15. Honoring Our Lady
Honoring Our Lady
May in Seattle never makes up its mind. Half the day is rain, half the day is light, and all of it is threaded with tulips bursting in stubborn little clumps on every corner.
The week unfurls in its usual pattern, except now, Dominik's calls every night have almost become routine. I say goodnight to Zosia, he tucks her in and playfully reads a book to both of us. Once she’s asleep, things always seem to linger, to teeter on almost. Things we bite down, should anyone interrupt.
He distracts me with stories of his crew’s idiocy; I counter with Conrad’s eighty-eight-year-old patient-turned-admirer sending him a fruit basket.
I call it “the blush of young love,” and Dominik laughs until he wheezes on the other end.
Obelus sends a few more comments about his eyes, not really questions, just observations.
Scattered thoughts dropped one after another, curiosity slowly turning toward something more personal.
I doubt myself, wondering if I'm just going insane, imagining it. Or if he really is trying to spark conversation with me. Either way, I don’t respond.
I warned him I wouldn’t, even if it makes me look cold.
The number is for emergencies only. I can’t keep stepping back into that space with him.
Guilt presses in regardless. Leaving him on read feels unkind, but not unkind enough to risk my license or my sanity. Despite the maddening pull or the way I let the phone linger in my hand when I read them, I hold the line.
The sun slants low through Mama and Tata’s kitchen window, glinting off the framed icons Mama always sets out this month, blue-draped images of the Virgin Mary with fresh flowers tucked beneath the glass.
“May is for honoring Our Lady,” she reminds us every year, as though we could forget. She mutters about which candle looks ‘proper enough for the Mother of God.’
Natalia breezes in, phone already in hand, filming as she circles the table. “It’s like a Pinterest board of religion,” she says, angling for the best shot.
Mama blinks at her. “What is this… Pinterest?”
I step in before Natalia can explain it in a way that will definitely earn her a lecture. “A place with pretty pictures and ideas, Mama.”
Mama nods, satisfied, smoothing a hand over the glass frame. “Ah. Then it is a compliment.”
From Natalia, it is. Piotr leans in the doorway, baby in his arms, smirk already aimed at me. “Finally, siostra decides to join us. Aga's already helping Mama. Maybe you are too good now? Too busy in your fancy white coat to honor Mary?”
I groan, but head into the kitchen anyway, falling into rhythm with Mama, the same ritual every May, bigger meals, the air almost more mass than dinner.
Aga stirs something fragrant at the stove, her belly just starting to show, baby number two is on the way and Piotr wants more boys while Aga prays for a girl.
She waves a spoon at Piotr like a weapon.
“Don’t even start. If Mary can manage a manger birth without complaint, you can manage to be nice with your siostra. ”
I laugh, slip past to kiss Mama’s cheek while she rolls cabbages. Dominik’s chair is empty across the table. I tell myself I shouldn’t notice, shouldn’t care. But my eyes keep dragging to the door.
Piotr notices too, elbowing Aga with a grin. “Don’t worry, doktórka. He’ll be here.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I mutter, reaching for the bread basket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Still, my pulse jumps when the front door opens and Zosia’s chatter tumbles down the hall. Relief rushes me, sudden and sweet.
Dominik steps in, windblown, still in his work boots, Zosia clinging to his hand and clutching a crumpled flower she must have plucked from someone’s yard.
He kneels, shows her how to lay it carefully at Mary’s feet, his voice low, reverent.
I don’t know what steals my breath more, the tenderness in his hands or the fact that he’s teaching her the same rituals our parents once pressed into us.
Then he looks up and finds me watching. The corner of his mouth lifts slow, like he knew I’d be waiting.
Dominik doesn’t take his usual seat across the table. Tonight he slides into the chair right beside me, Zosia climbing into my lap as though it’s where she belongs. Her little hands toy with my necklace, and I let her, my heart flipping wildly.
Piotr slaps his knee with a bark of laughter. “When’s the wedding then?”
Heat blasts up my neck. “Oh my God.”
Natalia doesn’t even look up from her phone. “If you do, at least let me stream the proposal. I’ll get us a million views.”
Mama gasps, delighted, clasping her hands. “Yes, when? Someone must tell me first. I am the mother of the bride after all. So much to be done. You will do it right, the Catholic way, won’t you?”
“Mama,” I protest, but she waves me off and turns to the Virgin Mary like she’s tattling.
“What will I do with these children, Mother Mary? Help me,” she sighs, making the sign of the cross.
The whole table cracks up, Tata loudest of all as he walks in from the porch, catching the scene. He does his ritual, head kisses all around, Aga, Piotr, me, even Natalia who pretends not to notice but blows him a kiss once he’s past. He pantomimes catching it, pressing it to his chest.
This time even Dominik isn’t spared. He ducks his head as if to escape, but Tata grabs him with both hands, musses his hair, and plants a kiss loud enough to echo.
When he lets go, Dominik is laughing, eyes meeting mine as though to say can you believe this?
The look lingers until I break it, breathless.
Zosia leans in for her turn and beams when she gets it.
When the last dish is cleared, he insists on walking me to my car. Outside, the air is cool, soft with the smell of cut grass. He stands close while Zosia clings to me for another hug.
“It’s time, pi?kna (beautiful),” he says once she’s wriggled free. “A date. More than family dinners or babysitting. May is the perfect time for it, the Majówka (spring holiday) spirit, a picnic. Just us three. Sunday maybe?”
I hesitate, teasing because my chest aches with how badly I want to say yes. “I’ll think about it.”
His smile goes crooked, exasperated. “Don’t think too long. My job is to lug things, not use my brain. It’ll take me some time to make all those complicated plans.”
“Ale gówno (What bullshit),” I mutter, making him laugh. “You’re the boss, don’t play dumb with me.”
He shrugs, leans closer. “So they say. Text me when you decide.”
“Sure… when I decide.” My pulse thunders.
He crouches to Zosia’s level. “Go inside for Tatu?, hm? Get your toys, your coat. I’ll give you chocolate if you don’t argue.”
She pouts but the chocolate wins. She scampers up the steps.
The second she’s gone, he catches me. His mouth takes mine, hard and certain, like he’s been holding back all night.
I melt into him, clinging, heat rushing through every vein.
Only the sound of Zosia’s feet thudding back down the hall rips us apart.
“I want my chocolate, I did everything Tatu?!” she declares.
He looks down at her, grinning. “When we get home. Do you think I carry chocolate like a shop?”
She sighs, outraged but resigned.
Dominik’s eyes return to mine, voice low. “I look forward to our picnic.”
I slide into my car, lips still burning, heart racing like I’ve driven into fireworks. A date. A picnic.
I know before I reach home I’ll tell him yes.