“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’rewhat?”
Mama gasps. “Florida? Withthem?”
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 theonly translatorthey 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.”
