Darling - K. Ancrum Page 0,45

your eyes,” Dorothy said.

Wendy swiveled in her chair to face the mirror.

Dorothy had brushed the crunchy ringlets Tinkerbelle had given her into soft, cinematic, fluffy waves that framed Wendy’s face prettily. She had gathered the top half of the back into two loose braids by Wendy’s ears and pinned it so that the hair fell back over her shoulders, curling playfully at the ends. Even though Dorothy was white, it was immediately clear that she had worked with Black hair before, and the difference in skill between her work and Tinkerbelle’s was dramatic. Then, ever the master of detail, Dorothy had tucked sprays of baby’s breath and dried leaves in a crown, through the braids and over the top of Wendy’s head, a touch so delicate and tasteful that it was immediately clear to Wendy that Dorothy had spent her life learning this: the art of beauty. Wendy gasped softly and finally saw a genuine smile bloom on Dorothy’s face like a morning glory. Wendy reached up to touch her hair in disbelief, but Dorothy smacked the back of her hand softly.

“Oh, Dorothy.” The queen by the door swooned. “She looks like a wedding in the spring.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Dorothy said gently. “Like Aida Overton Walker. Look her up when you get home, dear.”

Ominotago looked impressed, as well. She put her phone down and rested her chin in her hands to watch Wendy watch herself.

“I didn’t know I could look like this,” Wendy admitted. She wished her mom could see her like this, just as hard as she wished her mom would never find out what she’d gone through to make it to this chair in the back of this restaurant.

Dorothy sucked her teeth loudly and put both hands on Wendy’s shoulders. “You don’t have to look like this every day,” Dorothy said. “Sometimes it’s enough to know that this is in there. You can reach for it whenever you like, because this look is a part of you. But it is always your choice whether you want to put in the work. There is power in not doing this, just as much as there is power in knowing how to do it.”

Wendy didn’t know what to say.

“You should say thank you,” Ominotago suggested when the silence got to be a bit too long and the moment began to fade.

Wendy turned around to face Dorothy. “Thank you.”

Dorothy snorted and waved a hand modestly.

“I really mean it,” Wendy said earnestly. “You’re so good at this.”

Dorothy folded her arms and beamed back at Wendy with her hard-won, morning glory face. “Darling,” Dorothy said softly. “I’m the best.”

“Now, I wouldn’t go as far as—” the queen by the door began, but the door burst open, and Curly shoved his head inside.

“Peter says we can come—Whoa, you look good.” He paused to stare.

“Aanii, Curly, what does Peter want?” Ominotago asked urgently, waving a hand to block Wendy from Curly’s line of view.

Curly went on his tiptoes to avoid her arm and continue gaping at Wendy. “Peter said we can come out, but the Crocodile and Detective Hook are sitting at a table. They’re not doing anything, though. They look mad.”

“Oh, great.” Ominotago sighed.

“The Crocodile looks madder, if that’s any consolation,” Curly said.

Ominotago turned to Wendy and shrugged. “You ready?”

Wendy nodded and followed Ominotago and Curly out the door.

Compared to the dressing room, the rest of the restaurant was much less stressful. The mermaid motif was strong in the dining area. The walls were painted turquoise and purple, the tables were draped with gauzy blue-green ombre tablecloths, and at the center of each table was a white seashell with a candle in the middle. The tables were arranged in a semicircle around a small stage that was packed richly with fake seagrass and green tinsel. There was a machine pumping bubbles out into the restaurant from backstage, and the speakers played a light gurgling underneath the jazzy restaurant music. The waitresses, just as Wendy had guessed from backstage, were all drag queens. Their uniform was a crop top T-shirt and sequined miniskirt, and beehive wig in matching monochrome. They had white seashells glued over their chest to their T-shirts, mermaid style.

Peter, Nibs, Tinkerbelle, Charles, Curly, Fyodor, Waatese, and Minsu were sitting at the large table closest to the stage. Ominotago’s friends were clustered together and had saved a seat for her between Waatese and Tinkerbelle. Nibs had his arm over the back of the chair next to him, which was Curly’s. There was only