Divorce, his mom had explained to him. It happens sometimes. It wasn't anybody's fault.
She meant it as a comfort—no one fought, so there's no need for you to be scared—but for Peter it had the opposite effect: he wondered if his parents could just happen to get divorced, too. If it's no one's fault, could it come at any time?
Divorce. A big, neon-red word, written on a guillotine in Peter's imagination. For a long time, it felt like the worst thing that could possibly happen.
It's a lot less scary now.
Still, Peter is twelve years old before he gets up the courage to ask. And then it's not so much courage as it is his inability to shut up, which has become an increasing problem as Peter has gotten older.
"Why did you and May break up?" he blurts one night at dinner, and then goes as red as the cherry tomatoes in his wilted salad, at which he immediately and intensely stares.
Ben puts down his fork—surprise, like many of Ben's expressions, appears mildly. He considers Peter for a moment.
"Can you always tell when I've been talking to her?" he asks.
Peter's ears feel hot. He stirs his salad.
"Yeah. I mean, kinda. You get this look on your face, I guess. And you get all quiet and stuff." Peter shrugs. "Sorry. We don't have to talk about it."
But when he glances at Ben's face his uncle doesn't look mad.
"You know," he says, "a lot of really smart kids aren't so great when it comes to emotional intelligence. Why couldn't you be one of those kids?"
Peter smiles. "Sorry Uncle Ben. I guess I'll, uh… try to be stupider?"
Ben shakes his head and smiles back. "Nah, I like bragging about you too much," he says. The smile fades a little. "That's what May and I were talking about. I was telling her about how they want to bump you up a grade in math."
"You guys talk about me?"
Ben nods. He's watching Peter's face like he's expecting something, but Peter isn't sure what it is. He's too busy feeling surprised to think about it.
"She remembers me?" says Peter.
"Who could forget an ugly mug like that?"
"Ha, ha." Peter rolls his eyes. Frowns. "If you guys talk, why did you get divorced? Doesn't talking mean you still like her?"
"I do still like her," says Ben. "She's a very special woman."
"So why don't you get married again?"
Peter can tell right away he's said the wrong thing. Ben's expression doesn't exactly fall, but it does slide a little, becoming fixed. Peter swallows and forces himself not to look back at his plate while Uncle Ben works on his response.
"Sometimes," he says slowly, "staying together isn't just a matter of love. Sometimes two people can love each other very much and it just… doesn't work out. Does that make sense?"
Peter doesn't feel very hungry anymore. He drops his fork and slides lower in his chair.
"Peter," says Ben. "I'm not talking about us, buddy. Romantic love is different than what you and I have. We're family."
"When you get married you're supposed to be family."
Ben is quiet for such a long time that Peter eventually tries to steal a glance at him from under his lowered brow. Ben raises an eyebrow.
"Does it bother you that it's just us?" he says.
"No." Peter clambers to sit straight. "No, I'm… this is great. I'm not, like, trying to complain about my life or whatever. It's just." He chews his lip. "Okay. So, you ask me all the time if I'm happy, right? Like, so much it gets annoying."
"Hey, I'm just trying—"
"I know, I know. You're making sure I'm okay. It's cool, Uncle Ben. But… are you happy? I mean, I know I make you happy, don't freak out. But are you happy happy?" He shrugs again. "I guess that's all I wonder about."
Ben doesn't say anything else. But he does get a little furrow between his eyes, which Peter knows only happens when he's thinking hard.
A few months after that, May comes to visit. She only stays for a week, but they go to the beach together, and see a play, and even walk around Times Square in spite of the tourists, because May says she misses New York. Gloucester, where her family lives, is not the same.
"There are more lobsters than people," she says. "All I want is a New York hot dog, and I swear all I can find is lobster rolls."
She laughs when Uncle Ben buys her a lobster roll for lunch, laughs harder when he produces the hot dog he was hiding behind his back the whole time.
"We're just friends," Ben says, after May leaves.
"Uh-huh," says Peter, and he pretends he doesn't notice how much more Ben smiles over the next few weeks. Even when he thinks Peter isn't looking.
May comes once more that summer. And twice in the fall.
Ben smiles a lot during this time.
It's nice, Peter thinks, when they're both happy.
After a while, though, May stops visiting.
"Peter," Ben snaps, when Peter asks why for the thousandth time, "not everything has a why, okay? Sometimes, things are just hard."
"That's stupid," says Peter.
"That's life, pal."
Peter slams the door when he retreats to his room. He expects his uncle to come after him, like he usually does. But he doesn't.
Early that spring, Uncle Ben loses his job.
He finds two more to replace it, but the money still isn't as good, and it means he's not home as much. Peter does his homework alone after Ned leaves, and some nights he's too tired to wait up until he hears the click of the door to signify his uncle is home.
Just like after his parents died, Peter starts to feel things without knowing why.