“None of my clothes fit,” I say.
“It’s a good problem to have,” says Charlie.
I know it’s true. During my time as a captive underneath Peter’s bargain in Neverland, I lost a considerable amount of weight. Neverland had turned me into a shade of myself. Only recently have I gotten back up to my previous size, and by that, I mean before Peter took me from Neverland the first time. It would feel natural—this familiar body shape, my slightly rounded belly and hips—except for the fact that all the clothes I have on the ship were made to fit the half-starved, fully drugged, not-eating Wendy.
“They feel constricting,” I say, “like they’re choking me.”
“I’m pretty sure you can’t choke someone from the waistline,” says Charlie. “Nevertheless, I think I have a solution.”
Within the next hour,we find ourselves a tailor in the town in which we’re docked. Charlie has lent me some pants, along with a belt to keep them up since she’s still a good few inches taller than me. At least the belt keeps them from dragging against the ground.
I’m currently being poked and prodded by a tailor who is fitting me into a gown that Charlie oohed and aahed over from outside the cheerful window display.
“I thought the point of this excursion was to find me some practical clothes,” I say, looking in the mirror.
The dress itself is elegant—a collection of deep scarlet silks that, with the tailor’s adjustments, fit me nicely.
“What do you mean this is impractical?” says Charlie. “It has plenty of room to move around in it.”
“Does it?” I ask, attempting to poke one leg out. It barely budges against the hug of the fabric.
Charlie looks at the tailor. “You can adjust it so that the skirt part breaks away for a pair of pants underneath, can’t you?”
The tailor gives her a scolding look, a pin in her mouth, but she shrugs, conceding, all the same.
“See?” says Charlie. “Completely practical. Besides, I don’t know why we have to sacrifice elegance for practicality, anyway.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
Charlie smiles at me knowingly. “Well, do you feel better?”
I meet her eye, but her attention has shifted to my reflection in the full-sized mirror. I don’t exactly feel like smiling today, not when I can’t get my mind off of Nolan. But even in my sullen state, I can’t help but shift back and forth, admiring the way the lights hanging from the ceiling reflect off the silky fabric.
When the tailor finishes, Charlie asks her if she can have the dress ready by tomorrow.
“What do you think I am, a magic worker?” asks the tailor.
Charlie slips her a pouch full of coins.
“Well, let me get out my tomes then,” says the tailor grumpily, but I don’t miss the way her lip twitches shrewdly as she lets us out the door.
“But really, some practical clothes,” I say, tugging at the waistline of my borrowed pants for what’s probably the fortieth time. “I’m going to have blotches all over my belly from pulling at these.”
After purchasing several outfits,I must admit I feel much better. Though my mind has still been fixated on Nolan, counting the hours until he returns.
“Oh. Do you need any more of your contraceptive?” asks Charlie when we pass by an apothecary storefront.
“I’m glad you reminded me,” I say, realizing that I’m about to run out of what I purchased from the vendor several weeks ago.
We walk into the apothecary store and find a man seated behind the desk. Again, I don’t know why I’m so mortified to ask for it, but Charlie notes my embarrassment and waltzes up to the counter on my behalf.
“We need some of your best contraceptive brew,” she says.
The man looks back and forth between Charlie and me, a knowing look in the way one brow arches. I get the impression Charlie’s not the only friend who’s ever acted as a middleman for this sort of thing.
He goes behind the counter and assembles the brew as we talk—me in a hushed whisper, Charlie slightly louder than I would’ve preferred.
“You’re taking it every day, right?” she asks. “It’s not as effective if you don’t take it, you know.”
