December 17, 2013
"I'm coming!" I shout pointlessly at my phone, ringing from the other room where it is plugged into its charger. The battery barely holds a charge anymore, so I try to keep it plugged in as much as possible. I quickly wrap the end of my braid in an elastic band and grab my uniform shirt from the towel rack as I race into the living room.
"Hey!" I answer brightly, pressing the faded 'Talk' button without even looking at the name of the incoming caller. I know it is Prim- nobody else really calls me and I am expecting a call from my sister.
"Heeey!" she responds enthusiastically. "I was hoping I would catch you before work."
"Yeah, I am just finishing getting ready," I say, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down so that I can pull my shirt over my head. "How was your last final?"
"Good, I think. I'm glad it's done!"
"Me too! I can't believe I'm going to have you to myself for three whole weeks." I am in a better mood today than I have been for several months. I always considered myself to be an independent person, but I have to admit that it has been pretty lonely in this apartment by myself since Prim moved to Champaign to start college in August.
Prim laughs and says, "Well, Rory said the same thing so I think you two may have to learn to share." Since I know she can't see me I go ahead and indulge in a dramatic eye roll as she continues, "I promised him I would try really hard to spend time with him while I'm home. He has taken me being gone pretty hard."
"I've taken you being gone pretty hard too!" I exclaim, a little wounded. Rory is the second son of our close family friends, the Hawthornes. Hazel Hawthorne was my mother's best friend for many years and, having grown up together, Prim and I became very close with her children. Prim and Rory started dating when they were both 15. Gale, Hazel's eldest, has been my best friend for several years.
"Katniss, I promise we will spend lots of time together. I can't wait to see you, and I will have plenty of time to do both. You work like a million hours a week anyway! I'll hang out with Rory while you are at work." I don't miss Prim's scolding tone. She hates that I work as much as I do, but considering that the only jobs I am qualified for are low-wage service industry jobs, I have to work a lot so that Prim can focus on school instead of holding down a job. I don't bother saying this though- we both know it. Prim doesn't approve of our arrangement and thinks that we should both go to school part-time and work part-time, but I am stubborn and insist that she get her education without having to work. Thankfully she is smart as a whip and has always gotten excellent grades. Between her scholarships and the government grants we qualify for based on our low-income, her school is mostly paid for. My wages at the diner are just enough to provide her with some spending money and to pay for the one-bedroom apartment we have lived in for the past 10 years.
I sigh, not wanting to fight with her. "It's okay Prim. I am happy to have whatever time I get with you. When will you be home?"
"I am going to stay for a while to clean up my dorm and then get together with a few friends for lunch. I'll drive home after that and will probably be there around six this evening." That sounds just like Prim, knowing she is not going to see her new friends for a few weeks, she would make a point to have one last lunch with them. She always loves everybody and everybody loves her.
"Oh, damn! I won't be home yet when you get here," I say, trying to hide my exasperation. I am so glad that Prim is happy and social- a miracle really considering everything she has been through- but sometimes I just get frustrated that I am not at the top of her priority list the way she has always been at the top of mine.
"Really!?" she asks excitedly. "You don't usually work that late. Do you have a date!?"
"No, Prim, I don't have a date." My lack of a personal life is the bane of Prim's existence. It has always mattered much more to her than it has to me. I have had more important concerns- like enduring the death of two parents and keeping my little sister fed and clothed- to worry about trivial things like boys and romance.
You would think I just told her I am committing to a life of celibacy with as deeply as she sighs at hearing I don't have a date. "Aren't you lonely, Katniss?"
"What? No. Why would I be lonely? I have you," I respond, and even I can hear the lack of conviction in my words. I know my intuitive sister isn't going to buy this for a moment.
"You're a terrible liar," she says matter of factly.
Now it is my turn to sigh, "Look, Prim, I know you want to solve the world's problems, but I am fine being by myself. Really," I add, hoping to sound a little more convincing. I hate talking about my personal life, it just depresses me and makes me realize how pathetic it is that at 22 years old I've never had a serious relationship. "I should probably let you go. I have to get to work."
"Wait! You didn't tell me why you where you are going after work."
"Oh, um, well… I started volunteering at a soup kitchen a few months ago," I say uncomfortably. Now I'm worried she will deduce the reason I started volunteering is that I've been crushingly lonely since she left for school and have been trying to avoid being in my dingy old apartment as much as possible.
"Really? At Tesserae House?" she asks, figuring correctly that I would go to the soup kitchen/food pantry that is a few blocks from our house. It is the one we would frequent when money was really tight.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be there from 4 to 7."
"Okay, I can just stop by there as soon as I get back into town," she suggests.
"Sure." Her suggestion perks my mood up again. At least she is making a point to see me first. "Drive safely, Little Duck."
"I will," she assures me, and I can hear the smile in her voice at hearing me use my old endearment for her. "Love you, Katniss. See you soon."
"Love you too," I reply as I hang up.
I rush into the bathroom to finish getting ready for my lunch shift at the diner. After talking to Prim I am running late, so I only take a second to swipe a little mascara onto my lashes and forgo any further embellishments. I don't even like makeup, but, sadly, I find that my tips are better when I wear it. I am gathering my keys and stuffing a change of clothes into my messenger bag for my shift at the soup kitchen when I realize I forgot my locket in the bathroom and hurry to retrieve it from behind the sink where I placed it before getting into the shower. I have worn it every day for nearly two years- since the day I found it enclosed in the short note my mother left for Prim and I.
Despite this sad chapter in the necklace's history, as I fasten the clasp around my neck and tuck it underneath the collar of my work shirt it is not thoughts of my mother that flit through my mind. Rather, as I do every day when I put it on, I think of the sweet round-faced boy with the pretty blue eyes who helped me when I was at my lowest, for no reason other than to be kind.
I arrive at Tesserae House just in time to bolt through the kitchen to the small, dingy staff bathroom to change before manning the donation drop-offs for the night. I am grateful that Haymitch, the surly old drunk who runs the place, usually schedules me back here. I'm not much of a people person and, as a waitress, I'm exhausted from dealing with customers all day.
"Evenin', girl," the cook, Greasy Sae, greets me as I move quickly through the kitchen.
"Good evening, Sae!" I call, not bothering to pause.
"Hey, now. No need to be rushin' through like that. Haymitch is in the back. It won't hurt him to handle things for a few more minutes while you get settled in," I hear her grumbling as I close the bathroom door. Sae and Haymitch have a love-hate relationship. They bitch about each other all the time, but I think there is genuine fondness between them underneath Sae's take-no-shit attitude and Haymitch's general grumpiness.
Once I have pulled on a pair of worn jeans and an ancient T-shirt that is so threadbare my striped bra is visible underneath, I tie one of the green Tesserae House aprons around my waist and head to the back.
"Finally decided to grace us with your presence, eh Sweetheart?" Haymitch mumbles sarcastically as soon as he sees me. He gave me the nickname back in August when I visited to pick-up a few things to get me through until my next paycheck. I told him that since Prim left for school I had free time on my hands and that I would like to start volunteering as payment for all the help I had received from the place. Haymitch had looked me up and down, snorted, and walked away muttering 'well aren't you just a sweetheart.' I showed up the next day ready to work and the nickname had stuck.
I roll my eyes at him. "Go ahead and dock my pay," I return. He barks a quick laugh and saunters into his office with a vague comment about having work to do. I'm pretty sure the only thing he plans to work on is a bottle of gin. I have to admit that I kind of like Haymitch despite myself. He may be an old bastard, but he did start up this place and he runs it even though he really doesn't get anything out of it. Greasy Sae seems to think that he does it as some sort of atonement for misdeeds in his past. That is something I can relate to- I understand obligation and the compulsion to settle debts.
I set to work sorting and organizing the day's donations and begin putting them on carts to be stocked out on the floor. It is a slow night, and I make good progress on the stacks since no new donations have arrived tonight.
I don't realize how much time has passed when the door leading up to the front opens and one of the other volunteers, a middle age woman called Ripper, tells me I have a visitor. Prim bounces through the door looking bright and cheerful all bundled up in hat and scarf, cheeks flushed prettily from the cold outside. I drop whatever I am holding and we both start running until we collide, holding onto each other tightly for several moments. Prim is the first to pull away and she holds me at arm's length, looking me over thoroughly.
"Katniss! I can see your boobs!" she declares loudly.
I laugh and turn to lead her back toward where I am working. "No you can't. It's just my bra and I don't bother wearing good clothes here. They'd just get grubby and dirty."
"You mean you don't wear nice clothes here because you don't own nice clothes… because you refuse to spend a penny on yourself," she returns, taking on the parental tone she uses when she wants to scold me about not taking good enough care of myself.
"My clothes are fine," I sigh. "Let's not do this, okay."
"Do what?"
"Do the thing where you lecture me about being too concerned with taking care of everything except myself," I say.
"I'm sorry, Katniss. I don't mean to lecture you," she responds, sounding contrite. "I just worry about you. I want you to be happy, and you seem determined to sacrifice every chance at happiness that comes your way. It's like the whole thing with Gale-"
"No. Stop right there. This has nothing to do with Gale," I cut her off before she can launch back into the I-know-you're-lonely-why-don't-you-date-more spiel. She doesn't understand how I can be so fond of Gale and yet not reciprocate the romantic feelings he has, or at least used to have, for me. I guess she wouldn't understand it though. Her friendship with Rory developed into more so effortlessly and naturally. But as much as I've tried, I have just never been able to see Gale in that way… or any other guy for that matter. It was a particularly dismal day when Prim asked me to go with her to get on birth control last year. I hate knowing that my little sister is sexually active and I have never even had a boyfriend. There are just some things the older sister is expected to experience first…
I don't want to argue with my sister, so I am relieved when we are interrupted by the bell ring that notifies us that a donation has arrived. I peek out and see a large red van backing up to the small loading dock. I pull the chain to open the roll-up door getting my first good look at the van. I think my heart might come to a stop when I see the charming white scrollwork on the side of the van that says "Mellark Family Bakery, Since 1942."
Holy shit. I am well acquainted with that logo. In the months following my encounter with Peeta Mellark ten years ago, I stood outside of his family's bakery more times than I could count, trying to work up the courage to go inside and thank him- trying to figure out some way to repay my debt to him for his kindness.
When I returned home that night after having nearly shoplifted the lockets for my mother and Prim, I discovered that he had slipped them into my backpack without me knowing about it. I had lain awake that entire night, stewing over it, replaying every moment of our encounter to decide whether I should keep the necklaces as a gift or return them to him.
In the end, the only conclusion I could reach was that Peeta Mellark had only acted out of kindness- he had nothing to gain and asked for nothing in return. I ultimately wrapped the gifts, marked them 'from Santa,' and placed them under our pathetic little Christmas tree after Prim had gone to bed on Christmas Eve. We wasted no time finding pictures of my father small enough to cut out and put in each one. We had both gone into Mama's room on Christmas morning to give her the second locket. She started weeping when she saw what 'Santa' had brought for her. Prim and I crawled into her bed with her and held her while she mourned our father once more. She shed angry tears directed at herself for letting Christmas slip past unnoticed, for being so weak, and for putting so much more responsibility on her eldest daughter than any twelve year old should have to shoulder.
When Prim had expressed concern that Santa hadn't brought anything for me, I explained that Santa did get me what I wanted, because the only thing I asked for was for him to bring something for her and Mama.
As the van finishes backing up to the dock I try to reign in my frantic nerves. It's probably not even him. I have made several trips past his family's bakery over the years, coming up with flimsy excuses to go out of my way just to walk past it, and I haven't seen him working inside for the last few years. A couple of times I even worked up the nerve to go in and make a purchase- only on rare occasions when I'd made especially good tips and I could justify indulging in the cheese buns that I like so much. For several years I often saw him working alongside his father, but I never got up the nerve to go in when he was there. I assume he must have graduated and gone off to college because now I only ever see his father and a pinched-faced blonde woman, who I assume is his mother.
I hear the driver's side door open and close, and to my dismay, there he is. I watch him through the open roll-up door as he walks around the front of the van and takes the stairs up to the delivery entrance two at a time. I haven't even gotten a good look at him yet and I can already tell how handsome he's become. His jeans are the dark denim, manufacturer-worn, perfect-fit designer kind, and his jacket is one of those fitted black ones that looks layered and has a hood and zippers on the front- the kind that every guy looks super-hot in.
He raps on the outside door twice and Prim shoots me a quizzical look when she sees me standing there, chewing my lip and not moving to open it right away. Avoiding her gaze I take a deep, calming breath and finally move to open the door for him. He has his head down, chin tucked into his chest against the cold, and his hands are crammed in his pockets. He doesn't look up at first as he stamps his feet to knock off the excess snow.
"Merry Christm-" he starts, but the words die on his lips as he finally looks up at me.
No way. There is no way he recognizes me. Is there? My stomach clenches hard as I get a really good look at his face. I could tell he was growing up to be handsome when I would see him inside the bakery but, holy shit, seeing him up close makes it clear that 'handsome' doesn't even begin to do him justice. His eyes are even more startlingly blue than I remember and he has an irresistible smattering of light freckles across his nose and cheeks, which are flushed from the cold. He looks both pleased and bemused, his mouth stretching into a lopsided grin that reveals even, white teeth.
Fuck. This is so unfair. He looks like he just stepped out of a J Crew catalogue and I practically look homeless. And my fucking shirt is see through! Of course, I just had to choose a brightly colored stripped bra today. I have a drawer full of ugly, plain white cotton bras, but today had to be the day I wore the one that would be easily visible through my stupid threadbare shirt. My face flushes in embarrassment.
We stare at each other dumbly for a few moments, and I think he is just about to say something when we are interrupted by a loud gruff voice. "Ah, look who it is!" Haymitch exclaims, emerging from the office, walking up to Peeta and shaking his hand heartily, slapping him on the back. "Merry Christmas, son."
What? This is by far the nicest I have ever seen Haymitch be to anyone. I count myself lucky if I get so much as a grunt and a scowl out of him.
"Merry Christmas, Haymitch," Peeta says, smiling broadly at the older man. "How's business?"
Haymitch snorts a laugh at this. "Business? Well plenty of hungry mouths to feed. Does that mean business is good?" He actually gives Peeta a small, grimace-like smile. Apparently his ability to charm isn't limited to security guards.
Peeta gestures toward the van and says, "Well, maybe we can make it a few less, huh?" God, that smile should be illegal, or at least banned in public places. It has to be a health hazard.
Haymitch pats him on the back again. "Good man, good man. Did the ol' lady give you any trouble?"
"Nah," Peeta answers, "what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Dad and I loaded the truck by ourselves while she did some shopping."
"Well, that explains it," Haymitch says nodding.
I don't follow his meaning, but I can probably chalk that up to my general bewilderment with the whole situation. Never in a million years did I think I would see Peeta Mellark, the boy I have thought about every single day for the past ten years, today. This unexpected turn of events in my wretched, boring life has set me totally off kilter.
Peeta and Haymitch continue to talk easily but I stop listening entirely when Peeta removes his knit cap revealing his messy blonde curls. He riffles his hand through them absently and I become totally transfixed by the sight of the short, silky locks slipping through his fingers.
The sound of Prim's soft voice mercifully startles me out of my trance and I look over to see she is saying something to me. I can't make sense of her words at first so I ask stupidly, "Huh?"
She smiles knowingly and repeats herself. "I asked where the bathroom is."
"Oh, um, through that door and to the right," I say, pointing toward the kitchen.
She turns and walks away just as Haymitch is saying, "Well, I better get back to work, but it was good seeing you, son. Don't be a stranger." He shakes Peeta's hand again as the younger man bids him good evening. As Haymitch walks away he doesn't even glance in my direction as he barks, "Help the kid unload the van, Sweetheart. You can take off whenever you finish."
I roll my eyes at Haymitch and look back to Peeta just in time to catch him glancing down at my chest, eyes obviously drawn by the sight of my bra through my shirt. Oh my god, could a hole please open up and swallow me now? His already flushed face is becoming darker by the second and I realize that he is blushing. Oh wow. It hits me that he was actually just checking me out and is embarrassed because I caught him. He smiles shyly, avoiding eye contact with me, and clears his throat. "Well, um, I guess I should unload this," he says quietly, nodding toward the van.
I follow behind him silently and wait while he opens up the van's back doors. He steps into the back, and then holds out his hand to me so that I can more easily cross the wide gap between the van and the dock floor. It is dark inside and, for some reason, not being able to see him clearly makes me feel his presence even more intensely. I try to stand unobtrusively off to the side as he begins pulling out bags and bins and setting them toward the doors.
"Is there, um… something I can do, um, to help," I stutter out awkwardly.
I can just barely make out his head glancing toward me and the faint flash of white teeth gives away his grin in the dark. "It's okay, Katniss. I am just sorting stuff. I got it for now."
Holy shit. He knows my real name? "How did you…" I trail off, feeling uncertain all of a sudden.
He laughs quietly at my confusion. "The blond girl in there said your name when she was trying to get your attention," he clarifies.
"Oh, right," I say, trying to sound as if I knew that and was just recalling it.
"It's kind of weird," he intones after a few moments of silence. "I'm not sure if I'll be able to get used to it after thinking of you as 'Lisa' all these years."
Holy fucking hell… He did recognize me. And he has been thinking about me 'all these years.' I don't even know what to make of that information, but I don't miss the pleasant swooping sensation in my stomach and the spark of excitement that courses through me at his words. I want to tell him that I appreciate what he did and that I am not ungrateful even though I acted like I was ten years ago. I want to tell him that I have thought about him every day since that day. I want to throw myself at him and bury my hands in his silky curls, push my face to his neck to breathe in his aroma, and press my body along the entire length of his. Instead I just stand here silently, cursing myself for being such a coward.
I am still trying to formulate a response when I sense him moving toward me. I freeze, thinking for a second that he is going to kiss me as he comes toward me, standing close. But he reaches out a hand and grabs the locket that hangs from my neck and cradles it in his cupped fingers. I am relieved because, let's face it, I barely know him, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't just a little disappointed too.
"I can't believe you still have this," he murmurs softly. I thrill at the sensation of this warm breath whispering across my face.
"I didn't steal it for myself," I say defiantly, meeting his gaze.
"You didn't steal it at all," he responds quietly, his eyes not leaving my face. "I bought it for you."
"For my mom actually," I correct him. I expect him to ask why I have it now, but he must sense that it is a sensitive subject because he doesn't question me further.
Our little bubble of intimacy is broken as we hear the door to the kitchen swing open announcing Prim's return. She approaches the van, looking back and forth between the two of us, her attention eventually settling on me with a raised eyebrow.
"Peeta, this is my sister, Prim. Prim, Peeta Mellark," I finally speak up to introduce them awkwardly.
Prim and Peeta both lean over to shake hands over the gap between the loading dock and the van. "It's very nice to meet you Prim," Peeta says politely. The two make small talk for a few moments with Prim asking how we know each other and Peeta responding vaguely that we met once several years ago.
Between the three of us it only takes ten minutes or so to unload the van, with Peeta insisting on doing all the heavy lifting and me stubbornly refusing to let him. I am becoming exasperated with the meaningful glances Prim directs at me after even the most innocent and inane communication between Peeta and I.
Once we have unloaded the van, Peeta continues to help us load up the carts with the bins of bread and releasing the chain to let down the roll-up door. When every possible bit of work is completed he takes his time pulling his beanie out of his back pocket and putting it on, then adjusting his gloves. I think he might be delaying having to leave, which excites me even though I am not certain I understand why.
Prim is suddenly fascinated by the binder that we have people sign when they drop off donations, which sits on a small metal table several feet away. I can't repress my sigh at her obvious attempt to give Peeta and I a few minutes alone.
We stand awkwardly, hands fidgeting and feet shuffling, for another brief moment before Peeta speaks up again. "So, um, Katniss, I was wondering if it would be okay I like, called you sometime… or something." I am somewhat surprised at how nervous he seems. Is this the same guy that charmed his way out of possible shoplifting charges and made a friend of the surliest old drunk I have ever known? I can't deny that I find it kind of adorable that he suddenly seems shy to ask me for my number.
I stand there chewing my lip. I want to say yes… I really want to say yes. But suddenly I am filled with doubt as all the reasons I have avoided dating in the past filter through my mind. I am poor and he clearly has money, I have a high school education and he is probably about to graduate from college, he is kind and generous and I only look out for myself and my sister… My sister. If I lose focus on Prim, who will take care of her? Who will make sure she has everything she needs and make sure she is studying hard and make sure nobody ever breaks her heart?
But in the end, the decision doesn't come down to me. "She would love for you to call her sometime, Peeta," Prim calls from where she stands over by the table. I should have known she was eavesdropping
I blush and glare at her, "Prim!"
"What? I know you want to say yes. You're probably over there thinking of a thousand reasons not to." She smirks as I look away, knowing she is right.
I look up and meet Peeta's eyes. "I guess that would be okay," I say softly. His face splits in a broad smile and I think I might stop breathing. Yes, definitely a health hazard.
He hands over his phone so that I can put my number in it. I am trying hard to repress my shy smile, but Peeta doesn't even bother. He seems thrilled that I agreed to let him call me. Sheesh, I haven't even agreed to go out with him or anything yet.
I hand his phone back and I can clearly hear reluctance in his tone as he says, "Well, I guess I should probably get going. I'll call you, okay? Soon… Probably way sooner than guy code says I should."
His last words rouse a laugh out of me and I nod, walking with him over to the door. I hold it as he steps across the threshold and we both just stand there staring at each other for a minute, grinning like a couple of idiots.
"Okay," he says finally, shaking his head, "I'm going now." But he still doesn't turn away.
"Bye, Peeta. I'll talk to you soon." I don't make a move to leave either.
"Close the damn door, Sweetheart! I'm not paying to heat the outdoors!" We both jump at Haymitch's interruption and Peeta finally starts down the stairs, looking over his shoulder at me repeatedly and then gives me a little wave before he gets in the van.
I stand at the door, ignoring Haymitch's griping, and watch until the red van has pulled into the alley and out of sight. I direct a scowl at Haymitch as I turn back around. "Since when do we get donations from Mellark Family Bakery?"
"Only when the kid is home from school. The ol' man can't sneak us anything when his wife is working with him, but when he's got the boy with him, they bring the left over bread at the end of the day."
"Katniss has a date with him," Prim sing-songs, teasing me.
"I do not have a date with him," I correct her and she just rolls her eyes, clearly just considering that a technicality.
Haymitch grunts at this. "Oh yeah? Well, he's a damn good kid. You could do a lot worse, you know."