24.
Moth
I am relieved that my wedding present for Heather was well received. Though the intention I had was to surprise her, I admit the act of keeping such a large secret from my flame caused anxiety to stir within me. What if it was a mistake? The wrong house—the wrong choice? Seeing how happy this has made her eases any tension, but I think in the future such big decisions will be made with her at my side.
As much as I would love to christen our house with the meeting of our bodies–there is a party to return to, and considering we are the guests of honor we do not linger longer than a giddy tour through each room where kisses are exchanged and promises of a future made.
Before long, the pair of us launch into flight to return to the cottage. I am eager to dance with my bride under the autumn sunshine, and by the time of our grand entrance, the party has fully begun.
The brunch bar is set up toward the house where our guests grab assortments of miniature pastries and breakfast items, all prepared to meet Heather’s dietary needs. A shame it would be for a bride to not have her fill on the day of her wedding. I grin watching her dance with Widow and Oak while holding a waffle–she may not always be the picture of elegance, and that makes her all the more appealing. She brings a whimsy to my life by not taking things so seriously. Today, apparently, that comes in the form of dancing with breakfast food.
From the edge of the party, I watch our guests mingle with each other. Heather’s uncle Doug seems to be adjusting very well to being surrounded by the paranormal, and I pretend to not notice the way Marsha nudges him toward Mother. She is too busy dancing in circles with the children to notice, but I have seen her eyes cast in his direction and when he finally asks her to dance, I do not interrupt. Mother could use a night of merriment without the burden of the crown, and I suppose they would be an interesting match. Rosie and Clara seem off in their own little world; if I remember correctly, Clara loves weddings and I imagine they’re reminiscing on their own. For a moment, I wish I had the pleasure of their friendship back then so I might have seen how their affections have grown through the years. I am thankful they are a part of today’s celebration and have once again made a perfect playlist.
“I love this song!” Heather’s voice carries across the yard, and before I can even register the tune her hands are pulling me toward the center of our makeshift dance floor. Her dress billows with every spin, and when we kiss, I am lost to the bliss of this moment. Our wedding.
A peppy song comes through the speakers, and the small crowd’s energy picks up. Ruby and Pepper join the dance floor, and Holly pulls Gil out of his chair in the outskirts to join. Before long our guests are all circling around us in chaotic movements that while dizzying is joyful.
In the decades spent alone, I hardly thought this would be possible, but I have–friends–real ones who showed up when I needed them, a family, and a bride who gazes up at me with more adoration in her eyes than I can comprehend. The impossibility of her alone makes me want to enjoy this all the more–she is mine and I am hers, and I dance with the beautiful woman until our lungs beg for water and our legs ache.
After adequate hydrating, we make our way to the cake–a pretty fruit layered confection decorated in powdered sugar and edible flowers. We feed each other bites by the tip of our claws and share kisses that taste like dessert.
Soon everyone is scattered to tables, eating and sipping coffees and teas–they clink glasses, ordering my flame and I to kiss, and I am happy to meet the request at the slightest sound.
Unlike Heather, I never had a dream wedding. The details of plum and burgundy, menu, and cake were not things that kept me awake and night, though I did what I could to support her vision. Seeing it all come together, however, is yet another reason to not doubt her creative talents. Yet, among the florals, candles, and crafts she is the thing that makes this the best day of my life.
“I love you,” she says, looking down at her plate, and for a moment I am unsure if I should be jealous of a confection, but then she takes my hand squeezing it tight, and I smirk at the jam that has stained her cheek. “This is everything I wanted and more.”
“I feel the same,” I agree, only I am not speaking about the party. Heather is my person, and to celebrate that in front of everyone is a magic I did not expect. She rises, offering me her hand.
“So, then husband, how about the next dance?” she asks, and the words are sweeter than any slice of cake.
“Nothing would bring me greater joy, my wife.”