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"Gregory and I are going to the dance tonight."

There, I said it. As plainly as I could, without trying in vain to dance around the subject or make it sound like my relationship with Gregory was anything less than it really was.

I guess I should explain. My parents both grew up in very staunchly Catholic homes. They had me baptised as a Catholic when I was young, but we never got around to having a confirmation or my first communion. Still, they carry with them many of the lessons about sin and virtue that they were taught back when they were young. Against abortion, against divorce, and naturally, against homosexuality.

"Come again?" My father sputtered in the middle of his dinner.

"I said, Gregory and I are going to the dance tonight."

"That's nice, honey," my mother chimed in. "Is he bringing a date with him?"

I guess I wasn't as clear as I thought. "I am his date."

"What are you talking about?" Dad bellowed again, dropping his fork on the plate. "Don't tell me your friend's a queer."

I could feel my blood start to boil. That was my dad's favorite word when referring to people like Gregory - and me. The connotation was obvious - Queer. Odd. Strange. Deviant. Disgusting.

"As a matter of fact," I said with a confidence and indignance in my voice I'd never before displayed in front of my parents, "he is. And I love him."

I could see the shame and repulsion dissolve over my father's face like an undertow. My mom looked at me with an aghast expression, as if I had just told them I was a pedophile.

"I'm not looking for your approval," I declared as a pre-emptive strike to whatever parental roadblocks they thought of throwing in my way. "I'm only saying this because the two of you have a right to know. I know you're both probably a little disappointed-"

"Disappointed??" My father shouted, jumping out of his seat and pointing his finger at me, too far away to poke at my chest. "Now you look here, Nicholas! I will not sit around and let my only son go off and cavort with some pansy-ass little queer! If I have to ground you until you finish college, I will! You are not going to go throw your life away just for some easy-"

"What the fuck do YOU know about throwing my life away?!" I interrupted.

My father could have very easily given me a brisk smack across the face, at least. But I think he was too stunned to see his once submissive son talking back to him.

"Do you know what I've had to contend with for the last seven years of my life?" I screamed. "All the insults? All the vicious pranks? All the times I ran home in tears because of what everyone else was doing to me? Do you know how badly I wanted to just end it all? Do you know how close I was to actually doing it?" My eyes never left my dad's. "I owe my life to Gregory. He came in when nobody else would - including you - and gave me a confidence and a purpose and a happiness that I've never felt in my entire life. He's the one who helped me get my grades back up. He's the one who got the other kids to stop harrassing me. And he stopped me from taking my own life."

That seemed to get the point across, as my dad's face went from being beet-red in anger to pale as a sheet.

"That's right. I had the pills in my hand, and Gregory stopped me. So before you start going off about how 'wicked' and 'perverted' he is, just remember - if it weren't for him, you wouldn't have a son to scream at right now."

My father, for what it's worth, didn't try to argue back. I doubt it's because he thought I was right, though - more than likely he was just disappointed in seeing his contribution to the Donahue family tree getting irreparably severed.

I glanced at the clock on the stove. 7:10.

"I need to get going," I said flatly, making my way past my father and out of the kitchen.

"Wait," my mother called out.

I stopped at the doorway to the living room and turned around. "What?"

"Nick... you know we love you, right?"

I didn't answer.

"We do. Your father's angry, and he may not want to say it, but he loves you, and so do I. Just because you're..." she could barely get her mouth around the word, "...gay, it doesn't mean we love you any less. We want you to be happy. If Gregory makes you happy, then we can accept that. We may not like it, but we accept it."

I knew my mother meant every word she said. And that's the only reason I didn't slam the door as I left.

I hurried to Gregory's house, partly because I was excited to go to the dance, and partly because I wanted to get away from the episode with my parents as quickly as I could. I was polite this time, knocking on the door instead of just barging in. When the door opened, there stood Gregory, dressed in a powder-blue tuxedo complete with matching bow tie and cummerbund. He smiled. "Good evening, Nick."

I chuckled. "Wow... you know we didn't have to get dressed up for this, right? It's not the prom or anything; they're just having a dance in the school gym."

"I didn't get dressed up for the dance," he said. "I got dressed up for you."

He ushered me inside, and we kissed as the door closed behind us. "Ready to go?" I asked.

"Not yet," Gregory replied. "Please, sit down. I'll get us something to drink while we wait." I sat down on the sofa as Gregory went to the kitchen.

"Wait? For what?"

Gregory emerged with a can of Coke for me and a Perrier for himself. "For the limousine, of course."

"Limousine??" I blurted out. "You rented a limousine? Don't you think the two of us will stick out just a little bit?"

I opened the Coke and took a slurp. "Besides, you never did explain to me how you have all this money to buy your own house and everything."

Gregory twisted open his drink. "One of the many young men I helped into manhood was the son of a tobacco plantation owner in North Carolina," he explained. "A bright young man, about your age if a little younger. He had discovered at a much younger age that he was gay, but was afraid to act on his impulses for fear of being cast out of his father's estate. The two of us used our wolf forms to help the slaves on the plantation escape to freedom, and after the Civil War, his father was forced to sell off the plantation. Not knowing that his son was responsible for dismantling his operation, he bequested all his earnings to his son upon his death, and the young man left me most of the money when he died. It amounted to just over a quarter-million dollars at the time. I put half in the bank and the other half I invested in gold - a fortunate strategy, considering the Great Depression some 60 years later. Since then, I've had enough to live solely off the interest since the 1950's."

If I hadn't seen Gregory slice open his arm and heal instantly that night we first kissed, I never would have believed a word of his story. But knowing what I knew - and remembering how he'd said he'd been alive for three centuries - it made perfect sense.

"So, how many people have you changed?" I asked.

"I stopped counting after the first dozen or so," Gregory replied. "I make it a point not to dwell so much on the ones I've helped in the past, only because... well... I don't like to be reminded of how many of them I've lost to the passing of time."

A car horn blared outside. Gregory smiled, almost in relief of the welcome distraction. "Sounds like the limousine's here. Let's go."

I looked at Gregory. His smile was just a little reserved and distant this time around, as if my question had awakened memories - both happy and sad - that he wasn't entirely ready to relive. I still had questions to ask him, questions that I wanted him to answer tonight, but seeing him in his reverie, I knew it would be best to hold off until later.

Instead, I smiled back. "Anything you say... white wolf."