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She’s Peter’s Wendy through and through. I watch her now—for probably too long. Longer than I should because her eyes find mine. Her eyes. Blue, like the color of Never Harbor’s ocean. Vast and unpredictable. Calm but somehow deeper than they seem. Pretty. Yes, Wendy Darling is undeniably pretty.
Whereas Jasper entranced me from afar, Peter was always barely in reach. Not fully there, but close enough to think you could grasp him.
He heads to the wall of bookshelves, stacked with a range of genres. Some read, some not. I’m of the firm belief that collecting books and reading books are separate hobbies anyway.
I know Wendy wouldn’t be looking at me like this if we weren’t talking about Sam. But sometimes, adults can play pretend too. And I pretend that smile is just for me.
“You said you liked them,” I answer. “I do.” “Then, why wouldn’t I do something simple if you like it?”
“It’s a reminder to keep flying,” I confess. “That life will move on. That the Earth keeps spinning and the birds keep migrating regardless of what happened the day before.
“No, it’s important to you. If we can’t love the things significant to us without guilt, then what can we love? Your tattoo is important because you think it is. And that’s all that matters.”
Peter was once my entire world. He was the star in the sky I flew toward, which kept me feeling alive and young and adventurous. But that all disappeared when he flirted with other women—when he decided I wasn’t enough. It seems unfair that—even though I called off the wedding, even though I made the decision that was right for the both of us—he’s still a ghost that haunts my life.
“God, you’re like my star in the sky, Wendy.” “Your star?” “My North Star. Always showing me the direction I should travel. I’ve never met someone like you before.”
“I’d let you break me, Wendy Bird,” Jasper whispers gruffly. “And I’d thank God every single day for the guilt that followed if it meant I could keep you for myself.”
“You deserve that,” he repeats. “I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” I confess quietly. “For some people, I’m too much.” I swallow. “Others, not enough. I’m the Goldilocks of girlfriends, Jas.”
It’s never been Peter or Jasper. It’s always just been Jasper. Because I’d choose him every time. In any reality. In any fantasy. In every fairy tale.
