Agreeing to a leisurely walk around Hyde Park, they took a cab over to the east edge of it, took Lover’s Walk up around the water, spent a good bit of time in the Italian Gardens where she obsessed over the statues of the two nearly naked women pouring water from pitchers into the fountain, grabbed gelato from a vendor, and traipsed down to see the Peter Pan statue. He joked that Will would say it was too appropriate, and he had her take his picture in front of it on his phone to send his brother. She focused on the figures around the base, and especially on the Wendy figure trying to climb up to Peter. The writer in him ended up over-thinking the way she’d studied the girl trying to get to the boy who wouldn’t grow up. Did she relate to it? Did it look like a reach for freedom? There was a price to pay for never growing up. It was one thing he’d learned. He’d lost too much control of his own life. Once lost, it was hard to gain back.
But maybe he could. Maybe she would give him the impetus to do it. He was responsible for her, for his effect on her, since he’d let it go so far. The damnedest thing about it was that, unlike other times he’d felt responsibility falling on his shoulders, he didn’t mind. He wanted to be responsible for her.
With a slammed thought into his head, he realized he needed to add a comma to that thought: he wanted to be responsible, to grow up and be an adult, for her. Maybe for himself, too.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish