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the place that had been her home for as long as Peter could remember.
    She acted as if it were a blessing.
How long was I supposed to putter around in the empty house
? she said at the time.
It deserves a young family just starting life, not an old woman whose family years are behind her
. Peter never answered her, suspecting the question was rhetorical. But he felt a touch of melancholy just the same and sometimes wondered if there was ever going to be an end to the things over which he felt guilty. Aunt May had forgiven him for his admission that he had had some culpability in his uncle's violent passing (although naturally he had left out the more "incriminating" aspects of the tale). When was he going to forgive himself?
    He pushed the doorbell of Aunt May's apartment and silently promised to focus on more positive thoughts for the time being.
    May Parker was startled out of her slumber by the urgent ringing of her apartment buzzer. She squinted in the darkness, disoriented, and was startled to see that the glowing numbers of the digital clock on her nightstand read 2:00 A.M. Her natural assumption was that someone had died. Why else would she be woken up at this hour?
    She got out of bed, tossed on a robe, shoved her feet into the bunny slippers that Peter had gotten her for her last birthday, and made her way to the intercom. She banged one shin on the coffee table as she did so and swore in a way that would have prompted her to scold her nephew fiercely if he had uttered the same word. But she figured that if one had lived as long as she had, one was entitled to a few allowances.
    Nursing her sore leg, she limped the rest of the distance to the intercom and tapped the button. "Who is it?" she asked, fully expecting it to be some drunken idiot pushing the wrong button.
    To her astonishment, a familiar voice said, "Peter."
    "Peter?"
    Immediately she buzzed him in, then steeled herself for whatever disastrous news he had.
    It had to be simply catastrophic. He was dying. Mary Jane was dying or already dead.
    There was a knock at the door, and although she assumed it was Peter, May still peered quickly through the peephole. There he was, holding his motorcycle helmet and backpack. He looked concerned but determined.
    Prepared for the worst, she threw open the door and waited, holding her breath.
    A grin split Peter's face. "I've decided to marry Mary Jane."
    May thought she was going to pass out—not from being overwhelmed by Peter's announcement, but from relief that all her worst-case scenarios were without foundation. Then, ever so briefly, she considered smacking Peter upside the head for scaring the living daylights out of her at two in the morning.
    Out of her boundless love and forgiveness, she did not do so.
    "Oh my," she managed, and then, when nothing else came to her because her mind was still processing the information (and banishing images of funerals), she fell back onto her default response to any startling news: "This calls for a cup of tea."
    Any hesitancy or remorse Peter had felt over rousing Aunt May from her slumber instantly dissipated when he saw how genuinely happy she was for him. As he sat at her kitchen table sipping tea, he chatted about how much Mary Jane meant to him. How his life somehow just made more sense when she was a part of it. It wasn't just for May's benefit in understanding his elation. It was for his own as well.
    Even now, he was still talking himself into taking the big step, and he figured that if there was any fault in either his logic or emotions, Aunt May would point it out. "You're too young" or "Are you sure you've considered all the ramifications?" or other similar helpful bromides would undoubtedly fall from her lips if she had any concern over Peter's course.
    If Aunt May sensed Peter's nagging second thoughts, or if she did really believe it was the wrong move, she said nothing to that effect. Instead she continued to smile and listen attentively. She yawned once or