Consuming
The next morning, I gaze at the jars sitting on the counter. Mother calls, "How about you and Katniss go collect some things to eat while I inspect the jam? We can have a sort of tea party in the afternoon."
I look at Katniss, and she nods. "Prim and I can go to town for bread, and along the way, we can might as well feed Lady at the Meadow," she replies thoughtfully.
My mother gives us a wave with her hand, and we trudge outside. Katniss picks up some squirrels from a basket. "I just went hunting this morning, luckily," Katniss comments, eyeing the three squirrels in her hand. "Should be enough for a loaf of bread." I open the worn down fence where Lady resides. She bleats in response. I loosely attach a leather leash around her neck and snout.
We walk over in town. As Katniss continues to the bakery, I stop in the Meadow to feed Lady.
Stroking her head, I watch her nibble the grass and dandelions. Her milky white fur tickles my fingertips. The feeling is calm and rather therapeutic. We wait, Lady pecking at the grass and I, basking in the warm sunlight. Minutes pass and Katniss finally returns with a loaf of bread.
"I was hoping for some more, but we'll have to do. It is good bread, after all," Katniss informs me. She rips off the edge of bread and offers it to me. I shake my head in reply. She samples it for herself. "A lot better than the tessarae bread we make at home," she mumbles.
At home, we put away Lady, and we find mother setting up the frugal table in the middle of our house. She lays down a faded, dingy tablecloth, a metal teapot, three carved teacups, a wooden spoon, a knife, and three aluminum plates.
Katniss sets down the bread in the middle of the table, still wrapped up in the cloth she brought with her.
Mother brings out an entire jar of jam. She smiles at Katniss and I. "We haven't had such a lavish meal in so long," she murmurs. Her smile quickly droops, as usual. She's been happier in the last few days than normally.
We sit down at the table. There's always one empty chair. Mother has never moved it, and nor do I want for the chair to move. Sometimes, I like to pretend that Dad is still here, eating with us and watching over us. I wonder if Mother ever does the same. She's always locked up in her own fantasy world, so sometimes I like to think I can too.
Mother pries open the jar while Katniss cuts up the bread. She hands out a piece for everyone. "I'm sure we'll have enough for seconds today," Katniss says, "But for now, I'll just give a piece out." We spread generous amounts of jam on our bread.
"I boiled some tea," Mother mentions, gesticulating towards the teapot. I pour the tea into each of our cups, saving a little in the pot. Mother even adds a touch of leftover honey, since we can't afford sugar, and some of Lady's cream.
"Maybe this was a good idea," Mother remarks. "The jam is so fresh and brings back such good memories."
Katniss nods. I can tell she is biting back hundreds of insults, but she's saving them, somehow, for later or simply for herself.
"How much do you think we should trade or sell to the market?" Katniss asks, pondering.
"I think we should keep at least a jar or two for ourselves. We have about four more," Mother answers.
The conversation is stiff and awkward, but we are getting along, or at least attempting to. Today, we all feel Dad's absence. It's subtle, but then it crept along as we continued. I never knew him as well as Katniss did, but he was still my father. I remember his hoarse, low laugh and his bright, glistening smile he used to give me everyday. The chair across from me is empty, and it's as if the happiness he carried with him is gone as well. It's been so long since he died, but I still am mourning over him.
I still clean his shaving mirror everyday. It became a daily habit, something I did without thought. It became nearly robotic – it had no meaning behind it. I miss my father so much, yet I have hardly felt his absence until now, when I sit with my all of my family for the first time in a few years.
We merely eat and occasionally sip our tea now; all of our talking has died away. Buttercup makes his way under my chair and purrs by my foot. I smile.
Is this closest my family will ever be? Sometimes, I feel as if I am the one who carries the burden with keeping our family together. Katniss is the breadwinner of our family, but I carry the emotional aspect of our family together. Katniss distrusts my mother, and my mother is simply appalled, creating tension. Some have called me "an innocent angel", "a sweet daughter". My mother, she tries so hard to please us, but she is always sucked back into her vortex of sadness. I have heard Katniss tell Gale I am that reason she refuses to leave home, to run away from this madness. I do genuinely believe that my mother will heal. She is, in fact. She comforts me when nightmares swallow me in my sleep, she is there when I come home from school with Katniss as well, and she is becoming happier.
I have been through too much at this age.
In a few years, I believe that our family will come back together. I gnaw on my piece of jam-covered bread. A sharp sour taste overflows my mouth, only to be replaced by a sweet, pleasant flavor. Maybe our family is like that – tart at first, but eventually, a little worn down and a little wholesome.
A/N: That's the end of my little three-shot! Hopefully you enjoyed reading this! The prologue of To No One, my prequel to Unopened Letters, should come out within at least a week. Thank you for reading this, and I hope you have a great day!