5. No Sick In Doctor
No Sick In Doctor
By the next evening, the leftovers are already stacked in my fridge, foil lids crimped tight.
I’m pacing the living room pretending to tidy up, muttering at myself, when the front door clicks open and Piotr breezes in like he owns the place.
I’d asked him to come over, a little surprise that now feels ruined by fate.
He kicks off his boots, and immediately starts rummaging in the fridge. A minute later the microwave drones, and he’s perched at my counter with Mama’s pierogi on a plate, bottle of beer in his hand like it’s his natural state of being.
“You look like hell,” he announces cheerfully, watching me wear a groove into the rug. “What happened? Blind a patient?”
I groan and collapse onto the arm of the sofa. “Worse.”
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “Worse than blinding?”
“The clinic schedule came out.”
He blinks, unimpressed. “And?”
“I’m on-call the night of the concert.”
There’s a beat of silence before he explodes. “Kurwa!” He slams his fork down dramatically. “Not your sacred eyeliner man and his altar boys!”
“Obelus,” I correct, covering my face with my hands. “I just wanted one night, one thing to look forward to in—God, years.”
Piotr makes a low, dismissive sound from his throat, then shrugs. “So swap. Tell one of the other ones you need a different night.”
I sit up fast, horrified. “I can’t do that. That would make me look like I don’t have control of my own schedule. Conrad would sniff that out instantly, and he already thinks I’m borderline incompetent.” He huffs a laugh.
“Okay, then call in sick,” he says through a mouthful.
I round on him. “We don’t get sick. Unless we're dead, that's the one exception. If I call in, a partner has to cover, and they’ll all hate me forever. Then I'll never make partner, either. No calling in sick.”
He takes a long, leisurely sip from the bottle, then gestures with it like he’s delivering wisdom from on high. “Then you go anyway.”
I gape. “What?”
“Go. To. The. Concert. Just take your stupid pager. What’s the worst that happens? You get called, you leave, you cover whatever eyeball emergency. No one’s gonna know you were headbanging instead of sleeping.”
Then, with a sigh, he gathers his plate and beer and crosses over from the counter, dropping onto the couch with a satisfied thud. He stretches out, stealing most of the cushions like he’s claimed the territory with his fantastic idea.
I sink down beside him, stealing the fork out of his hand. “Besides, I did have a certain brother that I wanted to come with me, since he took me to their first gig. Got an extra ticket for him and everything.”
“Oh?” He makes a face like he’s weighing pierogi quality. “Siostra, you thought of me?”
I grab the beer from him, take a reckless swig. “Yes, I do that sometimes. Don’t make me regret it.”
Piotr grins, victorious. “So? We’re going to see The Altar Boys? I’ll let Aga know, so she can get some help from Mama with Kacper that night. Time to crack out the old t-shirts. Does this mean you’re taking my advice? ”
I grin back, sinking deeper into the couch. “It is pretty metal, to just say fuck it. If I get to see five minutes, that’s more than I ever thought I’d get.” I return the fork to him with a lift of my eyebrow.
“That’s my siostra.” He clinks his empty fork against the beer bottle like a toast. “Na zdrowie. (Cheers)”
Four weeks later, the tour has kicked off, and I’m sprawled across the couch, phone in hand, drowning in fan videos.
Natalia is perched at the far end of the couch, scrolling, unimpressed.
She’d only come over for help bleaching her roots but stayed for the pizza and the spectacle of me thrashing around.
I drop my head into her lap, staring up at her with all the melodrama of the sixteen-year-old I was when this obsession started.
“I think Mama was lying. You definitely kissed the posters.” she says dryly. “This is something you need diagno—”
“Illness,” I cut in. “It’s an illness.”
“At least you said it.”
I sigh, then shove my phone into her face. “But look at him. His stance, siostra. The way he swings his guitar around his shoulder with authority. He could throw me around like that. Imagine.”
Natalia groans and shoves the phone away. “I can see well enough, without the phone touching my face. I’m not blind like you. Or are you trying to burn out my retina so you can practice surgery on me?”
We both collapse into laughter until I can’t breathe.