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 Tatuslovesher 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 herudeto you or something when you helped with his eyes?”
"I never said that, I told you we metthrough work."I make a weak protest that no one buys.
Not exactly how I would have chosen this to come out, buthere we go.
“What?” Piotr leans forward, eyes wide. “You helped with his eyes? Kasia, you met him?”
“Wait, Obelus?” Natalia squeaks. “YoutouchedObelus?”
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,especiallyyou.”
“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 atotalcoincidence,” I say finally. “We’ve become friends, I guess?”
The tableerupts.
“Friends?” Mama repeats, half thrilled, half scandalized. “With that shadowy demon man?”
“Friends with the mostfamous manin alt rock,” Natalia mutters, staring.
