Calico is still grinning at me as I finish my last mouthful of pasta.
"What is it?" I ask, pushing my plate away nervously. We'd been having lunch together, an arrangement that had become almost routine, and at some point in the conversation she had said that she had something important to tell me, a statement which had led to her staring at me until I relented, and asked what it was.
"I know who you can date." She seems to think that the announcement of this alone is worthy of applause.
"I wasn't aware that I was looking for a date."
"Well, Effie, you need one. You're getting far too old to spend the majority of your life single."
"I'm not old," I retort, taking the dessert menu from the stand.
"You will be soon. Do you want to know who you're dating, or not?"
"Fine," I sigh "Who are you so very sure I shall date?"
"Cyan Metril!" Calico squealed, and clapped her hands together.
And I suppose I could. Cyan is acceptably wealthy, charming, rather handsome, and, unlike me, he still has a job. It could only move me higher up on the social scale, I'm sure, and I'd rather like to be fussed over.
Then again, I don't think I'm particularly attracted to Cyan, and I know he isn't to me.
"I think not" I say, beckoning a waitress over and ordering a sundae for us both. Perhaps I could become a waitress. This is a pleasant café, and has the loveliest decorations.
But waitressing feels like such a step down.
"Oh, Effie, you two could be perfect together!" Calico seems truly let down by my refusal, "Why on earth would you refuse him?"
"I'm simply trying to settle back into my home" I reply, "I'm not looking for a relationship with anyone."
I'm not sure how true this is, although I am indeed trying to settle back into my old Capitol routine. A relationship in itself, however, is not a possibility I would brush aside completely. A relationship with Cyan is, though.
A change in topics of conversation seems needed, and as Calico is happy to discuss her plans to buy a house with her partner for hours on end, I ask her about that. There is a slight resentment in her voice as she mentions how hard it is to find a building that is still standing after the war. It's not an unusual tone nowadays, many citizens seem discontent at how swiftly their life has been torn apart, but it's one that rather worries me. I don't like the feeling that the war isn't quite over yet. I didn't like imprisonment and the cold cell that went with it, I didn't like District 13, or the glares the rebels gave me, and I didn't like the bombings, and the panic, and the feeling that I no longer had control over anything. I've been back at home for a month now, and I can feel myself slipping into my old routine. It's comforting, and I don't want things to change anymore.
We bid each other goodbye after lunch, before I walk home, still feeling a little too anxious to be happy.
A week passes, and I am sitting on the sofa, drinking tea and flipping idly through the phone book. I suppose really I should be looking for a place of employment, but I have enough money to get by for the time being, and I have yet to find a job that doesn't feel shamefully lower down than being an escort was.
Besides, I haven't spoken to a friend since lunch with Calico, and I'm feeling dreadfully lonely.
Although my phonebook is full of names, I don't feel comfortable calling most of my old friends out of the blue. It feels like I haven't seen them for years now and quite often I can't recall their faces. Calico is looking for a house today, Venia is spending time with her family, and Octavia is shopping with Madris, leaving me with nobody I could meet up with. Surely there must be somebody I can speak to. I look through it again, feeling the usual pang of sadness when I see Cinna and Portia's names, hoping to find someone to call.
I could ring Katniss and Peeta, I suppose, although I've already offered my congratulations for their upcoming wedding.
Haymitch?
Well, there's nothing stopping me. I haven't spoken to him since I moved back, and I do rather miss him at times, although I can't comprehend why.
I dial his number, silently swearing that I will kill him if he doesn't answer.
"Who is it?" His voice is slightly slurred, but I feel too relieved that he's answered to reprimand him for being drunk so early on in the day.
"Haymitch, it's me, Effie."
"Eff!"
"Yes. I hadn't spoken to you in a while, and I thought 'well, now I'm settled in…'"
"Effie, Effie, shut up. You need to come down and see me."
"Why on earth do I need to do that?" I ask, unsure whether to be flattered by the invitation, or irritated at how rudely it had been given.
"Because I have something to tell you, and you probably shouldn't hear it over the phone. Bad news, I guess. Surprise news. Stuff that Coin left ."
"What is it?"
"Like I said, it isn't the sort of thing you'd appreciate hearing over the phone."
"Haymitch, I'm sat down, and I'm perfectly calm. I think I can handle it."
"Well…" Haymitch said, and there was a pause as I heard him pour himself another glass of liquor, "it involves you taking up your role as an escort again."
"But I thought…"
"Like I said," Haymitch interrupted me yet again, "Come over as soon as you can."