Page 37 of Marrying My Moth Lady

“When?”

“It was in the vows. Don’t glare at me, I don’t make the rules. You’re my little spoon, my square, my wife…my everything. I’ll love you forever, Mrs. Mills, and earn your love in return.”

Chapter 17

3 weeks later

Horus

“I’m at the Winged Wildlife and Abundant Earth Foundation headquarters where, just three weeks ago, we witnessed the strangest wedding in Mason County. Billionaire heiress Amber Carter pulled a switcheroo that left all attendees—including Mr. Carter of Carter Mining Company himself—in a state of confusion.

“When it was time to kiss the bride, reclusive scientist, Dr. Horus Mills, revealed someone other than our beloved heiress stood under the veil. The mysterious bride—get this—dressed as a female version of the Mothman. Why? The Mills claim they teamed up with the Carter family to celebrate their collaboration on a new butterfly conservation initiative. Our community loves its legendary monster, but should such a stunt happen at a wedding? I’m Kelly McKellerman, andI’m on the hunt for the truth.” Kelly waves the microphone under her neck to signal ‘cut’ to the cameraman before turning to me.

While I love the media accepting our invitation to the opening of the new beehives and educational gardens, I wish they’d get out of my office…or at least out of my face. Slammingthe door on the camera crew would satisfy me to no end. Kelly breezed in here carrying a cloud of perfume with the odiferous strength to rival the trash-burning power plant on a hot day. I had to open my window, which blew my stacks of papers everywhere. What was once organized by due date now sits haphazardly on my lap. No better than the contents of Dorothy’s house after their trip to Oz.

“Talk to my wife,” I say without looking up from my sorting.

Hey look! Matthew must have dropped off my prescriptions. I tear open the white paper bag to count my bottles. Filling my UC meds at the hospital where he works isn’t ideal, but until our house is built, I don’t have a shipping address. My brother-in-law probably uses the delivery as an excuse to check on Millie’s married life, but I don’t mind. It must be hard to let go of taking care of her…lord knows I never will.

“Certainly, as the owner and director of WWAAE, you have a message to the public,” she says with a syrupy smile. “A public viewership full of donors and voters, might I add.”

“Nope,” I say, with my lips popping on the final letter. “My wife can tell you all about our initiatives, public outreach, and conservation programs.”

“As the foremost expert on etymology in our area, you do want to say a few words,” she says, signaling to the camera crew to roll tape.

“A few words,” I say with a beaming smile.

“You are impossible!” She says, dropping her microphone to her side. The two cameras drop to their owner’s waists. “I’m not getting an interview about the wedding out of you, am I?”

“I’m impossible, but my wife isn’t. Mrs. Mills is an expert on etymology but educated by living in the area. Your viewership will take to her like a duck to water. If you want your interview, your story, your—whatever—film by the beehives. She’s giving a tour to a group of kindergarteners that will melt viewer’s hearts,” I say, replacing my ass with the stack of papers on my seat.

I round the desk and hold the door open in silent invitation for everyone to get out. Kelly gives me a snort but otherwise, complies. She didn’t meet the unmarried me who would have slammed the door once they stepped across the threshold.Pity.I lead the way past stuffy conference rooms that Millie’s converting to classrooms. Her dream is to offer summer day camps next year, taught by local science teachers and guest conservationists, for bored-at-home elementary kids. Colorful butterflies made of coffee filters and empty K-cup pods decorate the hallway from our first weekend workshops. I push through the glass doors that once led to my circus of a wedding.

The area outside is filled with milkweed and wildflowers to attract pollinators. Millie stands in a beekeeper’s suit over our three new hives. Her Appalachian twang decorates the technical terms as she explains the life cycle of bees to a group of kids sitting nearby. She waves a bee smoker over the hives as she animatedly speaks about larvae. The kids wear expressions of awe as they watch her performance. Her warmth and passion for life radiate from her dark, beekeeper’s veil hat. Even though tucking her wings into the suit gives her a bulky, marshmallow shape, my wife has never looked more beautiful. Kelly gestures to her crew to film Millie in action as my wife inspires everyone.

“See,” I whisper toward Kelly. “As cold and uncooperative as I am, that’s how amazing she is. You will get your story when you stop barking up the wrong Mills.”

Kelly doesn’t have to be told twice. The kids applaud softer than Kelly and the news crew members when Millie finishes. Rebecca ushers the kids to their next station where they will harvest honey from the honeycombs we removed from the hives this morning. Hopefully, their parents will appreciate the gift and consider attending the fundraising events we have lined up this fall. October’s jack-o'-lantern, followed by November’s pumpkin-chunk’in catapult competition must pay our bills until the endowment from my alma mater kicks in.

“Mrs. Mills, your husband said we should interview you,” Kelly starts as she stomps through the garden. The cord she drags beheads several flowers and drags my name through the mud toward my wife.

The bottom of Millie’s beekeeper’s veil flutters over her rounded bosom as she turns to face me. I don’t need to see her glowing eyes to know she’s nervous. The energy changes around us. I’m drawn to her side. I wish I could hum to soothe her. If I texted her before barging out here, I could have said her veil is perfectly opaque, so she enjoys her fifteen minutes of fame.

“They didn’t need me to tell them you’re the star of this show. They saw it for themselves. You’re wonderful with the kids, darling,” I whisper to her. With a kiss through the veil, I draw her under my arm. I’m so damn proud to be her husband that I will stand beside her in the public eye—when I have hours of work to do…

“Do we have time before we hit the road?” She says to me, before turning to Kelly to add. “We’ve got a long trek to his hometown in Ohio where his folks expect us for supper.”

“Of course, you know Mom and Dad will wait if we run late,” I say with a squeeze of her hand over my heart. Why won’t these reporters buzz off so I can take my wife some placeprivate? Lord knows I won’t get more than a peck on the cheek when we sleep at my parent’s house tonight. I have a surprise for Millie in Ohio tomorrow—so we’re staying in my old room. “The two-hour drive is too curvy to attempt while sleepy after a big supper—and knowing Mom, she’s pulling out all the stops.”

“With that sorted, Mrs. Mills, let’s talk about your wedding. Whose idea was it for you to dress as the Mothman?” Kelly shoves a microphone into Millie’s face.

I fight the urge to grab it and smack Kelly over the head, but my gracious wife pushes it away with two dainty fingers.

“The idea came naturally,” Millie says with a giggle. “The spongy moth is the greatest threat to the hardwood trees and monarch butterflies of this area, but they give all moths a bad rap. The Abbott’s Sphinx, Button Slug Moth, and Adjutant Wainscot Moth are some examples of the large indigenous population of moths who live in our forests. While honeybees and monarchs have better P.R., moths are some of the world’s most important pollinators.”

“So, you wanted to call attention to the moth’s plight? On your wedding day?” Kelly asks with exaggerated shrugging. How annoying! She’s playing for the cameras as if Millie’s answer is ludicrous.

“The event was more of a spectacle than a wedding with all the strangers and reporters, wouldn’t you agree? The ceremony wasn’t designed for a private declaration of love between two people, but a show for viewers at home to watch and judge. Our public message is to conservethe forestfor the enjoyment of the community. That’s why the center is adding youth education and community outreach to our areas of focus. This place doesn’t belong to us—even as deed owners. It belongs to our town as it has for generations,” Millie says in her sweetvoice that sugar-coats any insults, so you don’t realize she’s cut you to size until later.

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