Peter WHY...

Thanksgiving had descended upon Queens, filling the Parker household with the rich scents of roasting turkey, sage stuffing, and simmering cranberry sauce. The late November chill pressed against the windows, a thin layer of snow clinging to the sills outside, but inside, the kitchen radiated warmth and bustle. 

Peter Parker moved through the house, pitching in to help Aunt May with the holiday preparations, the hum of a football game drifting from the living room where Uncle Ben was parked in his armchair.

"Peter, could you set the table, dear?" Aunt May called over the clatter of pots, her apron dusted with flour as she basted the turkey. Peter grabbed a stack of plates from the cabinet, their familiar floral pattern gleaming under the light, and wiped them down with a damp cloth, even though they were already clean. 

Gotta keep her from overdoing it, he thought, arranging them neatly on the dining table. He polished the silverware next—forks, knives, spoons—laying them out with care beside folded napkins, then placed a centerpiece of pinecones and candles Aunt May had made earlier that week. 

He cleared away a few stray items—a newspaper Uncle Ben had left open, a couple of coasters—stacking them neatly by the couch. Stepping back, he admired the setup: the table looked festive, ready for the feast. 

Not bad, he thought, grinning. Spider-Man's got nothing on my table-setting skills. With the kitchen in full swing and the holiday spirit thick in the air, Peter decided Thanksgiving deserved his full attention—no patrols tonight. City can handle one night without me, he reasoned. This is vacation time.

He slipped into the hallway, pulling his phone from his pocket to call Liz. Wonder how she's holding up today, he thought, dialing her number and leaning against the wall as it rang. 

Their relationship had grown since that day he'd checked on her about Flash's attack and offered to visit the hospital together—an idea sparked by Aunt May's nudge that had turned into something more. Now, he wanted to share the holiday with her.

Liz answered after a few rings, her voice warm but edged with fatigue. "Hey, Peter! Happy Thanksgiving."

"Hey, Liz, you too," he replied, smiling at her familiar tone. "What's your plan for the day? Figured I'd check in."

She sighed, a sound that carried through the line. "Not much of a plan, honestly. Mom had to rush to the hospital—some emergency with my grandparents—so I'm on my own. I was just going to order takeout and stay home."

Peter's brow furrowed. "That's tough. Are your grandparents okay?"

"They'll pull through," Liz said, reassuring him. "It's just a scare, but Mom's staying there. I didn't want to leave the house empty, so it's me and some pizza or something."

"Takeout's not a bad call," Peter said, then paused, an idea forming. "Hold on a sec, okay?" He muted the call and poked his head into the kitchen. "Aunt May, mind if I invite a friend over for Thanksgiving?"

Aunt May turned from the stove, her face lighting up. "Of course, dear! The more, the merrier. Who's coming?"

"Just a friend," Peter said vaguely, keeping it a surprise. She'll flip when she sees Liz—Uncle Ben too, he thought, grinning. "Thanks!" He unmuted the phone. "Hey, Liz, you still there?"

"Yeah, what's up?" she asked, curious.

"How about you skip the takeout and come here instead?" Peter offered. "Aunt May's cooking up a storm—turkey, stuffing, the works. We'd love to have you."

Liz hesitated, the line quiet for a moment. "You sure? I don't want to intrude on your family time."

"You're not intruding," Peter insisted. "Aunt May just said it's cool, and I'd rather you be here than alone with pizza. Come on, it'll be fun."

She laughed softly, relenting. "Okay, you win. I'd love that. Where do you live?"

"Great!" Peter said, his heart lifting. "It's 15 Ingram Street, Forest Hills, Queens. Just buzz when you get here—I'll come out and grab you."

"Got it," Liz said, her voice brighter now. "15 Ingram Street. I'll head over soon. Thanks, Peter—this means a lot."

"Anytime," he replied. "See you soon, and Happy Thanksgiving again."

"You too," she said, hanging up.

Peter pocketed his phone, a grin spreading across his face. Liz at Thanksgiving? That's a win, he thought, heading back to the kitchen to grab a broom and sweep the floor—a little extra help for Aunt May. He hadn't told her it was Liz coming, figuring the surprise would delight her and Uncle Ben. They've been on me to bring friends around—wait'll they see the school queen walk in.

The house hummed with holiday cheer, and Peter felt a rare calm settle over him. No webs tonight—just family, good food, and Liz. Best Thanksgiving yet, he thought, sweeping away the last of the dust.