My mother, worn eyes and natural scowl apparent. Her face is red from crying. Slowly but with jerking movements, she goes to the couch but does not sit. Her arms cross in front of her chest and she says nothing. We simply stare at one another, not really looking. Then, feeling as if I can do no better, I stand and wrap my arms around her. She loosens under my arms and hugs back uncomfortably. My mother has never been one for affection. She is more favorable of discipline. But I never blame her, I can't.
"You'll be okay." She says into my shoulder. It was a barely audible whisper and I wonder if it is for me.
"You will." I tell her. "You have dad and John and Bret. You don't need me." We are silent for a minute. I hold her, because, honestly, this is the longest I've ever hugged my mother. She forbid it when I was younger. She had told me that too much physical contact could start attachment. And I guess she was right. I can see why someone might consider that option if they had children. What, with the Hunger Games letting go of someone is unbearable. Maybe no affection was her way of letting us go before we got chosen. Or maybe this is my way of explaining something I can't.
"Peeta," she says. "listen to me. I have always loved you and I always will. I'm sorry if I ever made you doubt that. Just try your best, all right? That girl, Katniss, she's good. She can help you."
Then the Peacekeeper came back which made me realize how long I had been in her embrace. She pulled away and touched her palm to my cheek. Removing her eyes from my face, she walked through the door, but not before I could hear the unmistakable words.
"District Twelve may actually have a victor this year." She whispered as the door shut. My heart sank low. From her previous words to the ones she just spoke, I knew. She didn't mean me.