25. Kochana
Kochana
By the time the clinic ends, I’m lighter, but I'm still worried about seeing Dominik and Zosia. I try to swallow down the nerves about telling everyone about Miami on the drive over. Mama’s house is alive in every direction: pots clattering, voices overlapping, smells of dill and onions and baked bread.
Piotr already has a beer in hand, arguing with Tata about some soccer score.
Aga’s on the couch, balancing Kacper on the curve of her bump while she spoons mashed carrots toward his mouth.
Natalia’s muttering about lighting and product placement while arranging jewelry on the couch cushion.
It’s chaos in the most familiar way, warm, loud, and full of interruptions. I glance at the door.
Piotr catches it. “Not here yet, doktorka,” he teases, waving his bottle. “Patience. I’m shocked you weren’t with them?”
“Clinic,” I say, as if that’s the only word required.
Everyone looks up. Dominik steps in first, carrying Zosia’s backpack, the little one trailing behind him.
But something’s different, the easy spark from before is gone.
His shoulders are stiff, his smile faint and Zosia doesn’t come running like usual.
She just wanders toward Aga, holding a new drawing, and launches straight into explaining every color she used, everyone exchanges glances.
Dominik shoots me an apologetic look across the room and my throat tightens.
Before anyone can say anything, I excuse myself, mumbling something about washing up.
The bathroom is small, beige tiles with faded floral edges, a crocheted cover on the spare toilet paper, a tiny frosted window that smells faintly of rain and lemon cleaner.
The counter barely fits a sink, the mirror a little chipped at one corner.
I close the door, sit on the counter. The sobs come fast and uncontrollable.
A soft knock. “Kasia, kochanie,” Mama says in Polish. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
I try to compose myself, dabbing at my face with a wad of tissue. “Nothing, Mama. I’m fine, work’s just been hard.”
The tears betray me again, harder this time. I hear her footsteps retreating, voices outside low and worried, then Dominik’s.
A murmur in Polish : “I’ll take care of her, Mama. I promise.”
The door handle jiggles. His voice follows, careful. “Kasia… please. Talk to me, let me in.”
I open it and he fills the doorway, his frame taking up most of the light.
His expression softens the moment he sees my face, eyes red, cheeks blotchy, tissue balled in my hand.
He closes the door behind him, the bathroom barely fits the two of us.
I shift onto the counter, knees drawn in, and he steps closer, the scent of cool air and soap washing over me.
“She hates me now,” I manage.
He shakes his head immediately. “No, she doesn’t. She just got confused. Her Auntie did something she didn’t expect. Give her a minute, kids adjust.”
I let out a brittle laugh. “If I can't kiss you again without breaking her heart, how are we supposed to date?”
He sets his hands gently on my shoulders. “Look at me, Kasia. Please.”
I do. His eyes are steady, pleading.
“She’ll get over it,” he says. “Her birthday’s coming up, she’s sensitive.
She wanted her mama there, that’s all. She’ll be better once it passes, I promise.
I’ve been through this before. Once it does, we’ll talk to her, together.
Tell her that her Tatu? loves her Auntie, and that sometimes they might kiss.
Ask if that’s okay, make her feel part of things.
She’s smart, she’ll understand.” He smiles faintly.
“We got away with it at the picnic because she thought we just messed up, huh?”
A surprised laugh escapes through the tears. “Apparently.”
His hands slide up to cradle my face, thumbs brushing the damp along my cheeks.
“Everything’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?” The words hit somewhere deep, both heavy and soothing. I nod, barely.
He takes the crumpled tissue from my hand, wipes the fresh tears with it. “Good,” he says. “Now let’s go have dinner.”
We rejoin the family just as Mama starts serving.
The table is chaos in motion: plates passing, spoons clinking, the smell of mushroom sauce, potatoes, and roasted meat filling every inch of air.
Zosia is laughing again, seated between Aga and Natalia, tearing little pieces of bread to feed Kacper who gurgles with delight.
By dessert, the TV’s on in the background. Some evening music show, the usual chatter and studio lights. I’m pouring tea when the first few notes hit, the melody unmistakable, that same aching Polish tune.
Piotr looks up. “Oh! Kasia!” He grins wide, jabbing a finger toward the screen. “Your blood man did a Polish song! Did you hear it?”
My stomach drops. I manage a nod, careful, measured.
Tata perks up, fork mid-air. “Wait, what? That’s one of our favorites, isn’t it, Mama? We used to dance around to that in the kitchen when it came on the radio.”
Mama’s face lights. “Of course. Such a beautiful song. Natalia, you were tiny, you’d try to sing along.”
Natalia tilts her phone toward the TV, brow furrowing. “It must be old then. But wow… it’s good.”
Piotr nods, impressed. “About time Poland got some recognition.”
Dominik wipes his mouth with a napkin, chuckling. “Yeah, but it was better in Polish!”
Everyone laughs. Everyone except me.
Dominik notices and his smile fades a little. “You’ve been weird about them lately. Was he rude to you or something when you helped with his eyes?”
"I never said that, I told you we met through work." I make a weak protest that no one buys.
Not exactly how I would have chosen this to come out, but here we go.
“What?” Piotr leans forward, eyes wide. “You helped with his eyes? Kasia, you met him?”
“Wait, Obelus?” Natalia squeaks. “You touched Obelus?”
Piotr slaps the table, laughing in disbelief. “Kasia Sawadzka, our own specialist to the stars! You survived! I thought anyone who looked him in the eye turned to ash, especially you.”
“Did you get to see Bomos?” Natalia adds, practically bouncing in her seat. “Or Haima?”
Everyone’s talking over each other now, questions, laughter, disbelief. It’s deafening. Dominik’s looking at me differently now. An unsettled wariness.
Piotr tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “That’s interesting, huh? He meets you, then suddenly records a Polish cover? What a coincidence.”
All the air leaves the room.
My pulse hammers. “It’s… not a total coincidence,” I say finally. “We’ve become friends, I guess?”
The table erupts.
“Friends?” Mama repeats, half thrilled, half scandalized. “With that shadowy demon man?”
“Friends with the most famous man in alt rock,” Natalia mutters, staring.
“He looks like that crazy movie Piotr used to watch over and over, what was it Mama?” Tata asks and Mama gives him a blank look.
“The Crow.” Piotr answers with a roll of his eyes.
“Yes! That one. How can a doctor be friends with a man dressed up with silly makeup and metal in his face like that, Kasia?”
Dominik’s jaw tightens. “We just talk sometimes,” I say quickly, hands raised like I can calm the storm. “It’s nothing. He’s busy, I’m busy. It’s harmless. We barely even get a chance to speak.”
There are murmurs, overlapping questions, everyone craning to say something. Dominik’s hand slides under the table, finding my leg. His grip is gentle but firm, urging me to look at him. I glance at him, shrug.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper.
Then, louder, to the table, trying to steady the chaos, “Actually… He asked if I’d come to their last show, in Miami next Friday, to help translate. Szklane Serce will be there, to work on the new collaboration. So... I won’t be here for dinner, I’ll be in Florida.”
If the room was loud before, it explodes now.
Piotr nearly spills his beer. “You’re what?”
Mama gasps. “Florida? With them?”
Natalia is already typing on her phone, muttering, “Oh my god, my sister’s going on tour…”
Dominik leans closer through the noise, voice low at my ear. “What? You’re the only translator they could find? With their money?” His tone is skeptical.
I keep my eyes on my plate, answer loud enough to cover the thundering voices. “He said as the fan who inspired the cover it'd be good to be there, said it’s good PR.”
Then softer, to him alone: “Once the tour’s over, that’s it. I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again, get bored and be too busy.”
I don’t even know where the lies end and the truth begins anymore. The table keeps buzzing, Aga asking if I’ll meet the band, Natalia begging for merch, Piotr already joking about becoming my manager. Dominik’s hand on my leg tightens, just slightly.
I lean toward him, voice almost lost in the chatter. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
He nods slowly, but his eyes don’t soften.
Dinner lingers longer than usual, Mama refilling everyone’s tea, Tata telling a story that’s gone on so long it’s developed its own sequel. When it finally winds down, coats and leftovers in hand, Dominik leans toward me, his voice low enough to drown beneath the clatter of plates.
“Come over tonight,” he says. “Just to talk. I’ve got to put Zosia to bed and clean up, but I’ll wait up.”
I nod, because part of me owes him that much, and part of me wants to believe we can still fix this. “Alright. I’ll grab some things and meet you there?”
His shoulders ease slightly. “Good. I’ll see you at mine. Drive safe, kochana.” He kisses me, and it feels almost formal, both of us with our walls up, ever since he heard Obelus’s name at dinner. The stiffness hasn’t left him. When I step back into the night, the chill hits harder than I expect.
I drive home, the noise of the car doing nothing to slow the thoughts ricocheting through my mind. I throw a few clothes into a bag, change into something comfortable, brush my hair out, and just as I’m about to grab my keys again, my phone buzzes. Rafe.
I stare for a second before answering. “Hey.”
His voice is lower than usual, smooth but tired. “Hey. I figured you’d want to know, it’s all confirmed. Flights, hotel, passes. You’ll get the emails tonight.”
I exhale, somewhere between relief and panic. “That’s… great. Thank you. I actually told my family tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a half-laugh, something amused but restrained. “How’d the Sawadzka panel take the news?”
I smile despite myself. “About as you’d expect. Shock, excitement, disbelief. My brother’s already planning to become my agent or manager, I don’t know.”
He chuckles softly. “Sounds like a good crowd.”
There’s a pause, one of those fragile ones that could either break into something honest or collapse into polite distance.
“Kasia,” he starts, and my name sounds different in his mouth, like he’s been turning it over. “You know I—” He stops. The silence stretches. “Never mind. It’s just… good. That you’re coming.”
The words make my stomach tighten, in that dangerous place between thrill and guilt. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“You sound… somewhere else,” he says gently.
“I’m just… heading out. Going to a friend's house.” We both know what that implies, how late it is, the way I emphasize the word friend.
Something snaps, barely audible, but there. When he speaks again, the warmth has cooled. “Right. Got it.”
“Rafe—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts in lightly. “You’ve got people waiting. I’ll let you go.”
“Don’t do that,” I say before I can stop myself. “Don’t make it sound like—”
“Like what?” He almost laughs, but it’s hollow. “Like you have a real life you need to get back to?”
I close my eyes, press a hand to my forehead. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Please, go,” he says softly, gentler now, but distant. “Don’t let me keep you.”
The line goes dead before I can find an answer.
I stare at the darkened screen, the silence in the room suddenly deafening.
The guilt hits harder than I expect, not because I’ve done anything wrong, but because I can’t tell anymore where wrong even starts.
By the time I grab my keys again, I’m not sure whether I’m driving toward Dominik… or away from something else entirely.