48. Kind Eyes #2
When she pulls back, I draw her in again, my hands resting at her hips.
The playfulness slips away, replaced by the pull of the room around us.
Her fingers slide behind my neck, warmth rising between us like fire, the sway slowing into something private.
As we turn, I catch Piotr and Aga. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, kisses her; she swats at him, pretending to scold.
He laughs. It’s so genuine it nearly breaks me, how long it’s been since I’ve seen love that simple, without performance.
Just two people and the years between them.
Kasia rests her head against my chest, and I swear she must hear it, the pulse hammering under her ear, hard and unguarded. The air carries the scent of sugared cotton and the rain-kissed lilies of her perfume. I breathe it in, slowly. Combined it's something that reminds me of peace, comfort.
For a moment, I let myself imagine it: something like this lasting.
What a life like this could look like. I don’t even know if I deserve it, or how to hold it, but maybe for the first time, I want to try.
The song begins to fade, but we keep moving.
It feels like the world’s finally still enough to understand what it’s been trying to tell me.
The music fades without us noticing, drifting into another song while we keep swaying.
Kasia says something about how this feels like prom, and I laugh, pulling her a little closer.
It isn’t until I turn us toward the room that I realize every pair of eyes is on us.
Mama’s standing with her hands clasped, beaming.
Piotr’s got his arm slung around Aga, one eyebrow raised and a grin that gives him away before he even speaks.
“Sorry,” he calls out, laughter already in his voice. “Didn’t know we were interrupting your wedding dance.”
The room cracks up. Kasia covers her face, laughing too.
Piotr raises his voice again over the noise. “You’ll have to find your own!” He presses a kiss to Aga’s temple, then bends to kiss her belly.
I shake my head, grinning. “We got started late,” I call back. “Had to make up the missed minutes.” That earns another round of laughter. I nod toward the speaker. “Would be a good one to cover, though.”
That sets them off again. Someone shouts that I’ll end up covering every Polish love song one by one. Natalia, sensing an opportunity, chimes in, “If you do, can I interpret? I’d love to meet the others. Especially Bomos.”
Kasia and I share a look, amusement coupled with the shared thought of oh, God, please don’t encourage her.
Behind us, Dominik steps forward to gather a sleeping Zosia, her head lolling against his shoulder.
Mama rushes over with a flurry of Tupperware and foil, insisting he doesn’t leave without the food.
“It’s all for her!” she says, pointing at Zosia. “And for your family, the precious birthday girl!”
Kasia watches as Dominik murmurs something, adjusting Zosia’s small hand against his chest. When he looks over at her, there’s something raw in his expression, pain.
And when I see the way it hits her, how she drops her gaze, guilt and ache flickering through her in the same breath, I reach for her hand and squeeze.
She looks up at me, eyes soft, a little apologetic. I wish she knew she didn’t have to be.
Life is messy. That’s one thing I understand.
From the back, there’s a sudden clatter.
Lena, drunk and teetering on her heels, erupting into the room.
She must’ve been getting another drink, maybe trying her luck elsewhere once Dominik realized Kasia wasn’t the type to play jealous and lost his interest in her.
Now, seeing Dominik leaving, she stumbles after him, voice too loud for the hour.
“Wait, kochany! Can I come home with you both?”
Zosia stirs against his shoulder, blinking awake, and I see the fury flash across his face.
For a moment, he looks like he’s holding himself back from shouting.
The question hangs there, directed at him but half for show.
Kasia folds her arms, her whole posture angled in composed irritation.
I can see why she dislikes Lena, what sort of mother shows up drunk to her daughter’s birthday, no gift, barely a word to her all night?
Kasia spent more time with Zosia than she did.
Lena was too busy chasing whoever might take her home.
It’s a common sight in L.A., even in the scene here in Seattle. The aging party girl, still clinging to the spotlight. Most guys take advantage of it, fuck them, then ghost. I’ve never found the appeal. It feels like shooting an already wounded animal, another hit in an old scar. Hard to watch.
In that moment, I feel something unexpected: sympathy.
For Dominik. For the storm he’s caught in, even if he’d probably still love to punch me.
Zosia whispers something against his ear that I can’t make out, and his anger softens.
He sighs, looks at Lena, then down at his daughter.
“Sure,” he says. “But be quiet. She's trying to sleep.”
Lena squeals, lurching forward to hug them both, but her balance gives way.
I react without thinking, catching her before she hits the floor.
For a second, I think Dominik’s going to deck me, like I’ve managed to put my hands on both his exes in one night but I couldn’t stand to let Zosia watch her mother face-plant in stilettos.
Stilettos, I've learned, are a terrible choice for most events. I’ve seen enough dates abandon them halfway through the night, shoes dangling from their hands. But for your kid’s birthday party? That’s a new kind of bad call.
Lena grabs at me again, mumbling something I don’t catch, but Kasia steps in, steadying her with determined efficiency.
When I look up, Dominik meets my eyes and to my surprise, it isn’t hostility.
It’s gratitude. A nod, small but real. Two men just trying to get through the mess, each protecting his little girl in their own way: him, by letting Lena save face; me, by keeping her upright.
Kasia helps guide Lena down the steps while Dominik loads Zosia into the car.
The whole tableau, the tired father, the sleeping child, the mother half-swaying under the porch light, looking like a song I haven’t written yet.
The melody of fatherhood, lonely and brave.
When Kasia turns back to me in the doorway, the look we share says it all.
That we both did the best we could with what the night threw at us.
After Dominik leaves, the family rallies, trying to load me up with leftovers. Based on the look Kasia throws me, refusing would be an insult to the nation, so I accept the Tupperware with grace.
Mama fusses over me, shaking her head. “You don’t look at all like the scary person on the television,” she says. “You have kind eyes.”
Tata tilts his chin toward my lip piercing. “You don’t mind all that in your face?”
I twist the stud with my tongue, pretending to think about it. “Maybe it reverberates,” I say. “Keeps me in tune.”
The room breaks into laughter. Kasia exhales, relief softening her features.
She glances at me as she laughs with her father.
I’d do almost anything to keep seeing her like this, unguarded and glowing.
The sound of her laugh is purer than any note I’ve ever managed to sing.
I can only imagine what other sounds I could pull from her, and the thought hits somewhere I shouldn’t go, not right now.
I distract myself watching Aga come downstairs, cradling the baby while Piotr meets her halfway to take him, loading him gently into the car seat.
It’s domestic and ordinary, beautiful in a way that feels foreign.
Once Piotr settles a blanket over the little one, he turns to me and offers a firm handshake.
“Did she tell you,” he says, jerking his head toward Kasia, “that I’m the one who got her into your music?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, she didn’t actually.”
“I knew it!” He points at her. “Took all the credit, siostra. Yeah, you have me to thank for all this. Don’t forget it.” He leans closer. “I’ll take top-shelf vodka as matchmaker payment.”
I laugh, real and surprised. “Consider it done.”
He slaps my back. “Good man. Smart.” He looks at Kasia, grinning. “I like him. I’ll tell Jacob he was wrong; they’re not skinny basement rats after all. Goodnight.”
He kisses Kasia’s cheek, Aga hugs her, and the family files out the door. I look at Kasia, amused. “Rats?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “I’ll explain later.”
Outside, I head toward my car. Kasia lingers behind me, caught in the silver wash of moonlight.
I wish I could photograph it, the way her hair shines under it, how soft her face looks when she thinks no one’s watching, but I settle for the fact that I get to see it at all.
The instinct hits me hard: I don’t want to leave without her.
“I’ve got some red at mine,” I say, trying to keep it casual, though my pulse is anything but. “It’s not that late, our date isn't technically over yet.”
She looks at her car, then back at me. I can already see the excuse forming.
“I’m pretty sure your parents will let you keep it here,” I say before she can protest. “Or I’ll bring you back. Dealer’s choice, you hold all the cards here. Just say you’ll come over, no excuses.”
I step closer, my hand finding her waist as I pull her toward me. I let my voice do the convincing, it's unfair maybe, knowing how badly it gets under her skin. I put everything into it, I want her to feel it everywhere. “Come on, Kasia.”
She gives me that smile, that small surrender, and nods.