Peter turned around and gave her an amused smirk. “You know, if you keep worrying like that you’re going to give yourself wrinkles,” he said, walking backward as he reached the driveway. “Just there.” He tapped his finger on the middle of his forehead.

Wendy shook her head, conjuring up her best look of disdain. “Good night, Peter,” she told him.

“Sweet dreams, Wendy.”

She watched as he turned back around and walked down the street. The sound of crickets drifted in his wake.

When she went back inside, Mrs. Darling was standing in front of the fridge. “How do leftovers sound?” her mother asked. Mrs. Darling pulled out a Tupperware full of cheesy chicken and rice Wendy had made for dinner a couple of nights before.

“Sounds good to me,” Wendy said as she took a seat at the table. Her shins already ached from running through the woods. She felt like she was still covered in dirt and ashes. She really needed to get into the shower and scrub herself clean, but at the moment, walking up the stairs seemed daunting and the promise of melted cheese made her stomach growl.

She realized her mother was watching her, but Mrs. Darling’s eyes flitted away when Wendy looked up and she busied herself with pulling out a pair of forks.

Wendy thought about what Peter had said. How, once upon a time, her mother had known Peter, had even been a swordfighter. The idea seemed preposterous now, with her messy hair, medical scrubs, and perpetually tired smile.

Even before Wendy and her brothers had gone missing, her mother had always seemed like the perfect lady to Wendy. Her hair had always been long and fell down her back in waves. Wendy had been in love with those silky locks and used to run her fingers through them over and over when she was upset and being held. She used to have such a graceful walk, too, like a ballerina. And when she had told them stories, her mother’s voice was a gentle tune, like she was singing.

Those were the only two versions of her mother Wendy knew. The idea of her being a little girl, running around with Peter Pan and brandishing a sword, seemed impossible.

But a lot of things that seemed impossible were turning out to be very real lately.

“So, Barry seems nice?” Her mother’s question brought Wendy out of her thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, he’s nice,” Wendy said, caught off guard.

“You’ve never brought a boy over before. Are you two…” Mrs. Darling started slowly, casting Wendy a furtive glance, “dating?”

“What?” Wendy almost shouted. “No—we—NO, definitely not,” she stammered, completely flustered. “I only just met him the other day!” She could feel her cheeks turn red.

Oh, God, they weren’t going to have that conversation, were they?