77. Zdrowie Niepijacych
Zdrowie Niepijacych
The next morning we pull up outside Mama and Tata’s house, and my stomach is doing this strange, nervous thing it hasn’t done since I was a kid sneaking home after curfew. Rafe squeezes my hand once before I can reach for the door handle.
“You sure?” he asks.
“No,” I say, honestly. “But we’re doing it anyway.”
Inside, the house smells like onions and broth and a Sunday that never ends. Mama’s at the table peeling carrots, Tata's just holding the paper instead of actually reading it. Natalia’s sprawled across the couch with her phone, pretending not to listen before we’ve even said anything.
The second Rafe steps in, both of them straighten. Mama’s smile flickers, tight around the edges. “Kasia. You didn’t tell us you were bringing company.”
“Hi,” Rafe says, polite, small smile, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s stepping into a storm. “Mrs. Sawadzka. Mr. Sawadzki.”
Tata folds the paper methodically, one quarter at a time. “I thought the tour was in Asia.”
“It was,” Rafe says. “I came back.”
“For our Kasia?” Tata’s eyes narrow.
Rafe opens his mouth, but I cut in. “Yes. For me. For Piotr, because I need someone right now.”
The words hang heavy. Mama’s hand stills on the carrot peeler. “Kasia, kochanie,” she says softly, warning in her tone. “You’ve been through enough. Maybe this isn’t the time for—”
“For love?” I say, harsher than I mean to.
“Because that’s what this is. I know you’re scared.
I know what you’ve seen, what happened.” I try to steady my words, to stop the tears that threaten to come.
“We all lost Piotr. We lost him, even though I did everything right. I was being careful, doing what you asked. I can’t—” My voice cracks, full of too many thoughts, feelings.
“I can’t lose Rafe too. Not while he’s still here.
Not when I have a chance to love him while I can. ”
Mama’s eyes fill immediately, her breath stuttering. Tata’s jaw tightens.
“He’s to me what Aga was to Piotr,” I say, chest trembling. “That kind of once-in-a-lifetime thing you can’t explain, you just know it when it’s there. And I know it. I’m not giving that up. Not again. Not for fear, not for anyone.”
The words come out on a sob, I cover my face with both hands, shoulders shaking. I feel Rafe’s hand hover at my back, not pushing, just there.
Mama rises from her chair first. “Kasia…” she says, voice trembling. She crosses the room, sets her hands on my shoulders, and then she’s crying too. “I just don’t want to lose you, my baby. You understand? Now, at night, I see your brother in my dreams. I can’t—”
“I know,” I whisper, my voice wrecked. “I know. But you won’t lose me. I promise.”
Tata exhales slowly, like something inside him has broken open. He stands, walks over, and wraps his arms around us both. “We just want you safe,” he says gruffly, tears catching in his throat.
“I am,” I say, and finally I turn toward Rafe. “Let him try. He wants to help, to love me, to keep me safe. Us safe. Please, let him try.”
That’s all it takes. Tata looks at Rafe and whatever argument he’s been holding dies in his throat. He nods once. “Then come here.”
Rafe blinks, startled, then steps forward into the embrace. Mama’s arms wrap around him too, all four of us crushed together, sobbing and laughing at once.
From the couch, Natalia groans loudly. “Fucking finally.”
We all turn. She’s wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, pretending she isn’t. “I thought you were both going to die of longing before you figured it out.”
I laugh through the tears, reaching an arm toward her. “Come here, ma?a (little one).”
She joins in, muttering something about ruining her mascara, and suddenly we’re one big mess of tears and arms and Polish terms of endearment.
It’s imperfect and loud and beautiful, exactly how our family has always been, and somehow I feel Piotr’s arms around us, too. The grief is still there, but so is this: the promise that love can survive it.
The sky is the color of iron. Cold, heavy, unyielding. The kind of gray that feels permanent.
The church bells toll slow, one after another, and each sound cuts through the air like a blade.
The scent of incense hangs thick as breath, and when I look down the pews, it’s all black coats, red eyes, trembling hands wrapped around tissues and rosaries.
Rafe stands at my side in his black suit, quiet and still.
He hasn’t let go of my hand once. Every time my fingers twitch, his tighten, steady, grounding.
Piotr’s casket is at the front of the church, draped with white lilies and a folded cloth Mama insisted on embroidering herself. His photo rests above it, his grin wide and unassuming, caught mid-laugh at some joke no one can remember now.
Aga steps up, then leans over the polished wood, Amelka bundled against her chest. She presses her lips to the casket, a whisper breaking against it. Then, with trembling fingers, she touches her mouth, then Amelka’s forehead, the last kiss he’ll ever give her, borrowed through them.
When she reaches Kacper at the pew, she does the same.
He mimics her, small hand clumsy and reverent.
A sound tears out of me, mainly a sob, but a small prayer laced within it.
Mama clutches Tata’s sleeve so hard her knuckles turn white.
Natalia, for once, doesn’t have her phone in her hand.
The absence of it says more than anything could.
After the funeral Mass, the priest calls the pallbearers forward.
Tata, Dominik, cousin Marek, and three men from the garage who used to work for him, friends more than employees.
Piotr was never a stranger to anyone. Bright, he was so damn bright and I was just…
used to it. The world has a darkness now that refuses to leave, without him in it.
They lift his weight together, steps measured on the frozen ground and load him into the hearse.
After the Rite of Committal, When the casket settles into the earth, the sound of soil hitting the wood echoes like a heartbeat stopping.
Zosia stands between Dominik and Aga, her little hand clutching a white rose.
When the time comes, he lifts her up, helps her throw it in after the casket has been lowered, his voice breaking as he whispers something I can’t hear.
Later, when it’s my turn to speak, the microphone feels too heavy in my hands. The crowd is a blur of faces, some crying, some smiling sadly, all waiting for words that don’t exist.
“Piotr would hate all this fuss,” I begin. My voice wavers. “He was a simple kind of man. He wanted to drink good vodka, which, let’s be honest, he did every chance he could. He wanted to love well, and he did, with Aga.”
My throat tightens.
“He wanted to be a hard worker, honest, a family man. Someone people could rely on, and we all know he was. Through and through. Above all, his biggest wish was to be a father.”
I look at Aga, holding Amelka against her chest, her face streaked with tears.
“I’m so glad he got to be one. To Kacper. To Amelka. To all of us, in some way.”
I take the little bottle of vodka from my purse, unscrew the cap, and raise it high.
“Zdrowie Niepij?cych, Piotrek Sawadzki. To those who can’t drink with us today. Have fun with Babciu. Tell her we miss her too.”
I tip it back, the burn hitting hard. “I love you, my brother. My best friend.”
The moment I say it, the strength drains out of me. My knees give way, and before I can hit the ground, Rafe is there. He catches me, one arm firm around my waist, the other guiding me back to the seat. I fold into him, shaking.
He presses his lips to my temple, murmuring something only I can hear. “You did him proud, Kas.”
At Mama and Tata’s afterward, the air feels different, tired, raw, brittle. The house smells like stew and candle wax. People talk softly, eat little, cry quietly.
Then Natalia breaks the silence with a cracked grin. “Why is it that food at funerals always tastes worse? It’s like it’s made with sadness.”
Rafe lets out a low laugh, small, reflexive. It’s human. Dominik’s chair scrapes back hard. He’s across the room in three strides.
“You think this is funny?” he snaps. “My brother, my best friend, his funeral, and you’re laughing, Mr. Celebrity? This is just some joke to you, huh?”
“No,” Rafe says, steady but cautious. “No, I don’t. I—”
“What the hell are you even doing here? Haven’t you done enough?”
I step between them, heart pounding. “Dominik, stop—”
Rafe lifts a hand slightly, calm, careful. “I’m sorry for your loss. For everyone’s. I’m—”
He weaves around me, too fast. Dominik’s fist connects before the sentence finishes. The sound cracks through the room like lightning. Rafe stumbles back a step, hand flying to his face. Blood blooms under his fingers, his lip split, jaw knocked and red.
Natalia’s voice cuts through the chaos, furious. “Dominik Aleksander Nowicki! You think Piotr would approve of this? In front of the kids? Really?”
The whole room freezes. She’s standing now, hands on her hips, fire in her eyes, the spitting image of our brother when he was angry.
“We’re supposed to take care of them, not scare them.
Jesus Christ, Dominik. Go upstairs. Cool off!
Thick skull and dumb decisions, exactly what Piotr would’ve said. ”
Mama crosses herself under her breath. “Bo?e, zachowaj nas. (God, save us.)”
Dominik’s breathing hard, chest heaving, but he listens. He turns and storms upstairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the old walls.
I turn to Rafe, grab a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and press them gently to his jaw. “You okay?”
He nods, wincing, then tries to grin. “Guess I deserved that at some point in my life.”
I shake my head. “You really didn’t. It’s probably too late to take back that check, right?” We both give a weak laugh.
Later, after checking on Rafe again, I go upstairs. Dominik’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands over his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. I sit beside him, my body feels heavy, like my bones are made of grief, fashioned from loss. Everything harder to move. We sit in silence, the sound of our breathing the only exchange. Finally, he exhales, it sounds as heavy as I feel.
“I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." I look at him, tears shining in both our eyes.
"None of us do," I say, with a shrug of defeat.
"He was bossy enough for all of us, huh? Told us what to do, so we never had to think." We both laugh, weak but honest. I nod, looking at him, my eyes searching his face, the pain so apparent there.
"What do you think he'd tell us, if he could?" I ask, partly in jest, but also partly in hope. I'd give anything to hear his advice, to feel his steady palm on my shoulder. "Other than not to punch people in front of the kids?" I tease, nudging him.
"He told me exactly what to do and I'm already messing it up.
" I raise an eyebrow. "He told me to take care of Aga, of the kids.
" The words struggle to form as tears demand their due.
"I didn't want to listen. I tried to lift the car, like an idiot.” He shakes his head.
“He grabbed my collar, made me stop. He knew he wouldn't make it.
He only cared about her, that she knew he loved her and the kids.
That I listened to him." He breaks down into sobs, I lean against him and let them come.
When he composes himself he looks at me through red-rimmed eyes, through a pain that won't ease. "That’s the kind of man he was. Better than me.” He stares at me, broken.
I can barely take it, then he looks down again, staring at his hands.
“Better than the kind that punches people at funerals.” His shoulders shake.
“He deserved a long life. He should be here instead of me.”
“Don't say things like that. He loved you, Dominik... so do I, like family. Always.”
He looks at me, eyes shining. “He trusted me to take care of her, of the kids. Me, this idiot.” He waves the bruised hand he used to punch Rafe with as evidence of his stupidity. I turn to him, force him to look at me.
“That’s how much he thought of you. To look after his most precious gifts.” I cup his cheek, wiping his tears, smiling through the ache. “So don’t let us down, okay? No more punching, you're an example for them now.”
A small, broken laugh escapes him. He nods.
“Thank you, Kasia.” He takes my hands and kisses my knuckles, holds them to his lips and breathes deep.
It doesn’t feel like a rekindling, it feels like transformation.
The final puzzle piece, from what we were into what we’ll always be, a form of love altered into this.
When I close the door behind me, Rafe’s waiting in the hall. No words, just open arms.
I fall into him, the weight of the day spilling out of me, and in that moment I know, despite everything, despite the grief that still claws at my heart, it’s always been him.