3. Altar Boys
Altar Boys
On Friday nights the Sawadzka kitchen is always chaos, tonight is no different by the time I get there.
Mama has the stove going full blast, muttering “Bo?e, kto to zje… (God, who will eat this?)” under her breath as she tosses onions in a pan, while Aga rocks my nephew like she was born to be a mother.
Natalia films herself arranging makowiec, our version of strudel, on a plate, narrating the “aesthetic” for her followers.
I drop my bag in the hallway and walk in, still in my scrubs, hair half-falling out of the bun I threw together almost ten hours ago. Piotr sprawls at the table like he owns it, beer in one hand, pretending he isn’t waiting for his turn with the baby. He grins the moment he sees me.
“Look at you, doktorka,” he says, voice rich with teasing. “Can’t even bother changing before family dinner? Shameful.”
“I was saving eyesight.” I slide into my chair, the comeback automatic. “You’re one to talk. You’ve still got grease under your nails.”
“Mm.” He tips his beer toward me. “The shop’s busy. Some of us actually see real life instead of squinting at eyeballs.”
Natalia snorts behind her phone. I ignore both of them and reach for the basket of fresh-baked rolls Mama always makes. The scent of butter and yeast fills me as I breathe in deep.
Aga smacks Piotr on the arm, careful not to jostle the baby. “Here. You can hold your beer and your son. I’m not doing it all by myself.” She hands the baby over, and Piotr beams with pride.
“So, siostra,” he goes on, rocking the baby, “you still listening to our altar boys? The ones with the big concerts coming up?”
I freeze mid-reach. “They’re not altar boys.”
“The Riven Altar,” he says with exaggerated reverence, rolling the r and lifting his beer in a flourish. “I remember how you wallpapered your room with their posters. Maybe you should check my eyes, I'm sure I lost some vision walking in on you kissing them goodnight.” He teases.
Natalia perks right up. “Mama, did delulu Kasia kiss her posters goodnight?”
Heat floods my face. “I did not.”
Mama turns from the stove, spoon in hand, eyebrows arched. “Kasia was too busy studying to waste her time kissing posters. Something the two of you could have learned from her.”
My smile widens in triumph as Natalia groans and Piotr rolls his eyes in perfect sync.
Piotr leans back, satisfied anyway. “Mama’s covering for her.
She rubbed the lead singer’s face right off.
” He winks at Natalia. “You wouldn’t even know who they were if it wasn’t for me taking you to that gig.
” He leans in toward Natalia like he’s spinning some epic legend and I just roll my eyes.
“She loved hanging out with us older guys and stealing my leather jacket.” He smirks at me.
“Admit it. You were happy as my shadow.”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I liked the scene. The music.” I take a bite of my roll, talking with half a mouthful “And I never stole your jacket, you offered it.”
Piotr grins wider. “Sure, now look at you, a whole doctor but still drooling over them. Obelus, Haima, whoever-the-fuck.”
Mama shoots him a look that says watch your mouth, and he bows his head in apology.
“Their real names are less impressive,” he mutters, still smirking.
I level a glare at him. “They want to be anonymous, so I respect it.”
Piotr rolls his eyes. “You know they went to Lincoln High, right? I had friends there who knew them. Said they were total nerds. Skinny little basement rats.”
He says it like it’s the knockout blow, like that’s supposed to erase a decade of lyrics I can recite by heart.
I take another bite, chewing slowly. “Funny,” I say at last, eyes on the table. “Doesn’t sound like it stopped them from filling stadiums. Tickets were insane to get.”
He barks a laugh. “So you’re going. I knew it!”
I lift my hand in mock violence. “You’re lucky Kacper’s in your arms, or you’d feel the blood I’d sacrifice for Obelus right now.”
Laughter erupts around the table, warm and tired. When it fades, I open my phone just to look at the tickets one more time, then close it and tear another bite off my roll like a small, private victory.