Vadim
My father and Iza greet us at the front door, confirming my suspicions that Marek forewarned at least one of them about the me and Preston situation.
Why?
Because in all my thirty years, I can't recall a single occasion when my father has opened the front door himself.
"Of course. Thanks for inviting us."
Iza, of course, greets me with her usual, warm hug, lifting on her toes even though she's wearing sky-high heels.
She looks fabulous in a deep-emerald bodycon dress that hugs every curve just right and sits above the knee, the plunging neckline doing justice to her ample cleavage.
Her rich-brunette hair tumbles in loose waves over one shoulder. "Tak dobrze ci? widzie?."
"It's good to see you, too," I tell her when we pull apart. I place my hand in the small of Preston's back. "I'd like you both to meet Preston Miller." I inhale sharply. "My boyfriend."
I said it! I said it!
Not wanting to dwell on it for too long and potentially make it awkward, I power on. "Preston, this is my father, Pavel Piotrowski, and my stepmom, Izabella."
"Nice to meet you, Preston," my father says.
I speak quietly to Preston but don't make any attempt to hide what I'm doing. "My father has stretched his arm out to shake your hand. If you reach forward and slightly to the right, you'll find it."
Preston moves accordingly, smiling widely as he shakes my father's hand. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Piotrowski."
Whoa, he nailed the pronunciation. He must've been practicing. 'Atta boy.
"Please, call me Pavel."
I blink like a madman.
Whoa number two.
My father has never jumped to a first-name basis with any of Marek's or Kamil's girlfriends this quickly.
"We're both so delighted you could come."
That's Iza, but before I can say anything to Preston, she handles it like a pro. "I'm a hugger, so I'm coming in. If that's okay?"
Preston's beautiful smile only grows. "Of course it is."
They hug, and when I glance over at Dad, he's actually sporting a grin, too. I wonder what exactly my big brother told him about us. Whatever it is, so far, this is going better than I could have hoped for.
They usher us inside, and I do my best balancing small talk with them while acquainting Preston with the inside of the house.
I'm glad he likes my descriptions.
To be honest, it freaked me out at first, the responsibility of making him feel one hundred percent included in whatever we’re doing. I don’t want him to feel like an outsider just because he can’t see what's going on around him.
I'm not used to cataloging everything I see. I just process it without really thinking about it. Sight privilege, I guess.
But I don't want Preston to miss out on a single thing, so my mouth is running faster than it ever has, and sometimes, the stupidest stuff spills out of it.
He also likes to give me shit that I put on a voice. I don't. At least I don't think I do. Again, I'm just not used to speaking that fast.
Luckily for me, he likes it a lot. Thinks it's funny. I'm just glad he's finally caught up to the truth.
"Where are Marek and the kids?" I ask.
"Marek, his friend, Kamil, and the kids are out back," Iza supplies, one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows lifting as she shoots me a look.
"What friend?" I ask since a) Marek never told me he was bringing anyone, and b) since when does he have friends?
"Elvis," my father answers, then turns to Preston. "I believe you know him."
Preston's mouth goes slack. "Ellie is here?"
"Hold up." I tap Preston's chest, shaking my head in disbelief. "Ellie's name is Elvis?"
"Yeah." He looks my way. "Who names their kid Ellie?"
"Who names their kid Elvis?" I retort.
I catch the tail end of Iza nodding at Dad and him nodding back at her.
"Come on. Let's go join them," Iza says, grabbing my father by his hand.
I do the same with Preston.
"Lukasz is very excited to show off his new outfit," she offers over her shoulder.
We go out back, and despite it being Marek's birthday, he's hired a jumping castle for the kids since it's apparently their favorite thing ever since he got one for the girls' fourth-birthday party last year.
Marek and Ellie are watching the kids jumping like crazy inside the castle, laughing and squealing, while Kamil is, unsurprisingly, sitting by himself at one end of a massive table topped with a spread of Polish foods and pastries.
He gets up as soon as he sees me then gives Preston a quick once-over.
"Vadim."
"Kamil."
We shake hands stiffly.
"This is my boyfriend, Preston."
"Nice to see—" He shakes his head curtly. "Meet you."
Preston takes it in his stride, not missing a beat. "Nice to see you, too," he says to show Kamil his slip-up is no big deal.
"Can I get you both a drink?"
Say what I will about his personality, but his manners are impeccable. That's all Iza, too. She really is a miracle worker with us Piotrowskis.
"Oh my gosh. Preston!"
Ellie notices our arrival.
"Ellie incoming," I say to Preston. "Prepare for impact in five, four, three, two…"
Ellie runs up to Preston and engulfs him in a massive hug.
Once I'm confident Preston is steady on his feet, I let go of him.
Ellie and I will never be BFFs. That seems to be more of a him and Marek situation anyway.
But ever since he was surprisingly chill about Preston moving in with me, he's remained that way.
Not necessarily friendly, but chill, which is still a few rungs up the ladder from his usually arctic-cold demeanor toward me.
Preston suspects it might have something to do with all the apartment modifications I've been making. Thinks that’s given Ellie a degree of assurance I'm in it for the long haul.
I am in it for the long haul, but I'm not doing anything for Ellie's approval. Still, if it makes Preston's life easier not to have his bestie hating me, I'll bite my tongue and play nice.
I'll do anything for Preston. His happiness and safety are and will always be my number one priority.
"Vadim," Ellie greets me with a measured smile.
"Elvis," I clap his back with a very happy smile of my own.
He gives me a look that could strip paint then turns to my parents. "If you'll excuse me, there's someone I need to murder. I'll be sure not to do it in front of the children."
To my surprise, they both laugh, and he scoots off to give Marek an earful, and maybe more, for betraying his confidence.
The next few hours pass by relatively easily.
We wait until the kids have exhausted themselves jumping around on the castle before sitting down to enjoy the birthday feast. The girls proudly showed Preston and me their new dolls—he played along and said they were beautiful, which delighted them both—and Lukasz loved it when I described him to Preston as looking like a ró?yczka (little rose) in his pale-pink tutu layered over purple leggings.
He liked it so much he asked if he could sit next to me at the table.
With my nephew on one side and my boyfriend on the other, we sang Marek three versions of Happy Birthday.
The first, Sto lat, in Polish.
Then Iza, as she always does, serenaded us with the traditional Ukrainian, Mnohaya lita, before we all chimed in on the English version, with Marek's girls, Klara and Mila, getting hilariously competitive toward the end to see who could sing it the loudest.
Marek blew out the candles, said a few words of thanks, and then we dug into the food.
I've always loved Polish and Ukrainian food, and it is hands down the thing I miss most about losing my ability to taste. But I get a secondhand sort of satisfaction describing it to Preston and watching him enjoy it.
Iza, and even Dad from time to time, chime in with the significance and history of certain dishes, filling me with an even deeper appreciation of my cultural heritage.
Take the makowiec. For me, the poppy seed roll has always been nothing more than a delicious pastry.
But Iza told us how in Slavic folklore, poppy seeds were believed to bring good luck, prosperity, and protection against evil spirits, which is how the makowiec came to be essential at celebrations and holidays.
Then, of course, my father proudly boasted about how the bigos recipe has been this big family secret going back many generations.
But it was the humble pierogi that incited the most spirited conversation.
The Poles at the table—me, Marek, and my father—correctly claim they're of Polish origin.
The Ukrainians—Iza and Kamil—falsely took credit.
It's a 'fight' we have at almost every family gathering, and possibly worryingly, it's usually the highlight for me.
I feel more relaxed than I have been in months.
As relieved as I am that the whole Farkas situation is over and done with, there's one aspect of it I haven't been able to fully put behind me.
I lost a man. Dmitri.
I've never lost anyone from my team before, and even though out of all my men, I was least close to him, the guilt is real, and it's not easing up.
We've taken good care of his family, setting his wife up financially for life. But he had two young children who will now grow up without a father. I know what that pain is like, and there's no amount of money in the world that can make that any better.
But nothing can change what happened, so I have to figure out a way to move on.
"Would you like anything else?" I ask Preston as we near the end of the meal.
He slumps back in his chair and throws the napkin over his belly. "If I eat one more thing, I won't be able to move."
Iza overhears and grins at me.
I smile back, wondering whether it's her who's been in my father's ear. If she has, she's worked a miracle because I haven't seen Dad this chilled out in years.
"Ooh, the game's almost on," Marek says, glancing at his watch.
Everyone, except for me, Preston, and Ellie gets up in a mass exodus and stampedes into the media room.
"A soccer match is about to start," I explain to Preston. "Everyone's gone in to watch it. I can take you to my old room now if you like."
"No, no. You go and watch, too. I can hang out with Iza."
"Uh, Iza was the first one out of here."
"Really? Wow. Okay. So you're all soccer fanatics?"
I grin. "Yep. We are."
"I'm happy to stay out here," Ellie says from across the table.
"How are you still eating?" I ask him.
He shrugs, half a pierogi dangling off his fork. "You shaming me?"
"No. If anything, I'm impressed."
"What can I say? It's delicious. Some of the best-tasting food I've ever had."
"I'm happy to stay, too," I say to Preston.
"No. It's fine. Go watch the game with your family. I'll hang out here with Ellie."
"You mean Elvis," I correct, standing up, unable to contain my smug grin. I won't be letting that one go anytime soon.
"Oh." I snap my fingers and look at Ellie. "Remind me to get Iza to hook you up with her doctor. He'll get rid of those stomach worms for you in no time."
Ellie rolls his eyes and polishes off his pierogi.
I kiss Preston's forehead and then go inside to watch the match with my family.