IV. FIRST SMILE "i've missed talking to you, peter"
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THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR A FEW WEEKS LATER IS SURPRISING, nobody has been expecting anybody. Sure, they'd get flowers every now and again from some family member who was unable to make it to the funeral or a neighbour would be coming to check on them. That usually happens in the morning, not a four o'clock in the afternoon.
Isabella practically stumbles to the door, opening it with her right hand as her left clutches her drink. Her lips raise into a smile when she sees Peter Parker standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.
"Peter, hey!"
Peter feels relief flood through his body at the sight of Isabella's familiar bright smile, something he was sure she'd lost in the previous few weeks. The last time he'd seen her was a day or two after the funeral when she'd turned up at his apartment in tears, clutching one of Gwen's old sweaters – he hadn't see her since.
"What are you doing here? Not that it's not great to see you or anything but you usually call," Isabella states, almost confused by him being here but happy nonetheless.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I-I just was feeling a bit out of it today and was wondering if you'd like to hang out tonight?" Peter questions.
"Uh yeah. Sounds good actually, mum was going to make her spaghetti again and it gets dryer every time. Let me just tell her I'm going out,"
The boy watches as she spins around and makes her way back inside, presumably to find her mother. He has no doubts about whether or not she will be allowed out, her mother probably wants her out of the house and doing something to take her mind off everything.
"Yeah!" Peter hears the teenager call inside before the loud footsteps start to approach him again. "Okay, let's go. Mum says I have to be back by ten thirty,"
The two of them walk down the street, the familiar lights of New York guiding them. It's a comfortable silence between them, neither truly knowing how to break into conversation. That is until Isabella finally looks over to him and notices the expression on his face, sadness mixed with what she assumes is some form of frustration.
"What happened today?" The brunette's voice is soft, almost as if she's trying to show she's not prying. If he doesn't want to give her answers, then he doesn't have to give her answers — she would like him to know it's an option though, she will listen.
Adjusting the beanie on her head, Isabella patiently awaits his response. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to form the words to say. She doesn't push him, simply continues to walk alongside him.
"I-uh had a nightmare is all," Peter finally admits to her, making her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. "About Gwen," he adds.
"I have those too," Isabella assures, her way of showing him that she understands. She had the same problem after the passing of her father. "Talking about it helps,"
She'd spoken plenty with her sister when they'd lost their father, and after the death of Gwen, she'd spoken with her mother. Isabella had learned rather quickly that it hurt more to bottle up the emotion. As she looks at him, she realises that Gwen was probably who Peter usually spoke to as well.
"I remember telling you that you could call me for anything," Isabella says as her shoes slowly sink into the snow beneath her. "This is anything, Pete. If anybody can relate to what you're feeling, it's probably me,"
"Yeah," he sighs, rubbing the side of his face gently. "You've got enough going on, Bee, didn't want to burden you –"
"You're not a burden, Peter. Besides, I like having you around. I've missed talking to you,"
He can't help but allow a small smile to pull at his lips, gently wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they move down the street. She doesn't pull away, liking the human comfort.
"So, what have you been up to today?" Peter questions.
"Listening to Taylor Swift and painting. It's how I spend most of my time these days," Isabella shrugs lightly, looking up at the taller boy.
"Painting what?"
"Anything. Uh Gwen was fond of frangipanis, so I've been pairing those. Mum has one of them hung up in the hallway. It's therapeutic in a way,"
Isabella has always been fond of painting, a natural talent she has had since she was a little girl. Nobody in her family shares the same gift, so she has no clue where she got it from. The house is full of her paintings, there is even one on Gwen's bedroom wall that Isabella had given her for her eighteenth birthday. A field full of frangipanis.
"I'm still waiting on that painting you promised me years ago," Peter teases lightly, causing the brunette teen to roll her eyes.
"And I told you, it's a work in process. You can't rush art, Parker, you just can't,"
People pass by them as they walk, unfortunately most of them being somewhat aware of who she is because of who her dad was. The looks make her a little uncomfortable, her face flushing red.
"So, how is May?" Isabella asks softly, wanting to change the subject to make him more comfortable. The way Peter's face lights up, even if it's only slightly.
"She's been good," Peter replies.
"That's good. I'll have to drop by and visit some time,"
"She'd love that,"
The two of them enjoy the rest of the evening walking about town and chatting about their lives. When they return back to Isabella's house, she tells him to wait so she can quickly grab something for him. Walking into Gwen's room, getting what she's looking for.
"Gwen bought this for you, it had your name on the gift tag and everything. I thought you'd like it," Isabella holds the item out to him and he takes it.
It's a simple sweater, dark blue in colour, but it looks as if it's great quality. The way Peter's eyes gloss over with tears again makes her heart ache, but she knows Gwen would want him to have it. Peter gives her a hug, and thanks her before heading on home.
The brunette watches him go with a frown on her face, hating the way he's in so much pain. Losing Gwen has been hard on everyone, but she knows Gwen was his best friend as well as his girlfriend. Their bond was strong.
Biting her lip gently, she closes and the door and walks up to her bedroom. Her mother is watching television in the living room, the volume rather loud meaning she probably can't hear her daughter. Isabella pulls out her drawer and searches through it, her hand closing over the small flip phone that she'd been given.
Clicking on the only number, she puts it to her ear and allows it to ring through.
