Page 71 of The Encore’s Crown

Her voice breaks on the last word. I lift the armrest between us and pull her against me before she can object. She resists, stiff with the need to remain dignified, then gives in and slumps against my chest.

“It’s stupid,” she says again. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

Her tears soak into my shirt. I hold her tighter and rest my cheek against her hair. My own tears come quietly. It’s almost a relief, having her tucked against me. She can’t see my face. I can let the tears fall and pretend every one of them belongs to her heartbreak instead of mine. For several minutes, I get to be devastated without explaining myself and supportive without lying. When the plane takes off, both of us have cried ourselves empty enough to sleep.

The flight home passes in pieces. Connecting flights, followed by bad movies. Neck pain. Half-eaten airplane meals. Kasia waking and immediately checking her phone despite there being no service. Me staring at the dark screen of mine and wondering what Kiri is doing. Gym, probably. Another bus. Then I remember the bus in Tokyo and the way he held me. Maybe he's at soundcheck. The memory of his bass vibrating through the soles of my feet a few days ago makes me weak. Soon he'll be in another city, another hotel room. One without our smell trapped in the sheets. All the machinery of his life already moving ahead without me.

When we finally land in Seattle, the sky is exactly as gray as I remembered. Kasia drives me home through streets slick with rain, talking about nothing important because neither of us has the energy for anything else. The second she pulls up outside Mama and Tata’s house, normal life swallows me whole.

Before I’m even through the door, I hear Mama calling from the kitchen, Kacper shrieking with laughter, and Aga threatening consequences that clearly mean nothing to him. He races past me, squealing, wearing one sock and carrying a wooden spoon like he's getting away with a crime. Aga follows with the other sock in one hand and the expression of a woman reconsidering every decision that led her here. Amelka sits in a portable playpen near the sofa, happily throwing plastic blocks over the side just to watch them bounce. Every time one hits the floor, she gurgles with delight as though she’s just discovered gravity.

Zosia is still at school. Dominik is at work. Tata is at the shop and won’t be home for another few hours, which means the house is technically operating below capacity and somehow still loud enough to shatter every thought before it can finish forming. For that, at least, I’m grateful.

Amelka spots me and throws another block in my direction.

“Excellent aim,” I tell her. “Very welcoming.”

“Kochana!” Mama calls from the kitchen. “You’re both home!”

She appears in the doorway wiping her hands on a dish towel, crosses the room, and pulls me into a hug that smells like onions, flour, and the same perfume she’s worn since I was little. Then repeats the same ritual on Kasia.

“I made sandwiches,” she says, squeezing Kasia's face between both hands. “You both must be starving after that flight.”

“We ate on the plane,” Kasia says.

“That's not food.”

There's no point arguing with her because she's objectively right.

“Put your bag away, kochana, eat something, then come help me with the pierogi. Tata and I thought you'd need something hearty after being away from us.”

Apparently I’ve crossed an ocean only to be assigned lunch and onions.

“Can I exist for five minutes first?”

“While you eat some lunch, yes.”

Kasia laughs from the doorway, hugs me, and escapes before Mama can assign her potatoes. “I’m exhausted. I’m heading home for a nap.”

Mama tuts, but Kasia is already out the door before she can protest. After a moment, Mama retreats to the kitchen. I check the time on my phone. Zosia will be home from school soon. Dominik will arrive later covered in construction dust. Tata will come through the door expecting every detail of Korea and Japan while Mama feeds me enough to undo any weight loss I might have experienced abroad. It’s loud like always, warm, chaotic. Home. Usually, stepping into all of this settles something in me. Today, it feels like my life has resumed before I’m ready to be inside it.

I haul my suitcase upstairs and push open the door to my room. Everything is exactly where I left it. Ring light in the corner. Makeup lined across the vanity. Clothes overflowing from the dresser. My bed freshly made for my arrival with the floral blanket Mama insists looks expensive. I close the door behind me. For the first time since the airport, I’m alone. Kiri told me to message him. I collapse onto the edge of my bed and open our chat. My thumbs hover over the keyboard.

Home.

Seems cold.

I made it!

Too enthusiastic, he'll start getting more cocky. I don't think I could survive that.

I’m back safely <3

No fucking way. The heart feels like a confession. Maybe a kiss? No, that's worse. An emoji? Which one? The crocodile would be insane. Funny, but insane. I type three more messages, delete every one, then finally send:

Made it home safe.