I'm actually sleeping peacefully for once when I hear my name being called.
"Katniss...Hey, Katniss…."
I think it's part of a dream, but then a gentle but insistent hand is on my shoulder, shaking me lightly. I awake with a start, slightly disoriented, and flip over.
"Who's there?" I say suspiciously.
It's Peeta, of course. Who else would it be? We sleep in the same bed together every night. He smiles when our eyes meet, though he looks slightly worried.
"Are you okay?" He asks. He lowers his voice and speaks even more softly when he asks, "Were you having a nightmare?"
"No," I say heavily, still half asleep and confused about why I'm being awoken. I close my eyes again in the hopes that he'll go away, or at least go back to sleep himself, but then I remember: it's opening day. A bolt of excitement and anxiety electrifies me, and I sit up.
Peeta smiles hugely, correctly interpreting my sudden alertness, and he says excitedly, "It's opening day!"
I can't help but return his smile as I say, "You finally made it."
He nods enthusiastically and then says, "Come on, let's get ready," by which he means I need to get ready, because he is already dressed and has probably been ready for hours.
"What time is it?" I finally ask.
"It's six," he says apologetically, and I groan and fall back against the pillows, but I understand. The bakery is opening officially at ten, and wouldn't it just be great if we opened late our first day? Or his first day, rather. This bakery is Peeta's baby, and I shouldn't take any of the credit. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't invested.
I finally get out of bed and start getting ready, and Peeta heads downstairs to start breakfast.
I grudgingly decided to wear a dress to today's grand opening. I shared that with Effie when she called one day, because frankly I'm not good on the phone and I never know what to say, and I thought she would enjoy that piece of news. That was clearly a mistake, because she began sending me picture after picture of...interesting dresses, insisting on buying one for me in the spirit of celebration. I eventually picked the least worst one, a white sundress with a green pattern and a green ribbon around the waist. I still feel out of place in it, but at least it's green, and I don't look like some kind of weird sea creature, which I definitely would have in any of her other suggestions.
I feel a pang of sadness as I look in the mirror because I think of Cinna, and how much he would have loved to have designed a dress for me for this special day. And, of course, how much he would have wanted to be here. I wish I could see if his talents with fashion translated to cookie decorating. Obviously he's not the only one that I wish were here today, but I am startled out of this train of thought by Buttercup, who is winding around my legs and meowing.
"You scared me," I say, hand over my wildly beating heart. I'm always on edge these days. Dr. Aurelius says this is normal for people who've gone through what I have.
I bend down to pet Buttercup and he purrs, butting his head into my arm and rubbing his face on my hand. I pet him for a few minutes, then say, "Come on, let's go get breakfast." He follows me downstairs, and as I approach I can hear the sounds of a small argument between my mother and Effie about who gets to do my hair today. My mother is attempting to pull rank as the woman who birthed me, which you would think anyone would have the decency to defer to, but Effie is still putting up a fight.
"Yes, I know she's your daughter, Heather, but I am trained in the art of presentation! The papers will be there, this day will be immortalized in pictures! Do you want her to look like a quaint District 12 girl, or-?"
I interrupt this riveting argument by coming down the stairs and saying, "I settled it for you. I did it myself." I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms, daring them to keep arguing.
They turn to look at me and Effie sighs disapprovingly. She opens her mouth to say something when Peeta quickly distracts her by complimenting her hair.
My mother rolls her eyes good-naturedly and gives me a hug.
"Good morning, dear," she says, and I say it back. As we separate, we lock eyes, and I know we are thinking the exact same thing: Prim should be here. I suddenly feel way too close to completely losing it, so I quickly look away. It's not that I don't want to grieve in front of my mother; I just don't want to worry or distract Peeta on his special day. I push away the feelings threatening to spill over and go to help him with breakfast.
We all eat together, and Buttercup gets my bacon, as usual. Then, it's time for Peeta and I to get going. My mother and Effie are staying behind to clean up breakfast and get ready themselves. Plus, they have been given strict instructions to deal with Haymitch. We want him at the ceremony, but Peeta requested that he come sober. Which he was not happy about. So Effie and my mother are in charge of waking him up, making him breakfast and some strong coffee, and just generally making him presentable. Personally, I don't have high hopes. But maybe he'll surprise us.
Peeta and I gather all the supplies that haven't yet made their way to the bakery and load up the car. The bakery is actually walking distance from the Victor's Village, but we decided against walking into town carrying an enormous canvas sign and two heavy boxes filled to the brim with containers of cookie icing.
The drive is short, only about five minutes, so we arrive at the bakery in no time.
Peeta is so excited you can almost imagine that he has a crackling energy field around him. I try to mirror his excitement, but inside me it just gives energy to paranoia and anxiety. What if Peeta's ploy to keep this grand opening small fails, and a huge crowd turns up?
If everything has gone according to plan, the citizens of District 12 are the only people in Panem who know that Peeta's bakery is opening this Saturday at 10 AM. The rest of Panem thinks it is opening next Saturday. This was my stroke of genius.
When Peeta first presented me with the idea of a grand opening ceremony, I was scared. I pictured crowds of thousands, flocking from all Districts to see the heroic Peeta and the reclusive, possibly imbalanced Katniss. And ask us questions about a past we'd rather forget. I pointed this out to Peeta, and that got us thinking. I was ready to completely drop the idea of any kind of grand opening and just fly quietly under the radar. But Peeta wanted to do something special for the people of District 12, and I realized that I did, too. Hence the idea of having an official opening for just District 12 and then inviting the other Districts when the bakery was already open.
But there were no guarantees that others in Panem hadn't gotten wind of the opening. I didn't even want to invite Effie because I was worried she would spread the word, but Peeta insisted. I take it as a good sign that as we pull up at the bakery, no one is here but the night staff, who have been busily baking while the rest of us slept. In any case, I still hurry inside as Peeta opens the door, just in case someone jumps out of one of the bushes or something.
We are hit with a blast of warm, sugary air as we enter. Peeta's bakery specializes in baked goods of all sorts: bread, obviously; bagels, pastries, cakes, and especially today, cookies. As part of the opening ceremony festivities, Peeta decided that the attendees would all get a chance to decorate a cookie. I sweetened the pot by suggesting it be a competition, and that the winner would get their cookie design sold at the bakery for the next sixth months. Peeta loved this idea, and I felt a small leap of joy at the idea of being useful to him, even in this small way.
Ginger, one of the night bakers and an original from District 12, greets us.
"Helloooo!" She sings, and comes and gives each of a us a hug. It doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest that I don't appear to enjoy her hugs. She gives them out anyway.
"Are you two excited for today?" She asks us, bouncing up and down on her feet.
"Of course!" Peeta replies, grabbing my hand in his excitement. I smile back at him.
"What about you, Katniss?" She asks, her blue eyes wide. You'd think the smile would have been enough for her, but Ginger has this annoying habit of trying to force me to talk. I typically don't give information willingly, but Ginger insists on addressing even questions that Peeta has already answered specifically to me. Part of me wonders if she's one of the people who thinks I'm imbalanced, and that I need to be spoken to directly in order to understand. Either way, "Yes" is all I say.
"Excellent!" She says, wiping her red bangs from her face with the back of her hand, which is covered in dough and flour. She either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because she makes no acknowledgment of the fact that her face is now a walking advertisement for Peeta's bakery. Just then, Stella, whom I much prefer, steps out from the back and smiles at us, and I am spared any more of Ginger's annoying questions.
"Hey," she says warmly, joining us in front of the display cases. "How are you?"
Peeta says, "Excited" as I say, "Tired," and Stella laughs. She looks at me and says playfully, "Try being up all night baking!"
I smile and say nothing. That was the extent of my small talk. And Stella respects that. She's much less aggressive at trying to include me. She just lets me be there and be quiet, which I appreciate.
Stella gets businesslike as she begins discussing with Peeta everything that she and Ginger accomplished that night. I head to the car and begin unloading. I choose to unload the icing first, because it's summer and Peeta said it's very important to keep it cool. I sidestep Stella and Peeta's conversation and deliver the icing to the fridge. Now it's time for the sign. I pull it out and unfurl it, admiring our work once again. I wrote the words, he drew the pictures. Just like for our memory book.
I came up with the bakery's name, Boy with the Bread Bakery.
A few months back, Peeta made us sit down and separately come up with a list of possible names. He sat and scribbled excitedly while I sat there and stared at the paper, at a loss. After ten minutes, we compared our lists. Peeta was all about the "creative" names, like "Baked with Love" and "Soul Grains," and "Baker's Dozen" (since we're District Twelve. I pointed out to him that a Baker's Dozen is actually thirteen, so he scratched that one out.) The only name that made it on my list was "Peeta's Bakery." A classic Katniss Original. We left the table without a name that day. Then, that night, as I lie awake in bed, it came to me. How I always referred to Peeta: the boy with the bread. As bad as I felt waking him up from what seemed like a peaceful sleep, I felt I had to share right that minute. So I told him, about how I would always think back to when he shared that bread with me and call him "the boy with the bread" in my head. He loved it. Said it was perfect. And thus the store was named.
I stare at the sign and admire our work. The name is written mostly in green letters, with each "B" made up of a baguette for the stem and two pastries for the loops. It hits me then that this is really happening. That Peeta and I both survived to see one of his dreams come true. That we are not too broken to keep moving, to have a life.
Peeta comes out just then and stops short.
"Are you okay, Katniss?" He asks.
I don't know why he's asking, and then I realize that I'm crying.
"Yeah, I'm okay," I say, hastily wiping away my tears. God knows I don't want Ginger or Stella to see my crying. "I'm sorry," I say guiltily to Peeta. "I wanted to hold it together for you today…."
"Katniss," he says, and crosses over to me, pulling me into a hug. "It's okay. You know I always want to know how you're really doing."
"Okay," I choke out, as his words bring on another batch of tears. As he holds me, it starts to become even clearer why I'm crying. Thinking about "the boy with the bread" brings up a lot. Memories of suffering and fear, feelings of love and longing for Prim and my father. I wish they could be here. And it reminds me of how I used to live simply to survive. How on some days the heaviness in my chest from all I've lost makes me feel like I'm still doing that, just simply surviving. How sometimes I find comfort in a basic existence because it means I have less to lose. How on days like this it feels terrifying, doing something other than surviving, because I am confronted with the fact that the more you invest, the more you can have taken away. I realize I'm shaking a little, and Peeta holds me tighter. We stand like that for God knows how long, and he doesn't pry. He knows I'll share if I want to. And right now I feel too exposed. When I've regained my composure, I step back from him and wipe my eyes.
"Let's hang this sign," I say, to let him know that I'm okay.
"Okay," he says, smiling.
The remaining couple of hours go quickly as we work to put icing in cups, plate plain cookies, set up tables, and stock them with the necessary supplies. My mother, Effie, and a highly displeased but decidedly sober Haymitch show up around nine thirty and help us put the finishing touches on everything. By ten o'clock, a crowd has gathered, but it's all faces I've seen before, all District Twelvers, no one who will pry or be disrespectful or demand anything of me.
Finally, it's time for the festivities to begin. Ginger and Stella stand on either side of the bakery, holding each end of an orange ribbon that spans the front of the building. Peeta and I stand in the middle, behind the ribbon, with a pair of scissors. I'm uncomfortable in front of all these people and I feel awkward, but I stay for Peeta. He wanted me there, and I was going to be there for him. Even so, I have to practice the deep breathing Dr. Aurelius recommended to me (not that I would ever admit I was taking his advice) because crowds make my anxiety worse, set me more on edge. The last thing I need to do is to freak out in front of the entire District, and today of all days. So I actually try to use what I've learned from Dr. Aurelius.
Peeta clears his throat, and the crowd quickly falls silent. I notice that a few reporters are here from District 12's newspaper, holding up tape recorders to catch every word of Peeta's coming speech.
"Hey everyone," Peeta begins. "Thank you for coming. I just want to say a few words before we start...I want to say that it is an honor to be here with each and every one of you," he says, and he pauses to let that sink in. The crazy part is, he actually means it. Most people just use platitudes like that to enhance business, or whatever. But he is genuinely honored. It's kind of amazing.
"This has been my dream for so long, and I honestly can't believe that it's finally happening, especially given the events of the last couple of years." He pauses again and swallows nervously. My heart starts beating faster as I study his face. What if he has some sort of episode in front of the crowd? But he continues.
"But as fulfilling as it is for me to bake for people and sell what I make, after everything I've been through...after everything we've been through," he says, gesturing to me, "It just didn't feel like enough. So Katniss and I started thinking."
The crowd's eyes shift to me as he mentions my name, and I look down at my feet to avoid their gaze.
"How could we use this to really make a difference in Twelve? And we had an idea. We bake our bread and pastries fresh everyday, which means that there will be food going to waste at the end of each night. And having wasted food and hungry people just doesn't make any sense. It's just wrong," Peeta says, and there's a murmur of assent from the crowd.
"That's why we're going to donate all of the unused bread and pastries we have at the end of the day to the people of Twelve who really need them. Just come by at the end of the day and take what you need, no questions asked. If you need it delivered, just call us, we'll bring it to you." Peeta's voice gets quiet. "We've all had to start from scratch here in Twelve. I know it's been hard for everyone. It's certainly been hard for us. We want to make your lives a little easier." Peeta looks at me. "We both know what it is to go hungry, especially Katniss, and we don't want anyone else to have to go through that." He pauses. "We don't want anyone to get left behind," he finishes, and I grab his hand out of reflex as his voice breaks a little. I've been staring down at my shoes the whole time, but I chance a look at the crowd, and my eyes settle on my mother. She's crying and smiling. I look behind her at the expanse of people and see that she's not the only one. I feel a lump in my throat start to rise, and tears come to my eyes for the second time that day. Come on, Katniss, I think. Don't cry in front of all these people.
I'm brought out of my thoughts by Peeta saying, "Katniss, will you say a few words?" And I must look as completely ambushed as I feel, because he quickly bursts out laughing and says, "I'm kidding."
The crowd laughs and I feel somewhat embarrassed, but I make eye contact with Haymitch and he winks at me, which makes me feel a little better.
"Anyway," Peeta says. "Just thank you to everyone. I'm so glad you're all here. We're going to cut the ribbon and then get on with the cookie decorating!"
The crowd cheers and I hand the scissors over to Peeta. This is his moment. He cuts the ribbon, and the crowd claps and yells again.
We make eye contact and he kisses me. I'm slightly embarrassed, but I don't pull away. He deserves this today.
We head out into the crowd as everyone scrambles to find a seat at a table. I end up sitting with Greasy Sae and her granddaughter, Savannah, my mother, Haymitch, and Effie. I save a seat for Peeta, but he's busy going from table to table, talking with all the Twelvers who showed up. I forget that I'm supposed to be decorating a cookie because I am mesmerized by him. He knows how to connect with each person, and he makes it look so easy, so effortless. I find myself smiling as I see him smile and see the smiles of my fellow Twelvers as they talk with him. I could never do what he does, but it's nice to watch. Peaceful, even. I must look crazy, zoned out with a smile on my face, because Haymitch interrupts by asking somewhat rudely, "Are you okay there, sweetheart?"
I look at him and he's smirking. I blush a little, embarrassed to be caught in the act of having an emotion, and quickly turn my attention to my cookie.
I've decided to honor Prim and put Buttercup on my cookie, but I want to mix yellow and orange icing, and somehow the orange is already gone. I get up from the table and head towards the bakery in search of more. I want Prim to be here today, if only in this small way, so I'm determined. She would've loved this. I'm lost in thought about how she would have designed her cookie when I realize that I've made it to the back fridge. I reach into the refrigerator and take out another canister of orange icing. I pause for a second, debating, and then sit down on the floor for a short break.
I didn't realize how tightly I was wound until I came back here in the quiet. As I start to let myself unwind, however, unwanted feelings and memories creep in. I think of the crowd outside and see the day of the reaping in my mind's eye….Someone shouts joyfully from outside the bakery, but in my mind it becomes Prim screaming and fighting to stop me after I volunteered. The screaming in my head is getting louder, and I put my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes tightly, start to rock, but the sounds and images don't go away. Instead, they get worse. The screaming intensifies, and suddenly I'm in the arena with the Jabberjays who were programmed to sound like our loved ones. Now I'm in District 13, panicking after I realize Prim hasn't made it to the bomb shelter. And then I'm there, on the day she died, powerless to do anything but watch. I try to call out to her, but I can't. My voice is gone. My mind skips from image to image, and it's like I'm actually there, reliving everything, and all I feel is pain and powerlessness. And I'm dying, suffocating under the weight of it all. I'm hyperventilating. I can't breathe. My brain is yelling, Danger! Danger! And I'm sweating like crazy, and my heart is going to explode, both from the pain and the rate at which it's beating, and I know this is it. This is how I'm going to go. I curl up on the ground, ready to be taken. I lie there for who knows how long.
Then, I hear my name. Gentle but firm.
"Katniss. Katniss, can you hear me? Are you with me?"
I keep rocking. Say nothing.
"Katniss, you're safe. I'm here. I'm Peeta. You're here at the cookie decorating. You're in the bakery. You're safe."
I start to come to, and I open one eye cautiously.
Peeta smiles gently in relief. "Hey," he says. He reaches out an arm. "Can I put my hand on your shoulder?"
I nod, and he does. I close my eyes again.
We sit in silence for a few seconds, then he says, "Tell me some things you see, here in this room." It's a grounding exercise Dr. Aurelius taught us.
I open my eyes and look around. "I see...the wall," I mumble, still disoriented.
"What color is it?" Peeta asks.
"Brown," I say. "And I see...the table," I continue. "Also brown."
"Good," Peeta says reassuringly, and begins rubbing my back.
"I see…." I turn my head a little. "The fridge. It's white."
"That's right," Peeta says, all gentleness. "Do you know your name?"
"Katniss," I whisper, and hearing my name from my own lips brings a lump into my throat for some reason.
"Do you know where you are?"
"I'm in your bakery...your bakery...it's opening day." And then I remember. I wasn't supposed to mess this up for him. I start crying.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I sob, and he pulls me close.
"It's okay, Katniss, it's okay," he says, rocking me.
And the tidal wave of emotion I fought off when I locked eyes with my mother this morning, that I pushed away when I saw the crowd crying, crashes over me. And I'm sobbing, and saying, "I wish she was here. I wish they were here," and Peeta is saying, "I know, I know," and we're holding each other for what seems like hours.
Finally, I'm all cried out-at least for now-and I chance a look at Peeta.
Unbelievably, he smiles at me. I don't know how. But he does.
"I'm sorry," I whisper again, and he shakes his head, like he won't hear of it.
"What do you want to do?" He asks, and smoothes my hair.
"You need to get back out there," I say, wiping my nose on my arm.
Peeta looks at me like I'm crazy. "I'm not leaving you in here alone."
"No, I'll come, too," I say, surprising myself. Right now, I want to curl up in the back room of this bakery for the rest of my life, safe from any new pain, any new hurt, but I know I can't. Because we promised. We promised everyone we lost that we wouldn't let them die in vain. And that means we have to live our lives. Which, right now, for me, means taking deep breaths, pushing through, preparing myself to be stared at, and going back outside to decorate a cookie to look like Buttercup.
"Are you sure?" Peeta asks, staring straight into my eyes.
"Yes," I say shakily. "I'm okay now. Really," I add.
"Okay," he says. He grabs my hand and helps me up.
I smooth my dress and grab a different canister or orange icing since I spilled the other one during my episode. And we head outside, like nothing ever happened.
I step back out into the sunlight and try to slip discreetly to my table. A few people stare openly, while others glance and look away, but most of the people just continue their cookie decorating.
My mother grabs my hand as I sit down, and Haymitch says, "Did you get lost?" by way of checking in.
I muster a smile for them both.
Then I get to work on my Buttercup cookie, but it's frustrating, because I'm not artistic like Peeta. So the image that comes out on the cookie looks very little like the actual Buttercup. I guess I'm not winning the design contest. Oh well.
I'm staring down at my cookie when suddenly Savannah says excitedly, "Katniss, look!"
I turn to see that she is beaming at me, clearly about to burst with excitement. Savannah likes me for reasons that are beyond my understanding. I've watched her two or three times, when Greasy Sae had to visit the other Districts for various reasons, and I never have any idea what to do with her. Mostly, I just give her snacks and play the part of the captive audience to her stories and the "plays" she puts on with her dolls. I hardly say a word. But she seems to like that.
Now, she says, "Look what I made!"
I look down at her cookie, which makes my Buttercup design look like a masterpiece. The cookie is truly ugly; it's covered in about two inches of orange icing (hence my need for more) and features two enormous, uneven black dots, a squiggly red line, and a black rim. Plus, it's melting in the heat, so everything is starting to run slightly together. I have no idea what it is, but Savannah quickly enlightens me.
"It's you! I made you!"
Oh.
"Spitting image," Haymitch says, smirking again.
"Wow, Savannah," I say, trying to smile without also laughing. "That's...great! I'm flattered." I hope I sound impressed. I'm terrible at faking.
I think I've fooled her, because she says, "I bet mine's gonna win, because Peeta likes you." This gets everyone at the table laughing.
"Probably," my mother says, and they all laugh again.
After about ten more minutes, Peeta announces that he is ready to judge the cookie design entries.
He and I, plus Stella and Ginger, will be the judges.
I offer to take our table's tray of cookies up to the front, and I notice that my mother had a similar idea to mine. The design on her cookie is Lady, Prim's old goat. My mother did a pretty decent job on it, so maybe it will win. I deliver the tray to Peeta and make sure to point out Savannah's creation.
"That's supposed to be me," I say.
Peeta raises his eyebrows and laughs. "That is really something."
Then we get to work, each examining the cookies. There's one with my Mockingjay pin frosted onto it, which I immediately rule out. I was hoping for no reminders today, but I suppose that was a lot to ask from my fellow Twelvers.
There are all kinds of designs, many of them indecipherable because they were done by kids and are being melted by the heat. I know Peeta would have loved to have chosen a design done by a kid, but I really don't know how he would have duplicated any of them. Plus I doubt the design would've sold. In the end, we settle on a cookie that depicts a beach scene. It has little waves, an umbrella, and a palm tree. I wonder idly if the designer has ever been to a real beach; us Twelvers aren't exactly big travelers. Most of us never really had the money, and a lot of us still don't. Plus, travel was banned between the districts before the revolution.
I'm brought out of my daydream by Peeta announcing the winner. The designer is a young mother with four little kids, one of whom is pouting about her mother's victory. The other three, however, surround their mother and hug her, grabbing at her hands as she stands up to receive her applause. I look at Peeta and see the longing in his eyes as he watches the little family, and I feel a wave of guilt. I know he wants children. Not now, obviously. But one day. And I just don't know if I can give that to him. This world has not been kind to the people I've loved, and I don't know if I could ever feel peace, knowing that my child was out there, vulnerable to being hurt or damaged.
I shake my head to rid it of these thoughts, and I help Stella and Ginger begin cleaning up as Peeta goes to congratulate the winner. The other Twelvers pitch in, and with their help, we clean up in much less time than it took to prepare all the tables.
Eventually, my mother says goodbye and departs to the train station. She has a shift at the hospital the next day and needs to get back to her District. Effie goes with her to return to the Capitol, saying that this brief visit to District 12 was enough to last her a lifetime. And Haymitch grudgingly says his goodbyes and saunters away from the festivities, back to the Village. Stella and Ginger head out so they can get some much-needed sleep and then return tomorrow night to begin the baking for Monday.
So, finally, it's just me and Peeta. We hold hands as we walk to the car, and we bask in the quiet for a few minutes. It's only two, but I'm exhausted, and so is Peeta. He starts the car and we turn in the direction of the Victor's Village.
"I wish Annie could have come," I say. "I think Finley would have enjoyed the cookies." Annie and her son had planned to come for the grand opening, but Finley came down with a cold at the last minute, so they couldn't make it.
"I know," Peeta says. "I'm going to send them some plain cookies and some cookie-decorating materials, like the icing bottles and stuff, since they couldn't be here."
"I think they'll like that," I say, satisfied.
We sit in silence for a few seconds when Peeta says randomly, "You know, I think Stella likes you. I think she wants to be your friend."
"Why?" I ask suspiciously.
Peeta looks concerned. "You mean why do I think that?"
"No, I mean...why does she want to be friends with me?"
Peeta furrows his brow even further. "Do you really find it that hard to believe that someone would want to be friends with you?" He asks.
"I don't know," I mumble, embarrassed by my reaction and uncomfortable with Peeta's scrutiny. "I mean, she probably just feels bad for me. Or wants to say she knows the Mockingjay. Or thinks I'm crazy."
"Maybe part of you wants all that to be true so that you don't have to get to know her. And so she won't try to get to know you," Peeta counters, and I purse my lips and stare out the window. That sounds suspiciously like something Dr. Aurelius would say. I wonder if they've been talking about me again.
"You don't let people know you, Katniss," Peeta says gently.
I'm not sure how this conversation turned into a therapy session, but I have to admit that Peeta has a point. I've never really had friends, besides Gale. I guess I let him know me. I'm not even sure why, really. I guess I really needed him, and I just got lucky that he was someone I got along with, too. Friends always seemed like a luxury, something for people who could trust easily, and be themselves freely, and spend time doing other things besides fighting to get by. Not to mention that keeping the outside world out became a necessity after my father died, since I was fighting so hard to keep Prim and me from the children's home. And a part of me still believes that the world is a dangerous place, that the fewer people I care about, the better. I know I need Peeta, but can I afford to let anyone else in? I honestly don't know.
It's been a year since anything truly dangerous has happened to me, since I've lost anyone that I loved, but I can't shake the feeling that anyone I care about could be taken away from me at any moment. Especially Peeta. God, I worry about Peeta-.
Suddenly a pebble dashes across our windshield and shocks me from my thoughts. I look out my window, then out Peeta's, and I see Haymitch standing at the entrance to the Victor's Village, panting and glaring. He throws another rock at our car and Peeta rolls down his window.
"Hi, Haymitch," he says pleasantly.
"Thank you for offering to drive me home," he says sarcastically, by way of greeting.
I roll my eyes and Peeta says, "Get in! We'll drive you the rest of the way."
This is not a particularly good offer, considering that we are about twenty feet from Haymitch's house, so Haymitch just waves us off and heads towards home.
Peeta drives slowly beside him. "Wanna come over for dinner, Haymitch?" Peeta asks. "We're having pizza!"
Haymitch gives no acknowledgement; he simply walks up the steps to his house and slams the front door.
"I'll take that as a 'no,'" I say, and get out of the car as soon as it stops, just in case Peeta is planning on continuing our previous conversation. I have a feeling that I haven't heard the last of it.
The rest of the day passes lazily. We take a nap. I hunt. Peeta puts together a cookie care package for Annie and Finley. We make pizza together, with dough we made from scratch, of course. Then, we eat out in our garden, where we grow vegetables and fruit and herbs, and watch the sunset.
"That's my favorite color," Peeta says, pointing at the orange sky. "Right...there," he adds, pinpointing the exact region. This is Peeta's favorite thing, watching the sunset and finding the exact moment when his favorite color appears. We do it pretty much every night in the summer.
I lean my head on his shoulder as we watch the sky turn from orange, to pink, to dark blue. I realize I feel calm, and I try not to ruin it by tensing up once I realize it. Sometimes feeling calm scares me, because it means I've let my guard down. It means that I've found some peace, and it feels like only a matter of time before I lose it again.
But I take more deep breaths, like Dr. Aurelius tells me to, trying to preserve the peace for as long as possible.
And Peeta and I stay like that, my head on his shoulder, his arm around mine, until night falls and it's time to sleep.