"Wendy!" Mr. Darling roared. "Come downstairs immediately!"
Wendy stirred, breathing lightly, and opened her eyes. She sat in peaceful reflection for a moment, not wanting to leave the windowsill. Then she remembered her latest dream; a small smile spread on her face, complementing her blazing cerulean eyes.
"What's the matter with you?" John asked, as his sister gracefully waltzed around the nursery.
"I had a wonderful dream…" she sighed.
"Of..?"
"Why, of Peter! He took me away to Neverland, underneath the midnight sky…we danced amongst the clouds…"
"Wendy, that's ridiculous. You can't 'dance amongst the clouds,'" he mocked, in a high falsetto. "But your head's in the clouds! Stop hoping, he's not coming."
"Oh, but he—"
"He's not coming! Not tomorrow, not next week, not EVER!" John scoffed, before slamming the door.
Wendy stopped dancing, pausing to think about John's words. Her fierce, unyielding smile crumpled, and tears clouded her vision.
"I never should have left," she whispered, "and now I've missed my chance. I'm a fool—a worthless, optimistic fool." And tears rolled down the plains of her cheeks, salty on her tongue.
"WENDY! I thought I told you to come down here!"
Ten minutes later, Wendy obediently tiptoed to the parlor, her hair elegantly swept back in intricate braids. She wore an emerald-velvet dress draped loosely around her shoulders, and a white bow fit snugly around her hips.
"You wanted to see me, father?" she inquired.
Mr. Darling was a rather bulky man, his belly hanging over the beltline. He had a graying, curly mustache that hung just above his upper lip. Defensive, hazel eyes haunted the victim of his anger, and he often rocked back and forth on his toes—a bad habit from childhood days.
"Why…well yes," he stammered, stunned at his daughter's beauty. "A new suitor, William M. Buxley, beseeches your presence at tea this afternoon. One o'clock, Lindburger Tower. I said you will attend."
"Very well. Might I wear this dress?"
"Yes, yes. You look very…mature. Have you decided to grow up after all?"
"I have. It's high time I abandon such foolish delusions. If William courts me, I shall accept." Wendy inhaled tightly before adding, "…his proposal, that is."
"Marvelous," her father replied, obviously astonished at her sophistication. "One o'clock, and not a minute later."
At twelve fifty-seven, Wendy entered the wide glass-paned doors of Lindburger Tower.
"May I take your coat, ma'am?" a servant asked, offering a gloved hand.
"Oh, certainly. Thank you," she stuttered, distracted by the lavish décor surrounding her. Every aspect of the room was gold: the curtains, the walls, even the tiling. An exquisite glass chandelier hung elegantly, hundreds of twinkling lights illuminating the tea-room.
"Expecting anyone, ma'am?" the servant persisted, gently folding Wendy's dull charcoal coat under his arm.
"Oh, yes. A…William Buxley, I believe?"
He stiffened. "Of course, right this way," he complied, ushering her to a nearby table.
From first glance, Wendy already loathed the man. He was surprisingly short, and beady eyes protruded from his pinched face. A white suit looked absolutely absurd against his pale complexion. Overall, she imagined a rat—a scraggly, brooding, infectious rat.
"Why hello, Wendy Darling," he grimaced, over-articulating every syllable with crooked yellow teeth. "How pleasant of you to stop by."
"How nice to finally meet you," she assured, disguising the contempt in her voice.
"Yes, yes I know. Have a seat. So…how old are you Miss Darling?"
"How rude of him to ask a lady her age!" thought Wendy. "And on the first date, too!" But she grinned stupidly anyway. "I'll turn seventeen come October."
"Seventeen, eh? The prime of life, a final departure from childhood, an introduction into civilization! Well, I'd rather not disclose my age, but let's just say my youth bid me goodnight a long time ago…"
"I can tell," Wendy envisioned, but she said nothing. The air staled between them.
"Anyways," the elder gentleman pressed, "a girl like yourself needs a man to depend on. I've accumulated a bit of wealth in my years and…I need a woman to share it with. Your father impressed me as a reasonable man and…" he paused, wiping a water-stain from his saucer, "And I think you'd make a lovely wife: a lovely, beautiful, subservient wife."
Wendy's insides seized while her heart pounded. His wife? But he was so old and conceited, not to mention revolting. She needed to lie down.
"May I…may I have a day to think about this? I'm not sure how my mother will reciprocate such impetuous news," she fabricated, nervously toying with her napkin.
"Sure. One day, Miss Darling. I haven't much time to wait. I shall drop by in the morning, expecting a definite decision."
Wendy stood, feeling dizzy. She thanked him, politely rushing to the entrance, but not before hearing William once more.
"A definite answer, Wendy. Tomorrow morning."
She shivered and pushed the door open, walking into the bright sunlight.