Am I stupid or what?
Offering this girl, who I have met twice and said about two words to, a job in my father's cafe..without even consulting my father first? I must be out of my mind.
Katniss stands in front of me, grinning from ear to ear. "Really?! Are you sure? I mean..you don't want a resume, at least?" she says excitedly, biting her bottom lip.
I can't help but chuckle, "Uh, yeah..sure. Be here tomorrow, 9am, ready to work and with a copy of your resume. I have good people skills, you see, so I knew from the moment I met you that you would be a good employee."
She laughs, thanks me and runs out of the cafe.
"I have good people skills? Really, Mellark?" I mutter to myself as I watch her climb into her old pickup truck and drive off. I sigh and rub the back of my neck with my hand. So, I offered a complete stranger a job, because I can't control my own words. How am I going to explain this to my father.
I'm rearranging the display cases when my father returns from the market. He's carrying an abundant supply of groceries and is having trouble. I rush over to help him, catching a bag of sugar before it crashes to the floor and splits open. I relieve him of the heaviest bags and bring them into the kitchen.
"My boy, always there when I need him," he huffs, smiling as he sets the bags on the counter. Trying to catch his breath he stumbles to a chair and sits down, wiping his brown with a handkerchief.
My father has always had health problems. He has never been the most fit man in the world, and that's coupled with issues with his heart and lungs, most likely from years of smoking when we were growing up. I've always worried about him, ever since I was little. He's had some severe health scares over the years, and my brothers and I have, unfortunately, seen it all. We were there when the doctor's informed him that he would need to have bypass surgery. We were there when he suffered from pneumonia. The worst of them all, I would have to say, happened when I was a mere four years old. My brothers were seven and eleven, so they had a slight better understanding of the problems that had been going on in our household for quite some time. I was the baby, and so I was sheltered from the worst of it. I was never around to hear the shouting matches my parents had-which my brothers told me happened almost daily-and I never witnessed our mother lash out at our father, hitting him with wooden spoons and metal pans. I noticed the wounds of course, but as I was basically still a baby my father would make up some heroic tale about a monster he fought, and I would believe it. One day however, I was there to witness what I can probably say is the worst moment of my life. My brothers, my father and I were in the kitchen of our old apartment building, father was teaching us how to bake his famous cheese buns, when all of a sudden our mother came crashing through the door; looking for blood.
Mother had never been the most pleasant person to be around. Everything about her was cold; her personality and even her appearance. Her black hair, always pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, the shades of grey she used to wear that washed out her skin tone and made the bags under her brown eyes stand out. I don't ever recall a day where she told any of us that she loved us, or where she was showing any kind of affection at all. She was the disciplinarian, and would smack us if need be. Her words were always cutting and sarcastic, even as a small child I knew when she was being condescending or rude. As the baby of the family, you would think I was spared most of her hatred. That however, was not the case. I was always the target of her anger; always the one taking the brute force of it all. Once, she even hit me, giving me a black eye my father told everyone had been caused by rough-housing with my brothers. When I was old enough to understand what had gone on, my oldest brother Vienna told me that when mother was pregnant with me, she had wanted nothing more than to have a daughter. She had even made little pink dresses and hair bows. When it turned out I was a boy, she was extremely upset and disappointed, and from the moment of my birth she didn't want much to do with me. Besides feeding me, she didn't associate with me much. Needless to say, my mother and I never had a relationship, and I never found out if she was really as terrible as she seemed to be.
Mother burst through the door, obviously extremely upset about something. My father picked me up off the chair I was using as a stool and handed me to Vienna, shoving us behind him protectively. He had always done everything he could to protect us from her wrath, but sometimes even he wasn't able to. He took most of her abuse, and this day was the worst it would ever get.
She screamed at him, profanities, insults, accusations, anything she could think of, I believe. My father stood there quietly, taking it all without even flinching. This made her even more angry, and she began pounding his chest with her fists. The three of us had backed away and were hiding under the kitchen table, watching. We could see our father's face, he was wincing in pain but still didn't move an inch. That's when she started screaming about leaving him, and taking all three of us with her. This rattled my father and he began to respond. I remember him pleading with her, begging her not to do that, not to leave him and take his children. To this day I do not understand why he begged her not to leave. Not to take us, sure, but not to leave him? She had done nothing but make him miserable and abuse him; but my father is one of a kind. He still loved her unconditionally, that's why he had married her, had three children with her, and why he begged her to stay. As his resolve crumbled, her blows got more intense and rough. She pounded his chest so hard, I was sure I saw it cave in. We should've known that with a heart as weak as his what happened next was coming.
All of a sudden father's face twisted with pain, and he cried out, collapsing to the floor. Mother stood there, hands curled into fists, father laying at her feet groaning in pain and clutching his chest. Her eyes went wide, and she looked at us hiding under the table. I remember Vienna and Rye screaming at her to leave, tears pouring down their cheeks. I was a statue, I couldn't make a noise or move an inch. My eyes moved to my father's figure slumped on the floor, which had now gone still. Then, I screamed, and pointed to his lifeless body, running towards him in a panic. My mother too, looked down and gasped. She looked around the room and with one last glance at us, took off out the door. My brothers called the ambulance and father was taken to the hospital. He had suffered a heart attack-his already weak hear coupled with the trauma my mother had caused was too much for him. Fortunately for us he recovered smoothly and was back on his feet in no time.
We haven't seen our mother since that day, 17 years ago. Sometimes I think I miss her, and then I remember what she did and who she was, and any of those feelings are gone as quickly as they came. I will never forgive her for hating me, or what she did to my father.
Since then he hasn't really been the same. Heartbroken, I guess, even though her leaving was probably the best thing that could have happened to our family; it saved us. Father filed for divorce as soon as he got his strength back, and when she didn't bother to show up to court or the custody hearing, the divorce was granted and father given full custody of all three of us. Even as the youngest, I like to think that I tried the hardest to help take care of him after this all happened. Little four year old Peeta's mission in life became to be there for his father; and I have been, every day since then. So when my father says I'm always there when he needs me, it gives me a sense of pride and accomplishment.
"Are you feeling alright? Do you need a glass of water?" I ask, crouching down in front of him. He smiles at me and pats my cheek, shaking his head. I take a deep breath and decide now is a good a time as any. "Also, there is something I wanted to talk to you about," I begin, smiling sheepishly. He nods for me to continue, still trying to catch his breath. "Well, you see. Today a girl..woman..came into the cafe and asked about the help wanted sign out front. She asked if she could bring in a resume..and..well I have met her a couple of times before..and…I..uh..told her there was no need to and she could start tomorrow," I finish in one breath, avoiding his gaze.
He pauses for a moment and then laughs loudly. I look up at him and he's still smiling. "Well my son, you always have had good judgement. Sounds like you're interested in this girl as well. Any call you make on employees is fine by me. Of course she can have the job; and of course you can train her."
I grin from ear to ear and throw my arms around his neck. When I realize I'm being way too excited I retract my arms and cough, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Okay, cool. So, yeah. Thanks, dad," I say casually, getting up to put the groceries away.
Father chuckles and mumbles something under his breath that sounds a hell of a lot like 'no fucking on the job'.
She's here.
I'm standing behind the counter, counting the money in the register when I see her truck pull up in front of the shop. I clear my throat as she gets out and grabs her purse, looking both ways before jogging across the street. She walks through the door and smiles, waving at me. I wave back, trying to resist the urge to break out into the biggest grin.
She looks fantastic. She's wearing light blue skinny jeans with a slight rip in one knee, and a plaid shirt over a red tank top that's skin tight, her breasts straining against it. Her silky brown hair is in what I've assumed to be her usual style; a braid thrown over her shoulder. She's right in front of me when I snap out of my reverie, still smiling.
"So boss, what's on the agenda first?"