When Gale comes home, I am not in the best of moods.
He picks up on this instantly, of course. I feel his hands slide around my waist from behind me as
I stand by the kitchen sink. I relax slightly, but only some. He picks up on this, too.
"What happened?"
I sigh and raise my hands to grip his forearms. "Some kids at school got into a fight with Aiden," I answer him. "Aiden lost."
Gale's muscles tighten. "What do you mean, he lost?" He almost sounds confused, as if it's unforeseeable that any son of his would lose a fight. To be fair, I had the same reaction earlier when Aiden came home with skinned knees and scraped hands. I thought he was just clumsy.
"I mean he lost, Gale," I say, looking up at him. "Over some recess game."
His eyebrows furrow, and his lips scrunch up the way they always have when he's concerned.
"Is he alright?"
"Yeah, he's fine. Just some scratches, but Posy fixed him up before she went back home," I reply, but I know it isn't the answer Gale is looking for, and when he asked the question, he wasn't meaning how well Aiden physically fared. "But I'm annoyed with those kids," I add. Gale nods slowly.
"Figured as much." After all these years, Gale is not much of a talker. It doesn't matter, of course. I can tell what he means without words. It's always been this way, and I think it's one of the things I like best about him. Flowering words and pretty speeches mean nothing; they are dandelion wisps in the wind, beautiful one second, and forgotten the next- until they plant themselves into open hearts and grow once more, weeds of empty promises choking out everything else.
"I know I used to say I never wanted kids, but now I wish that other people wouldn't have kids," I say. Gale suppresses a chuckle.
"You're laughing at me!" I protest, turning around to face him. His hands stay on my waist, but I poke a finger towards him accusingly.
"I'm not laughing at you," he insists. Gale's expression says otherwise; he's holding back a smile, and his eyes are giving him away like they always do.
I give him an unamused glare and eyebrow raise. He laughs and shakes his head, unable to keep it in.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it, Catnip?" Gale looks at me with eyes that are sweeter than a baby goat's. I can't say no to him when he uses them, and he knows it, too. "Don't- don't use those on me. I want you to teach him how to fight back," I tell him. Although Gale and Aiden play-fight on the bed often, it is usually Gale flipping Aiden around, Gale pretending to fall to the ground when Aiden tackles him, and Gale letting him "fly" by holding him up in the air.
"He's seven," Gale says. "Besides, you said…" He doesn't have to continue. Early on, I'd told Gale I didn't like the idea of fighting in the house. My son fighting other children. Or anyone else. But since I have seen him bleeding, since I have seen him shed a tear- I decide on a new answer.
"Teach him how to protect himself," I say. "That's another thing."
A look of understanding passes between Gale and I, and then he bends down to kiss me. I've kissed this boy a thousand times by now, but I haven't gotten tired of it yet. Then again, I don't think I ever will.
His hands slip away from my waist and I watch him as he goes outside to the ledge of ours that's a few hundred yards away; Aiden has been sitting on it for the past hour.
"Bring back dinner," I tell him.
"Will do," he replies briefly, and then the door slams behind him.
When I look out the front window an hour and a half later, I see Gale and Aiden on the ridge, in the lower grass of the clearing. Gale's arm guides Aiden's, instructing him on how to throw a punch. Eventually, Gale fights Aiden- play fights, that is- and then it goes downhill from there. Soon enough, Aiden is running from his father and hiding himself behind trees and bushes. Gale pretends he can't find him, and even though I can't hear it, I know Aiden's laughing.
The two come inside an hour later. Aiden has taken his shirt off and used it as a sac to carry in raspberries. His chest bears grass stains and muddy spots, and his mouth is blue from eating blackberries. I roll my eyes at Gale.
"You were meant to do what I asked, Hawthorne," I say, crossing my arms. Gale shrugs and raises his hands. "Blame him, not me. Besides, we got hungry," he answers. I flick him with a dish towel and then ruffle Aiden's hair. "You two are terrible. Go wash up, and guess what, Aiden?" I get down to my son's level.
"What?" Aiden's cheeky smile brightens his face.
"Your father's going to make dinner tonight, so me and you can go visit Haymitch and Effie while he cooks," I tell him, a smug smile on my face. Gale narrows his eyes at me, but doesn't say anything. Aiden claps his hands together, then runs upstairs to change, leaving his shirt full of berries on the table.
"You're trouble, Gale," I say, looking up at him. He laughs. "But you like that, Catnip. That's why you love me." He spreads his arms and shrugs again, that stupid smile on his face that makes me want to kiss him and punch him at the same time.
I opt for the latter. "Don't push it," I remind him. He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head before letting me go upstairs to change; after all this time, Effie still makes comments about my appearance. "Katniss, dear, shouldn't you iron your shirt?" I can hear her saying it now. I iron my shirt quickly, and then Aiden and I are out the door in five minutes, leaving Gale behind to cook dinner.
This is our normal. Our days pass like this often, but again- I'm not tired of it. I don't think I ever will be. After all, I may love troublemakers, but I've had enough trouble to last a lifetime.
Maybe even a hundred.