She hummed as her fingers loosened the tiny buttons from their tight loops between her shoulder blades. Pausing in the row at her ribs, Wendy reached up and released her chignon from its pins. She groaned in appreciation as her blonde curls pooled around her neck. Returning to the buttons, she soon dropped the peach satin dress into a smooth puddle at her bare feet. She smoothed her silk slip straight, not bothering to hang the expensive dress. Her eyes adjusted to the shadowy room, her pale reflection an ashen shade of blue from the moon slipping by the open window. Goosebumps sprang up across both of her arms as a breeze rustled the curtains.
The guests had left long ago. Each congratulations, every wish for good luck thrusting her closer to becoming a married woman. When Fitzsimmons left, his lips brushed hers. She had reached up to stroke his cheek, to ignite the feeling her friends whispered about behind rose bushes. Fitzsimmons had taken her advance and pulled her in close, pressing their bodies together.
"Darling," he breathed before taking her lips again, demanding her attention.
Wendy closed her eyes, desperate to feel something other than his mustache tickling her nose. Finally, she experienced gratefulness when he relaxed his hold on her waist. "Goodnight, Gerald." A practiced batting of her eyelashes and she fled to her darkened room to escape the gnawing dread.
One hundred strokes with the silver brush were completed before Wendy paced to the window, perching on the white-washed casing while she braided her hair.
"Your mother would tell you that you will catch a cold."
Wendy's arms froze, her braid forgotten. That voice…his voice came from somewhere in her own room. She lifted her chin slightly, dismissing her imagination. Peter would never come back for her. He would despise her for growing up.
"But you always sleep with the window open, don't you, Wendy? Even when the winds are howling, you use that notch to keep it open for me."
Her finger drifted to the hole in the sill. She swiveled her head towards Peter's voice, unable to discern any shapes in the fleeting moonlight. "I…I never wanted you to be locked out."
"Such a chap." His voice bounced off the ceiling near her bed.
"But you never came."
"You never asked until tonight. You only told the boys stories. I heard them. You're a swell storyteller, Wendy." His hushed voice moved closer until the tip of his leather moccasin revealed itself near her dresser.
Wendy clung onto her rope of hair as Peter stepped closer still, his leggings, then jersey, washed colorless in the moonlight. He left his face in the high shadows on the wall. She could feel her breathing speed up, her hands shaking no matter how tightly she flexed her knuckles.
"Won't you come closer, Peter?" Her voice betrayed her, sounding small and childish.
"You've grown-up, Wendy," he accused. "You told me you didn't want to grow up and you did it anyways."
Jumping up and rushing towards him, Wendy felt her tears spill over. "I wanted to grow up at first, Peter, but now I don't! I've made a terrible mistake and grew up when I wanted more adventures. I still want to see Tiger Lily again, to apologize for being so mean to her. And Tinkerbell, too." She touched the edge of the dresser, straining to see his face in the darkness.
Peter stepped into the last of the pale light, his boyish face unmistakably etched with annoyance. No stubble of chin hair or mustache graced his smooth skin and his ginger hair still flopped to one side. He was everything she remembered when she was thirteen.
"You are still a boy!"
"Of course I'm still a boy! I wasn't the one to grow up."
Wendy stretched her hand to stroke his smooth cheek. "I always thought…I'd always dreamed we'd grow up together, that you would be my age."
His eyes narrowed. "I was the one who wanted you to forget them all and stay with me. We could've played all day and stayed up as long as we wanted."
"Yes," she whispered, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "If I could do it all again, I would've stayed with you and the boys."
"It's too late for that now, Wendy."
"I know, Peter. I have grown-up and ruined it all. I have to get married soon." She twisted the ring on her finger to position the offensive diamond towards her palm.
"That's awful!" He shook his head. "You shouldn't have to get married. It doesn't sound like much fun at all."
She chuckled. "I'm sure it would be fun if I were marrying someone I lov…someone who has fun and adventures."
"We could have fun and adventures."
She stepped closer, noticing his head was no taller than her shoulder. "But we can't because I grew up and you didn't, Peter."
"I could grow up for you, Wendy. Then you could come home to Neverland."
Wendy's breath caught in her throat at the lovely thought of flying away. She looked at the boy before her. "You can't grow up, silly. You live in Neverland and you will never grow up there."
"Pixies have magic. I would grow up for you, if you wanted me to."
"My dear Peter, I would like nothing more than for you to grow up and take me back to Neverland." She sighed and leaned down so their eyes were level. "But I'd like to give you a kiss before you leave this time. For if you ever return again, I will be an old lady."
He shoved out his fist, unfurling his fingers to reveal her thimble. "I have a kiss from you already, Wendy. But I will grow up for you. Just give me a few days. I'm sure there are special ingredients the pixies need."
"If you could grow up, Peter, I'd never leave you." Before her courage faded, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.
When they parted moments later, she heard the sharp intake of his breath. "What was that for?" he whispered.
"It was for me, Peter. I have always wanted to kiss you, just once, and so I have." She shivered, suddenly chilled through and through. Wendy turned and grabbed her shawl at the end of her bed. "I will never forget it, as long as I live," she admitted, her back to the boy in her dreams.
A rush of wind swirled her slip around her ankles and she knew, without looking, Peter was gone. Wendy crawled under her quilt and rued the day she had decided to become a grown-up.
Because it was a very grown-up broken heart aching in her chest.
