Page 12 of First Kiss with a Mothman

“It’ll be there when I get back.”

“True. So, about the gay pride group stuff?”

“I’m honestly not sure―ack!”

I sense the familiar flapping of Reginald landing on my shoulder. Mort tenses up, and I chuckle. I squeeze his arm, still refusing to let him go just yet.

“There’s a bird on your shoulder.”

“It’s just my seeing-eye bird.”

“Squawk!” I sense Reginald cleaning his beak on his wings. If I had to guess, I’d venture he’s being protective of me. Maybe he is my familiar.

“Oh, right.” Mort catches his breath and gulps. “I didn’t notice the uh…sign on his neck thing.”

“Yeah. He hates his scarf. Wants to be free like all the other birds.”

“Free to eat moths?” he murmurs.

My smile falls. “Yeah. Is that what happened at the bonfire?”

Mort tenses up again, but I continue to hold his arm. “Well, yeah. But you don’t control that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know people would be possessive over moths.”

“I definitely am because…” He takes a deep breath and continues, “I’m half moth.”

“You’re…oh.” I nod as understanding washes over me. My bird ate one of his kind; that wasn’t the happiest meet-cute. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” I hear him shake his head. “Still, there’s no excuse. What I said to you was awful, and I’m sorry.”

I smile and tap his hand. “Dude, it’s fine. You called me blind, so what? I am blind.” We both titter, and I put my hand down all too soon. All these years of holding people, but for the first time, I don’t want to let go. If there’s even a modicum of a chance that he could be interested in a skinny guy like me, I’m willing to see where it goes…so to speak. “No guilt necessary.”

“Still, I don’t do self-forgiveness very well. I feel like crap for how I spoke to you.”

“You really wanna make it up to me?”

“Of course!”

“Have you ever had dinner at the Student Union food court?”

“Um, yes?”

“I haven’t. Wanna show me the route from Karloff Hall? Reginald can’t guide me if I haven’t visited yet.”

“On one condition.” I scrunch my eyebrows, and Mort continues, “I’m buying.”

Thirty minutes later, I end up at dinner with Mort for the first time. We took a long detour from my dorm; apparently, it’s super close to the library, so that’s a relief. The route is all mapped out in my head, and now we’re seated together, just the two of us. I sent Reginald off again because the bird doesn’t like indoor spaces.

I could have had my seeing-eye bird stay with me, but, in actuality, I want as much one-on-one time with this new dude as possible. Something about him makes me trust him, like he’s wise and generous. Maybe it’s that alluring buzzing noise he always makes.

And my bird makes him uncomfortable. So he had to go.

All of that has led to me eating this tray of monster mashed potatoes, roast beef, and collared screams. It all sounded so tasty and exotic, I couldn’t help but pig out. The staff was kind enough to cut most of it into pieces for me, and Mort oriented me to the fork and spoon. He paid, like a gentleman, and I made him promise to eat the same things as me so I wouldn’t feel like a total glutton. He agreed, and now I’m relishing the delicious flavors of the Union food court.

“Thank you for this,” I say, dabbing my mouth with a napkin.

“Again, it’s the least I could do after I harassed you.”