“Nice suit,” someone called.
“Thanks,” Greg answered.
“I was surprised you wore it,” Dale said as they headed through the parking lot. “You were grumbling so much when I sewed it up.”
“Mainly because you kept sticking needles in me,” Greg said, squeezing his waist. Dale grimaced. “Nah, I’m kidding. It wasn’t that bad.”
Dale leaned into him. “If you’re sure. I had meant it as a joke when I first brought it up.”
“I know.”
“I mean... Do you think Tony would mind? About the suit?”
Greg breathed in deeply, his eyes turning solemn. Dale knew he still thought about his late best friend sometimes, and he didn’t envy Greg for it. “I think he’d be fine. We had talked about this, too, you know. I’d told him I’d dress up for my kids. So if he’s watching from the heavens now, I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal.”
Dale cracked a smile, squeezing Greg’s hand. “Okay.”
He leaned in to adjust Greg’s mask, so it fitted better over his eyes. Greg kissed him. Dale’s heart missed a beat, even after eleven years of marriage.
They made their way to the school lawn, where there was a small stage set up in front of a couple hundred seats. Greg held his hand all the way to the front row, and Dale let him, remembering the difficult times they’d been through. He’d almost lost his alpha; there was no way he would shy away from their relationship now, not when he’d come so close to losing Greg.
At 5:30 PM, the principal of Meadowfall Elementary gave a short speech. Then a teacher began calling out names, and one by one, the fifth graders filed onto the stage, shaking the principal’s hand. They all looked at Greg, some of them breaking into a smile.
“You’re famous,” Dale whispered, nudging him.
“Yeah, well. You made the outfit. I can’t take credit for that.”
Dale squeezed his hand, beaming.
Fifteen minutes into the ceremony, Phil trooped up the stairs to the stage. He looked like a younger version of Greg, all chestnut hair and black eyes, except his limbs were thin, like a gibbon’s. The graduation robes looked big on him, all satiny and blue, the square cap perched jauntily on his head.
Phil looked at his feet, the corners of his lips pulled down, as though he was upset about something. Dale’s heart squeezed. What had happened to their baby?
As Phil stepped up to the principal, he glanced over the crowd. Dale waved, and so did Greg.
Phil must’ve seen Super Alpha first. His eyes darted to Dale, then back to Super Alpha, and his eyes lit up, his face aglow with joy.
“I told you he’d love it,” Dale whispered.
“Yeah, I know. You were right,” Greg whispered back, grinning as Phil puffed up his chest, shaking the principal’s hand. He received his diploma with the biggest smile, looking back at Greg and Dale.
“Say thank you,” Dale called.
“Thank you,” Phil told the principal.
Then he skipped across the stage and down the other set of stairs, crossing the lawn to barrel into Greg’s arms. “I didn’t know you were gonna be Super Alpha, Dad! This is way cool!”
“I was Super Alpha a long time ago,” Greg said, ruffling his hair. Dale didn’t miss the way Greg ran his wrist over Phil’s forehead, then his shoulders, marking their son with his own scent. Mine, that gesture said. “How’re you doing?”
Phil pulled away from him and squirmed into Dale’s arms, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He smelled like dried sweat and playground dirt, and Dale combed his hair straight. Then Phil flopped onto the empty chair next to Greg, his legs swinging, his bright eyes roving over Super Alpha. “I’m better now. I didn’t know you had a Super Alpha suit!”
“Your dad and I spent the last three nights working on it,” Greg said.
“Oh,” Phil said. His eyebrows crawled up. “I thought you were yelling because Dad was doing other things to you. You know, the ones you say not to disturb you for.”
Greg froze. Dale’s cheeks burned. Were they usually that loud?
“I was poking your dad, yes,” Dale said, torn between a smile and a wince. “He said the needle was very sharp.”
Greg gave him a pointed look. Dale smiled sheepishly. “C’mon, let’s see your diploma,” Greg said, reaching out. “We’ll hang it up on the living room wall.”
Over his shoulder, Dale read: This diploma has been awarded to Phil Hastings, who has been found worthy of character, and who has successfully completed Years One through Five at Meadowfall Elementary.
Looking at it, Dale couldn’t help swelling with pride. Over the years, they’d tried their best to provide the best they could for their son, showering him with love and care.
“Proud of you, Phil,” Greg said.
Phil beamed.
“We love you, Phil,” Dale added fondly. “I hope you know that.”
“Mhm. Love you too.” Phil wriggled. “Can I have a Super Alpha suit, too?”
Dale stilled, glancing at Greg. Super Alpha had been a big part of Greg’s childhood, something he’d shoved away after his best friend died. But right now, Greg was ruffling Phil’s hair, grinning. “Yeah. If you ask nicely, I’m sure Dale will make one for you. But only if you promise to do your homework.”
Dale’s heart warmed. Greg’s grief didn’t affect him as much these days, and Dale was relieved to see he was coping better.
“Fine, fine.” Phil grinned, climbing into Greg’s lap. Greg hugged him. Dale took his diploma, in case he accidentally crushed it.
“Anyway,” Dale said. “We’re eating out tonight! Graduations always come with a dinner to celebrate—your dad and I had Mexican food when he graduated from college, you know.”
“You still remember that?” Greg kissed Dale’s cheek, his lips light as a butterfly’s wings.
“We had pulled pork,” Dale said.
“You always have pulled pork at El Asado,” Phil told them. “I think the tortilla soup is better, though.”
Dale
