I weave through the crowd toward the exit. Rithy catches me on the way out.
“Leaving already?” he shouts over the music. “It’s not midnight yet.”
“I know. Planning to ring it in at the hotel. Try to sleep before the tour eats me alive.”
He glances behind me, spots Mara hovering, lipstick smudged near my jaw. He claps my shoulder, grin half-slurred. “Good for you. Time you moved on.”
My jaw tightens. “There’s nomoving onhappening.”
I try to brush past, but he catches my arm. “You act like you own the trademark to heartbreak,” he says. “Join the fucking club. You’ll never get anywhere like this.”
I shove him off. Ronan steps in, calm, steady. “Go to the hotel, Rafe. Sleep it off. Don’t drag her into this until you’re clear. She doesn’t deserve to be your collateral.”
I nod, too tired to argue, too drunk to fake it, and head out. The Uber window turns the city into smudged neon, fireworks already warming up somewhere beyond the skyline. The last thing I remember is the hotel door closing, the bed tilting, and the muffled crack of midnight exploding somewhere I can’t reach.
When morning comes, my head’s splitting, my mouth tastes like regret, and the mirror shows a smear of lipstick I don’t remember earning. I missed the countdown.
I miss her.
Kasia
New Year’s at Mama and Tata’s is exactly what it always is, tons of people, noise, and a kind of warmth that doesn’t quite reach me. The table is crowded with food and vodka bottles in every stage of empty. The air carries bigos and citrus peel. Music floats from the old stereo, the same playlist we’ve used for a decade.
Aga stayed at home, pregnant and sensible, watching all the kids. Piotr swore it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t drink, so he’s doing his share for both of them and by the look of him, he’s halfway there. He and Dominik are deep into a drinking game at the kitchen table, arguing over the rules.
I hover near the edge of it all, smiling when someone catches my eye, laughing in the right places, but none of it lands in my chest. Ifeel like a ghost watching my own family live. Natalia kisses my cheek before heading out, all perfume and shimmer, some golden slip of fabric pretending to be a dress. Mama and Tata wave her off, laughing.
I ask, “She managed to pay any rent yet?”
Mama sighs. “Not yet. But she’s building something. Maybe not the same way you and Piotr did, but she’ll find her way.”
I nod and pour myself another shot. The ache in my chest won’t quit, so I drag a chair to the table and tell Piotr to add me to the game.
He grins, sloppy and delighted. “About time, doktorka.”
Dominik’s eyes flick up as he passes me the shot glass. Our fingers brush. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the same graceful motion he used after doing devious things to me, and I look away fast. The vodka burns down smooth and merciful. I slide the glass to Piotr.
The night softens at the edges. Laughter comes easier. The game devolves into nonsense, slurred dares, songs that no one remembers the words to. Piotr’s drunk past coherence, pointing between us, trying to form a sentence.
“You two, always makingbig eyesat each other,” he says. “I’m the only reason she wasn’t pregnant at sixteen, you know. I kept them apart!” He slurs to a cousin.
Dominik kicks him under the table. We all collapse into helpless laughter. For a moment, through the haze, I almost forget what I’m missing. For the length of a laugh, I’m not sad. When the countdown begins, we gather near the couch, swaying and unsteady. I’m standing, barely. Dominik steadies me with a hand at my elbow. The numbers blur.
Three. Two. One.
When midnight hits, everyone shouts, and he looks at me. He tips my chin gently and kisses me, just a brush of lips, so light it’s almost imaginary. I search for the spark we used to share but it’s just outof reach. My mind instantly replaces him with Rafe, the weight of his mouth, the way he opened me, made me forget the world. The memory hits so hard it makes me pull back, nodding quickly. Dominik nods too, none-the-wiser.
I kiss Mama and Tata goodnight, their faces flushed with celebration, and climb the stairs. The room spins more with each step. My eyes sting. I grab my phone, thumb hovering over his name. I almost call. Almost.
Then my stomach flips, and I bolt to the bathroom. Piotr hears and staggers in after me, brotherly instincts intact even at his drunkest. He holds my hair, wobbling.
“You’re still alightweight, siostra,” he slurs, laughing. “But I love you.”
When I’m done, he hands me a towel, then says, “Wait, I’ll get you some water. Don’t move.”
He returns with a glass and helps me into bed. I can feel the room tilting, the water trembling in my hand. He watches me, serious all of a sudden.
“Kasia,” he says, voice threaded with concern through the vodka haze. “If you’re so messed up,fuckwhat Mama and Tata say. Just go to him. Nothing keeps us safe forever, I’ll back you. It's not good, to live like this, huh?”
