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forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years

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Spideychelle as parents?

Here it comes―the fluffnami I warned you all about on Monday. You’ve officially waited too long to seek higher ground. The fluff is coming.

Kid-Me-NotPairing: Peter x Michelle (Spideychelle), Ned x Betty (Netty Pot)Rating: T (a very smol swear)Word count: 2060

They think about moving every year, but so far they haven’t.Peter knows it’s both of them, not just him, because sometimes he catches hiswife staring at a particular facet of their apartment, and when she looks athim, he goes, “I know,” and she makes a face like it’s doubtful that he’s readher mind.

The farthest out of the city they get on a regular basis isBetty and Ned’s corner of suburbia. Peter likes the drive and his wife likesthe mature trees, but not the ‘1950s American Dream capitalist bullshit vibe,’as she calls it. She also likes the blonde-bricked houses and Peter takes hisfoot off the gas whenever they pass one so that she has longer to admire themwithout having to state her preference out loud.

A trip to the Leeds’s is a regular thing for them, thoughmore frequent once summer rolls lazily around again. Flo is five now and goesinto a streaming shrill vibration of excitement at the mention of a visit.She’s been raised to call the two Leeds kids her cousins. The drive is just farenough that it used to put her to sleep, but these days the sedative propertiesof the car ride are only powerful enough to lull her small body into a consciousdoze. She exists in this low-power mode with a hand propped under her chin anda serious expression as she gazes out the window, not really noticing theflowers in people’s gardens or the dappled light on the perfect grey curbs, andnot really caring about what she’s missed. Peter’s great delight of the driveis catching glimpses of her in the rear-view mirror.

“I brought club soda for Betty,” his wife remarks idly fromthe passenger seat. Briefly, he grins to himself, rubbing his lip with athumbnail. Her posture is so like their daughter’s and at this point, Petercan’t remember who picked it up from whom.

“That’s really nice of you,” he says. “I’m sure she’llappreciate that.”

She goes by ‘Chelle’ now, which he feels has the sort ofheart-wrenching elegance of a ballet every time he hears it. It’s so adult.Frequently, Peter forgets they are both 34.

Pulling into the driveway is the catalyst for thelast-minute divvying up of who’s carrying what out of the car and which ofFlo’s toys are to be left in the backseat so she won’t scream if the other kidsget a hold of them. (Peter has been diligently working on his daughter’sjealous phase, but prefers not to test her restraint on what will already be ahigh-energy day.)

Chelle and he forsake the formality of the front door infavour of the gate, going straight into the backyard. He and Ned built the gatethemselves and Peter gives it a fond pat on his way through. Flo has alreadyraced ahead; it’s pointless to try to carry her. When she was a toddler, therewas less kicking, but the second her feet were lowered to the ground, she tookoff like a released wind-up toy.

“Hi,” he says to Ned. “Hi,” to Betty. And they’re saying“hi” in return, and so is Chelle, and hi’s are basically flying through the airlike mosquitos.

Sure enough, there are mosquitos flying through the air aswell because Betty’s grown sensitive to the scent of the citronella candlesthey usually scatter around the outdoor living space. In his spare time,Peter’s been working on synthesizing a replacement that will repel pestswithout the distinctive odour.

Arms full of bags of hotdog buns and an entire case of clubsoda (seriously, Chelle could’ve just bought Betty a two-litre bottle. How muchdoes his wife expect her to drink?!), Peter uses his foot to close the gatebehind him, but not before Ned’s devious cat bolts.

“Ohmigodohmigod,” Ned mumbles, flustered, but Betty justtouches him on the arm and steps around him.

“PalPY!” she calls, high and clear.

Emperor Palpatine whizzes back into the yard and the crisisis over. Peter and Ned laugh to themselves, slapping each other on theshoulder. Chelle has spread her armload of offerings on the patio table andwrapped Betty into a hug like a favourite draping blanket. She’s not asqueezing kind of hugger, his wife, but the sort to relax fully into it like avertical trust fall. There are few people she hugs.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Ned declares when Peter hands over thehotdog buns.

“Man, don’t tell me…” Peter begs.

“Yep,” Betty chimes in. “He forgets to buy them every time.”

She bites into a strawberry from a fruit tray she’s justwhisked out of the house. Chelle selects a large cube of honeydew melon,furtively stuffs it into her cheek, then bends down to make their daughterlaugh with a chipmunk impression as Flo slingshots back to her parents in asudden fit of nerves. This happens when the cousins are reintroduced. Sheclings to her mother’s leg as her smile quickly springs back up―Chelle’sstroking her wavy hair.

“Peter expects it by now,” Ned asserts, indicating what hisbest friend of 20+ years has brought.

“Nah, contingency plan, dude,” Peter avows.

“MJ,” Ned says, using the name that’s never unstuck for him(in fact, he’s the only one who still uses it), “club soda? Lame.”

Chelle rolls her eyes as their daughter torpedoes away fromher, chasing her cousins to the back fence.

“It’s for your pregnant wife. Don’t be selfish.”

“He’ll appreciate it later when I’m not sprinting to thebathroom to throw up my hotdog,” Betty predicts.

“Hon, that is so freaking gross. So, who’s hungry?” Ned askswith a chuckle.

He retrieves a pair of beers from an open cooler, rocky withice cubes, and Peter follows him over to the barbecue. Betty is close behind.

“Ned,” she protests, “I can do it.”

“The smoke can’t be good for the baby.”

“The other kids turned out fine. Ned makes up new rules foreach child,” Betty informs Peter with a wry smile.

“Peter wouldn’t let me go out on the balcony when I waspregnant with Flo,” Chelle calls over from where she’s setting out cutlery.They always eat first. Many, many summer afternoons have established theirpriorities.

Peter throws up his hands, careful not to slop the drinkhe’s just opened.

“It stressed me out!”

Chelle shrugs and gives him a smug smile.

“You got used to it.”

“I had to. You started sitting out there every night whenyou were on the phone to Betty or May or your mom.”

She grins in remembered victory as Charlie hurtles intoPeter’s side.

“Hello,” says a kid with Betty’s hair and at least onemissing tooth.

“Hey, what’s up, buddy?” Peter squats and does theParker-Leeds handshake. It transcends generations now, which is pretty cool.

“Are you watching your sister?” Betty quizzes her.

“Yes,” says Charlie, three-year-old sister nowhere in hervicinity.

“Call her like you call the cat,” Ned suggests, attention onraising the lid of the barbecue to shuffle the meat around, burgers crumblingat the edges, hotdogs reluctant to lift from the grill.

“Ooh, do we think Daddy’s in trouble for that one?” Bettychecks with Charlie, who grins, swishing her neatly braided pigtails.

Their other child, Daisy, comes staggering through thegrass, hand clutched in Flo’s. Peter feels a thrill of pride, watching theirdaughter play the big sister.

“We’re going inside,” Flo announces. “Charlie has a newLego.”

“Awesome,” Peter tells Charlie, eyes lighting up. “How manypieces?”

“I might need to snag one of your club sodas,” Chelleinforms Betty. “I feel suddenly nauseous with déjà vu.”

The wives laugh hard at the expense of the nerds theymarried.

“But seriously,” Peter whispers. “How many?”

“One. Hundred. Seventy. Four,” Charlie says, enunciatingwith care to increase the impact of how impressive this is. He thinks she couldread the announcements when she gets to high school, like her mom did, butthat’s a ways off yet. The kid’s only seven.

Flo, tired of being in her father’s company yet not thecenter of his attention, falls dramatically onto his hunched back.

“Why is it called Legos.” She says it like a demand, not aquestion.

“Uh, I don’t know. Lemme look it up…”

Before he can get his phone from his pocket, the nextinquiry has left her mouth. He can see that the Lego investigation has beentemporarily derailed.

“Why is my name ‘Florence’?”

“This is her thing right now,” Chelle explains to theirfriends, shaking an open bag of pretzels in Betty’s direction. “Questioningwhat everything’s called.”

“I know this one,” Betty teases. Peter glances over hisshoulder to watch Flo’s eyes light up with curiosity. He rubs her warm forearm.“It’s because Uncle Ned and I, and your parents, went on a trip to a countrynamed Italy and, while we were there, they realized that they loved each other.Then,” she goes on (Peter can tell by his daughter’s face that she isenthralled), “your mom and dad went back there when they were grown up and theywere in a city called Florence when they decided to get married.”

“Because he asked her to?” Flo clarifies.

“That’s right,” Betty praises.

“Barely managed it,” Ned critiques under his breath.

“Thanks, pal,” Peter snarks back.

His best friend glances down at him and they share a grin,then Ned reaches out for Betty’s hand and reels her in to kiss her cheek.They’re romantics, both of them. Betty probably remembers the moment ofengagement better than either Peter or Chelle, and she wasn’t even there.

“Why is Mommy’s name ‘Chelle’?” Flo wonders.

Peter straightens up to grab a pretzel. He sets his beer onthe fold-out ledge of the barbecue, then picks up Daisy, who is looking forlorn,so far below the tall people.

“Michelle,” Chellereminds her. “That’s because Grandma watched too much Full House while she was waiting for me.”

“Where were you?” Charlie asks, confused.

“Still in her belly,” his wife explains. She points atBetty’s rounded stomach. “Like your brother.”

“Wha’ ‘bow you, Da’?” Flo asks, wandering back from thetable as she chomps a carrot stick smothered in probably too much ranchdressing.

Peter sticks his tongue out at Daisy to make her gigglebefore turning to his daughter with a confused frown.

“What about me?”

“Why is your name ‘Spider-Man’?”

Chelle howls with laughter while Peter attempts to handlethe situation. Ned and Betty have both known his secret for years (there areonly so many excuses he can give Betty for needing to abruptly leave theirhouse on foot with a ragged backpack), but Flo doesn’t really get thedifference between saying it in front of them and saying it to literally anyoneelse.

“Are we supposed to talk about that?” he tests her.

“No. I’ll only tell Charlie.” Quickly, she bounces to hercousin’s side and, over Charlie’s giggling, Peter hears Flo’s high voicesaying, “My dad’s Spider-Man.”

“That’s definitely talking about it,” he says.

“Ok,” she is quick to agree with a mischievous smile, “I’llonly tell Palpy.”

Flo darts off after the cat, who has decided on a franticrun across the yard. Charlie helpfully tries to copy her mother’s method ofcalling the cat, but Emperor Palpatine is not convinced by the imitation.

Peter spins Daisy around once before letting the toddlerinto the fray as well.

“She’s so much like you,” Betty observes to Chelle, watchingFlo track the cat with determination. “Brave, unstoppable.”

Ned snorts.

“Nah, she’s like Peter.”

“Watch it,” Peter warns jokingly, picking up his beer.

“I was gonna say because she has so much energy, dude, duh.”

“Well, that’s true,” Chelle says, walking to Peter andpropping her elbow on his shoulder. He holds her around the waist, longing tocradle her closer than social norms permit. “I don’t know what we’re going todo with two of them.”

For a moment, there is no sound but the sizzling hotdogs(Ned’s probably burning them―Betty is the true grill-master of the Leedsfamily) and the shouts of three little girls. Then, Betty’s delighted gasp andNed’s pure shriek of joy.

Peter’s beer sweats in his hand. He has never been happier.

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