been afraid that it'll happen again. I mean, aliens, right? What if there are more? Where did they come from? It's probably better the Avengers stay here, in case something else happens. Rumor has it they pissed off a Norse god or two.'
'Norse gods,' I repeated in a murmur, looking up at the sky. Its massive expanse, clean and even when, at one point, there had been a massive black portal hanging over the city.'That's something I'm still getting used to.'
Aunt May was in better spirits when we got back.
We had brought the shawarma with us. It was sort of like a burrito, only far better in my opinion. I didn't think it would be as good as Peter promised.
'I have something to show you,' she told me with a smile, before heading down the hall.
I paused, a little stunned. She was...happy again? I was still reeling from this morning. But May moved briskly, and I shared a look with Peter. He just shrugged, so I followed her.
She led me straight to the guest bedroom. Opening the door with a sweep of her arms, Aunt May said, 'Voila!'
The guest bedroom was spotless. The bed was made, the curtains were drawn, the mirror sparkling
. If I was stunned before, I was really stunned now. The guest bedroom was usually musty, filled with boxes and crap no one used. Now the floor was clean, the bookshelf empty, the desk clean. There was only one box left, resting on top of the bed.
I gaped at Aunt May, who just clapped her hands together and, as if reading my mind, said, 'Yes, it's for you! I finished cleaning it this morning. One night on the couch is enough, I think.'
'Wow, Aunt May,' I said, stepping into the room and taking it all in. The bed was queen-sized, meant for a couple, and far bigger than my last bed. The room itself was larger than my old one, and as I came to sit down on the mattress, I glanced over at the box. 'What's this?'
'Oh, well, that's what's we salvaged from your mother's place, after the Incident,' Aunt May's smile dimmed a little, but she gestured for me to open it. 'It wasn't much, and for a while I just thought about throwing it away… but I figured it was best you have it.'
Throwing her one last curious look, I pulled the box onto my lap and opened it.
'Oh, my god,' I said, when I pulled out the first thing on top. The blue plush stuffed animal. 'Stitch! I never thought I'd see him again!'
He was a little more beat up since I last had him. Soot and ash stained parts of the fabric, and one ear had a tear in it, but that had been mended, and he smelled of fabric softener (and maybe a little smoke). A look of delight filled Aunt May's face as I hugged him close, bringing back nights of childhood when I needed him most.
'I thought you might like that,' she said, pushing her glasses further up her nose and leaning against the doorframe. 'You can keep looking at that, but I just wanted you to know, I don't want you to worry about anything, okay? I saw it on your face this morning. I want you here, Mia. I'm not sending you off just because it might be a little harder for me. I know the best thing for you — and for Peter — is for us to stick together, okay?'
Still hugging Stitch, I nodded, although my lips were pressed together. Doubts still clouded my mind. It didn't occur to me until now that Aunt May might be putting on a brave face. That she had cleaned this room, after just reliving the death of Uncle Ben. That she was keeping that from me, so I didn't get overwhelmed. I couldn't imagine what she must be going through right now. The stress, the pain. I knew I had it bad for while, but I didn't have the responsibility of a parent.
'Hey, I'm serious,' Aunt May came to sit down next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and giving me a tight squeeze. She touched her forehead to mine. 'No worrying, okay? I got this. I'm cool like that.'
That made me chuckle a little, and she kissed the top of my head. 'See, there's the face I want. I know you've been through a lot, Mia. We all have. But don't be afraid to tell me if something's wrong, okay? I want to know. It's my job to know.'
I nodded again, starting to feel like a bobble-head. 'I just— I just feel bad. You didn't have to do this before...'
'What do you mean?' She gave me a funny look, eyes flicking up and down. She was exaggerating her expression a little, to give a sense of levity to the conversation. 'I've always done this, you just were never there. What do you think your mother and I talked about when we were together? We weren't sharing knitting patterns and solitaire strategies, if that's what you're thinking. She didn't have it easy, being on her own, but she managed. And boy, she didn't like to share, either.'
'She didn't?' I asked, surprised. I'd never heard this side of my mom before.
'Oh, no,' Aunt May waved her hand, shaking her head. 'Your mom, she always had this sense of pride in herself, you know? She didn't like asking for help. She certainly didn't want anyone thinking she couldn't take care of you, and you were a handful even on your good days.' She gave me another squeeze. 'I'm just teasing you. But no, Hedy didn't like to talk about herself. It always took a wineglass or two to get her to even mention her problems.
'Unfortunately, that trick only works on adults,' she winked at me. 'So please, Mia, just be honest with me. Whatever it is, I swear, I won't be angry with you.'
That seemed like a request to say something now, so I took a moment to think it over. 'I guess...I guess I've been wondering about my clothes. Not that I don't like yours! But I'm taller than you now and they don't, ah —'
'Fit?' Aunt May laughed, tugging at my shirt, which showed off more of my stomach than it should. 'Yeah, I noticed. It's okay, we'll take care of that with some shopping. I don't think I've ever taken you shopping before.'
I threw her a look of alarm. 'But the money —'
'Hey, what did I say about worrying?' Aunt May gave me a stern look over her glasses, tapping me with her finger. 'None of that, remember? There wasn't much of your place left, but your mom left you everything in her will. I never had the heart to use any of it, but now that you're back, I think I can find a reason to spend some. But most of it still goes towards college, so don't get any funny ideas.'
'Funny ideas? Never heard of 'em.'
'Attagirl,' Aunt May booped me on the nose, and I scrunched up my face. 'You just get settled in here, okay? I'm gonna be in the kitchen, making sure Peter didn't burn down the place while I was gone.'
'Wouldn't we smell the smoke by now?'
'You'd think so, right?' Aunt May cock an eyebrow as she stood up. 'Let's not forget the Baked Potato in the Microwave Fiasco of 2007.'
'Oh, right,' I said, nodding sagely. The Fiasco was when Peter, who didn't know you shouldn't put metal in the microwave, tried to make a baked potato without a grill. 'Didn't he do it again in 2010?'
'He did! Oh, that boy,' Aunt May snapped her fingers. Stepping out of the room, she closed the door behind her. 'Peter! You better not be cooking anything in my kitchen!'
There was a long pause before Peter's voice echoed back. '...No?'
'That sounded like a 'yes' to me!' Aunt May called back, and her footsteps echoed down the hall. I heard their muffled chatter, but it wasn't angry, so I ignored it and went back to the box in my lap.
Setting aside Stitch, I dug deeper into what remained of my old life.
My fingers wrapped around something small, glass and plastic. I pulled out my own pink glasses, one lens cracked. I unfolded them and put them on, trying to see through the lens — only for a headache to shoot up behind my eyes. The world was a blur behind them. Taking them off, I shook my head. I had noticed shortly after waking up in Sokovia that I didn't need my glasses to see clearly. It felt weird now, that I didn't need them anymore.
They were useless now. But I knew I could never throw them away.
Beneath the glasses were textbooks. Not mine, but Mom's. Her old medical books that I used to read when I was bored. The edges were worn, parts burned, but it was still in good condition. Trapped between the pages were sheets of notepaper — my homework from last year. Wow. Was my handwriting always that messy? And to think I was usually so organized.
And at the very bottom of the box was folded purple cloth. I almost didn't recognize it at first — until I touched it, felt that familiar soft cotton. Lifting it, the cloth unfolded to reveal the NYU logo. Mom's old sweater. The one I used to wear, the one that was always too big for me.
It looked…so small now.
I brought the sweater to my face; I could just barely catch the faintest whiff of Mom's perfume on it. The lavender fabric softener she used.
Tears pricked my eyes. Why did this stupid sweater hurt more than seeing her grave did? It just didn't make any sense.
I didn't even hear the phone ring, so I was surprised when Aunt May opened the door again, offering me the phone. She mouthed the words For you.
Curious, confused, I picked up the phone. 'Hello?'
'Hello, is this Amelia Fletcher?' a female voice asked.
'Speaking.'
'Oh, hi, Amelia!' the woman went all perky in an instant. 'I'm Kim Kramer, a reporter for ABC. Welcome home! We're so glad to hear you're safe again.'
'Uh,' I frowned, not really sure if I believed her or not. ABC, the news co
mpany? Calling to make sure I was all right? 'Thanks.'
'We heard you had quite an adventure! Would you mind answering a few questions for me?'
'Is this an interview?'
'Well, yes. I'm writing an article about your return. After the whole JFK affair yesterday, and the FBI saying they recovered a kidnapping victim...well, we had to get the details. Is it true you came all the way over from Russia, all by yourself?'
'What? No, I was never in Russia,' I closed my eyes and pressed a hand to my forehead. Before I could decline this interview, it was already getting out of control. 'I was...somewhere in Eastern Europe. I don't know. I couldn't read the language.'
'Uh-huh.' I could hear a keyboard clacking in the background as Kim took notes. 'And who was the woman you were with on the plane? She was your kidnapper, right? Can you describe her for us?'
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