A/N: The file that I upload to this site to write my chapters is a Word document of an old Physiology essay. So...if I ever accidentally post a chapter about eukaryotic animal cells and the Krebs Cycle, you'll know what happened lolz.
"Mia, if you don't hold still, this isn't going to turn out," I huffed impatiently through a mouthful of bobby pins.
"But you're pulling my hair," Mia whined. "It hurts." I tried to take a deep breath, but Mia was being especially difficult that morning. It was Thursday, her birthday, and she'd asked me to do her hair the way that I usually did mine. The trouble was, my energetic five (or I guess six now) year old did not have the words 'sitting still' in her vocabulary.
"It wouldn't hurt so much if you didn't keep moving." The words came out more harshly than I'd meant them to and guilt swept over me when I saw her face settle into an offended expression. I loved being a mother, but it was just a fact of life that some days would be harder than others. I was about to resume braiding now that she was finally still, albeit sulking, when there was a knock on the door.
Both Mia and I looked up in surprise. No one ever usually came to the apartment other than Johanna, and she had long since forgone knocking before entering; I'd given her a copy of the key and she knew she could come and go as she pleased. My first thought, as I set the bobby pins down on the kitchen table, was that it was Seneca coming to give me a few choice words about last week, but I opened the door to a much more welcome surprise.
"Peeta? What are you doing here?" He was standing in the doorway with a warm smile on his face. He had a gray pea coat on and a navy blue scarf wrapped around his neck. My eyes drifted down to the white box in his hands. I recognized it immediately: one of the cake boxes from the bakery.
"Sorry, I hope this is alright..." he said somewhat sheepishly, ducking his head. "I just wanted to wish Mia a happy birthday before you guys took off for Madame Tussaud's."
"Who's there?" I heard Mia calling from the chair I'd left her in. I stared at Peeta for a minute and then burst out laughing. He looked puzzled.
"No, no...I'm sorry," I giggled. "It's just...you're so nice it almost makes me mad."
"Well, I can be more of a douchebag if you want," he said lowly. I laughed again and opened the door wider so that he could step out of the cold.
"Peeta!" Mia squealed excitedly the minute she caught sight of him. She launched herself from her chair towards him, standing on tiptoe as she tried to see what was in the white box he was holding.
"Hey, squirt. Happy birthday." Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, their coolness shining in the light coming in from the window by the door.
"How'd you know?" she asked in awe.
"Your mom told me, so I thought I'd come surprise you."
"Yeah, and me too," I added jokingly. Then I noticed the braiding I'd managed to get into Mia's hair was coming unraveled as she bounced around Peeta trying to get him to show her what was in the box. "Oh, your hair's coming undone," I sighed, rubbing my forehead. When I braided my own hair, it took all of five minutes, but braiding Mia's hair felt like it was taking hours. Peeta seemed to sense my frustration because he quickly leapt into action.
"Hey, tell you what. I'll show you what's in the box if you sit real still in that chair so your mom can finish your hair. Deal?"
"Deal!" Mia agreed emphatically before prancing over to hop into the chair and making a show of sitting still as a statue.
"Oh sure...she listens to you," I grumbled at Peeta, though I could barely conceal my grin.
"Well, I have a secret weapon on my side." He lifted the box and wiggled his eyebrows, making me laugh again. I started on Mia's hair once more while she waited with baited breath as Peeta pulled up a chair in front of her and sat down with the box in his lap. "I remember your mom told me your favorite show was The Winx Club, so I did a little research and..." He lifted the lid to the box, unveiling what was inside. Even I had to pause what I was doing to look.
It was a round cake with eggshell white frosting as the base. The top and bottom edges were bordered with swirls of sky blue frosting. Bright pink and yellow flowers bloomed down the sides of it. On top was what really took the cake, though (excuse the terrible pun). Perfect frosted replicas of all six fairies from the show smiled up at us, their wings made out of a edible glitter. We took a good two minutes to marvel at his handiwork. "Gluten free, of course," he added.
"Wow," Mia whispered, reaching out like she wanted to touch it. "That's so cool. How'd you do it?" While Peeta explained to her how he'd found pictures online and then traced their outlines onto the cake using a special edible ink, I managed to get Mia's whole braid done in a matter of minutes. Much easier now that she was captivated by Peeta's story.
"Okay button, all done." I stroked the braid and she nuzzled into my hand. I saw Peeta smile and he moved the cake from his lap to set it on the table.
"Alright, I should probably get going then. Just wanted to stop in and say hi." He moved to stand up, but Mia caught his large hand in her own small one.
"Wait!" she cried. "Aren't you coming with us to the museum?" Peeta opened his mouth, looking like he wasn't quite sure what to say. Mia turned her round eyes on me, a pleading look. "Mommy, can he come? Pleeeaaaase?" she begged, drawing out her please extra long for added effect.
"Honey, I'm sure Peeta has things he has to do today," I floundered, looking to him while Mia pouted. He cleared his throat and ran a hand down the back of his neck.
"Well, actually..." he began, "My dad let me off early 'cause we've been super slow today, and I didn't really have anything planned..." He trailed off, and Mia took his words as an agreement to come.
"Yes! This is the best birthday ever!" She was wrapped around his legs in an instant, her face buried in his jeans. He looked taken aback at first but then lowered his hands to her small shoulders, patting them gently. When Mia ran off to her room to locate some stuffed animal she insisted on bringing with her, I leveled Peeta with a stare and shook my head.
"You didn't have to do that, you know," I told him, feeling bad that I was taking his day off away from him, but he just shrugged.
"It's better than anything else I could think to be doing with my time." Despite myself, I blushed and turned away to pull my sneakers on.
"Oh, and just so you know...My friend Johanna is gonna tag along to so-" As if on cue, the door burst open, missing colliding with my face by mere centimeters, and in strolled Johanna in a black trench coat complete with dark sunglasses and bright red lipstick.
"Honey, I'm home!" She grinned at me, baring her impossibly white teeth.
"Jesus Christ, Jo," I snapped. "You nearly decapitated me. And why do you look like you just stepped off the set of The Matrix?" She ignored my question and at first I thought it was just because she was Johanna and Johanna liked to ignore my questions, but then she took off her sunglasses and I saw that her eyes had fallen on Peeta. Oh yeah...the other person in my apartment. "Johanna, this is Peeta Mellark from work. Peeta, this is Johanna Mason, my incredibly rude best friend."
"Nice to meet you," Peeta said, offering Johanna his hand to shake. She chanced a quick glance in my direction and then grasped it. "Katniss talks about you a lot." How did he remember all these things I'd told him? Some of the stuff, I didn't even remember.
"Oh I'm sure she does." Johanna placed her sunglasses on her head. Then she held up a large bouquet of pink roses I'd failed to notice before. "I brought flowers!" she directed at me.
"Umm...thanks?"
"Not for you, brainless. For the birthday girl. Where is she, anyway?" She peered around the apartment and then Mia came racing out of her bedroom with her stuffed polar bear, Misty Lovelace. Unfortunately, Johanna had been the one to help her christen most all of her plush toys and every single one of them had a stripper name. Her stuffed giraffe was named Peaches Merlot. "There she is. How's it feel to be six, babe?"
"Awesome! Guess what?! Peeta's coming with us to the museum!"
"He is, is he?" Johanna said keenly, swiveling her head to give me a suggestive smirk. I refused to take the bait.
"He brought cake. How could I not invite him?" I gestured to the still open cake box on the kitchen table and Johanna handed the flowers to Mia so that she could go over and peer inside. I saw her eyebrows go up and her mouth open just slightly.
"Well gee, Peeta Mellark, way to out-fucking-do me," she hissed at him jokingly so that Mia couldn't hear. "What else did you bring? A loaf of bread with a sesame seed replica of the Mona Lisa on it?"
"Nah, when I make bread art, I usually go for the Rembrandt's," Peeta deadpanned. Johanna fixed him with a flat look but then started to chuckle darkly.
"Oh perfect, he's cute and funny. Just marry him now, Katniss."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's get this show on the road," I grumbled, hoping my embarrassment didn't come through in my voice. I helped Mia into her coat and slung my purse over my shoulder. It felt heavier than usual due to the box of granola bars and pack of juice pouches I'd crammed into it, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. A hungry Mia was a cranky Mia, and a cranky Mia was never a good one. The same went for Johanna.
"So, you got any brothers?" Johanna asked Peeta as we made our way out to my car.
"Two, actually," he answered.
"Oh goody."
Madame Tussaud's could usually be counted upon to be swarming with tourists, but as it was an unusually brusque Thursday afternoon, it was fairly empty when we got there. Peeta refused to let me pay for his ticket, but Johanna seemed to have no qualms about it. At least they weren't terribly expensive. I hadn't been to the wax museum in years. It'd been sort of a novelty when I'd first moved to New York, so me and a group of friends had gone to see it and left somewhat nonplussed. We'd all found it a little eerie to be enjoyable and the gift shop had made it feel a bit like a tourist trap to us.
Being here with Peeta and Johanna, and seeing Mia's excitement made it more bearable this time around. It was somewhat dimly lit inside, but the wax figures posed illuminated under spotlights. In just the first room, I could make out Angelina Jolie, Whoopi Goldberg, Marilyn Monroe, and Leonardo DiCaprio. More rooms appeared to follow.
"Wow," Johanna said, examining a figure of Brad Pitt. "I'm impressed. These are pretty lifelike."
"Yeah, definitely. But the way Brad's staring at me is making me a little uncomfortable." Johanna laughed at me.
"Only you, Katniss, would be uncomfortable if Brad Pitt was staring at you."
Mia was practically squealing with excitement, flitting from figure to figure and making me take about fifty pictures of her at each one. "Mom, look! It's Mr. Dasgupta from Curry in a Hurry!" she yelped, running over to a figure of Gandhi. All three of us doubled over in laughter, and she stared at us in confusion until I explained who the figure really was.
We wandered from room to room, howling with laughter at the figures whose faces had been locked in unfortunate expressions. "Dude, President Bush looks constipated," Peeta pointed out. Johanna and I had to clutch our sides. Then she spotted something, or rather someone.
"Ooh, ooh! Come take a picture of me with my future husband!" She threw her arms around a stoically mustachioed Johnny Depp and posed pressing her lips to his waxy cheek.
"Jo, I feel like that's probably really unsanitary. Do you know how many other people have probably done the same thing?"
"Just take the damn picture," she said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of Johnny's goatee. I reluctantly complied, and soon she had me posing for pictures as well. Peeta snapped a good one of us sitting on Abraham Lincoln's lap, and Johanna took a hilarious shot of Peeta diva-posing with Beyoncé. And of course, Mia had me take a million pictures of her and Misty Lovelace next to Taylor Swift. The fact that her smile stretched the expanse of her entire face gave me the patience to do so.
When we finally left, all four of us had toothy grins plastered on our faces. The grumbling in our stomachs led us to a mass consensus that we should stop somewhere to grab an early dinner. "Let's go to Curry in a Hurry," Johanna joked. "Maybe we'll run into Gandhi while we're there."
"Hey, I know this really great pizza place not too far from here." Johanna, Mia and I turned our attention to Peeta. Pizza...we were listening. "I know the woman who runs it; she's an old family friend. They have a gluten-free crust, too." I looked from Mia to Johanna and both nodded in agreement.
"Okay. Pizza it is. Lead the way, Peeta." The restaurant was about a ten minute walk from Madame Tussaud's. Along the way, we encountered a crowd of onlookers gathered around a trio of breakdancing men. A boom box blared just loud enough to be heard over the cheers. I laughed in shock when one of the men flipped himself upside down and began to spin around and around on his head, separated from the ground by nothing more than a flattened cardboard box.
"I can't see!" Mia yelled, craning up on her tiptoes. Without a word, Peeta had her up on his shoulders.
"Better?" he asked. Her laughter and wild clapping seemed an answer in the affirmative. I found myself staring at Peeta; this man with my daughter perched on his shoulders so that she could see over the crowd. Johanna caught me looking and nudged me with her elbow, winking. I stuck out my tongue. And then I smelled it.
It was a hauntingly familiar scent, one of stale cigarettes and metal, and I placed it immediately with his face though it didn't belong. Not here. My eyes scanned the people surrounding me. I thought I saw the back of a blonde head somewhere ahead, but I couldn't make out a face in that crowd. Just as soon as I blinked, the scent and whoever it had belonged to seemed to have vanished, but the chill that had settled in my bones remained. "Hey, you okay? You look you're about to pass out." Johanna gripped my arm with concern, as though afraid I would topple over. I just nodded and pulled my eyes back to the dancers, who were starting to wrap up their performance.
"Fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew. C'mon, let's go. I'm starving."
The pizza place, it turned out, was called Greasy Sae's Pizza Parlor. "It's better than it sounds, I swear," Peeta reassured us. It was warm inside and smelled like cheese and basil. The walls were lined with old, autographed pictures of all the famous people who'd visited.
'Thanks for the slice, Sae! xoxo, 50' read a signed picture of 50 Cent. I laughed.
"Hi there, what can I-Oh! Peeta!" An old woman in an apron with her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun hobbled out to the front.
"Hi, Sae." Peeta stepped forward to give the woman a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"
"Oh you know..." Sae laughed. "These old bones aren't what they used to be, but I'm getting by." Her watery blue eyes shifted to the rest of us. "Who are your lady friends?" she asked Peeta with a smirk.
"This is Katniss and her daughter Mia." He pointed and we waved slightly in reply. "And this is Johanna."
"Nice to meet you all. Now...what can I get for you? You look hungry." We ordered a large half cheese, half Italian sausage pie on gluten-free crust and an order of breadsticks to go along with it.
"Woah!" Mia exclaimed when I pulled off a slice of cheese for her. "It's bigger than my face!"
"Pass me your phone," Johanna garbled around a mouthful of breadstick. "I need to see which pictures I want to send myself so I can post them on Facebook. I handed it to her and she quickly swiped the passcode in, getting grease on the screen. I tried not to cringe. "Nope...nope...ooh yes," she muttered to herself as she flipped through the photo album, chewing absently on her pizza slice. "Aww, look," she said quietly to me after awhile. "You look just like a little family."
She held the phone out and one of the pictures from the museum came into focus. Peeta and I were sitting on a sofa adjacent to a wax Oprah, with Mia wedged in between us. I blushed and pushed the phone back to her saying "Yeah, it's cute" and returned to eating my pizza.
An hour later, we were all back at my apartment, sitting on the couch or floor with paper plates of cake in our laps. Mia was happily surrounded by wrapping paper from the gifts I'd dug out of their hiding place in my closet. At the moment, she was patiently reading the direction booklet that came with a friendship bracelet kit, her small pink tongue sticking out from between her lips.
"Alright," Johanna yawned. She scraped the last bit of cake off of the plate and stood up. "I should probably get going. Told Finn I'd go to some god-awful concert with him and Annie. The Radioactive Waffle Brigade or something with an equally disturbing name." Finnick and Annie were Johanna's "married friends", high school sweethearts that had tied the knot as soon as they graduated. I'd met them a couple of times and they were so cute together that it sometimes induced my gag reflex.
I glanced at the clock on my DVD player. Jeeze...was it seven o' clock already? "You're not staying for the movie?" Mia asked. She'd informed us all that were going to be watching her newly acquired copy of Despicable Me 2 when we finished our cake.
"Sorry babe, but I gotta jet. Happy birthday." Johanna kissed Mia on the top of her head, gave me a quick hug, and waved goodbye to Peeta. Then she was disappearing out the door. Mia frowned for a moment, but then held up the DVD.
"Movie?"
"Alright, yes. Let's watch it already." I laughed and rolled my eyes. Oh what I wouldn't give to be a kid again and get so excited over little things like watching a movie. I noticed Peeta settling back into the couch and placing his hands behind his head. "Peeta, you don't have to hang around while we watch Despicable Me. I mean, I know I have no life, but that doesn't mean you should too," I told him in an undertone while Mia was putting the DVD in.
"Are you kidding me?" Peeta said with a wide grin, "I've been wanting to see this since it came out!" And so we dimmed the lights and found comfortable positions: me curled up on my side with my head on the arm of the sofa, Peeta reclining with his feet on the coffee table, and Mia sitting crisscross applesauce in between us. When the opening credits started to roll, I found my mind beginning to stray to what Johanna had said earlier in the pizza parlor. About how the three of us looked like a little family.
Wasn't what we were doing right then something that a family would do together? My stomach clenched at the thought. I didn't know how I felt about that, or rather I wasn't ready to address how I felt about it. The implications overwhelmed and frightened me, filling my head with swirling trains of thought that ended in confusion.
I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking it would only be for a moment so that I could gather myself, but when I opened them again I could feel that it was much later than I'd anticipated. My right hand, which had been squished between my cheek and the couch, was in pins and needles and I had the dull headache that often accompanies short, unplanned naps.
Before I could move and fully awaken, I felt other movement on the sofa below me. I saw a figure that could only belong to Peeta rise in the outskirts of my vision. He stooped down for something and then walked directly into my line of sight. Silently, I watched while he carried Mia, with her arms around his neck and her face resting in the crook of his broad shoulder, to her room. He returned a moment later to find me propped up on my elbow, staring at where he had remerged from the door.
"Oh hey, you're up," he remarked gently. "I guess you guys were tired. I hope you don't mind...Mia looked pretty uncomfortable, so I just put her in her bed. Poor thing was so out of it I don't even think she realized I moved her." He chuckled to himself and brought his hand to the back of his head again. I just continued to stare at him. Then...
"It's short for Mireille." Peeta paused where he was, his sapphire irises meeting my own slate ones. "Mia. It's short for Mireille," I repeated, rubbing my tired eyes. I still felt half-asleep. "It means 'miracle' in French." Peeta didn't say anything, just waited for me to continue. "My mom always used to play Mireille Mathieu for me so that I could sleep at night, and I remember her telling me what the name meant. I just didn't really think about it until..." I trailed off and I could feel my throat beginning to close up, but I swallowed hard and pushed on.
"When I went in to labor, her heart was beating too slow. Then they couldn't even hear it, it was so weak. So they had to cut her out of me...emergency C-section. They...they thought she was going to be stillborn." I slipped my fingers under the bottom of my shirt and traced the thin white scar that ran vertically from my bellybutton to the hem of my underwear: all that remained of the lumpy tissue it had once been. "But she lived." I broke the silence quite suddenly. "She was my miracle, so that's what I named her. Mireille Primrose Everdeen."
Slowly, I lowered my head back down to the cushions, letting my own words sink in. Reliving Mia's story drained me. I felt exhausted and limp, like a noodle cooked too long. I watched Peeta's legs approach the couch and then saw him take my hand. It felt like I was watching him touch someone else, though. The hand didn't seem to belong to me until I could feel the pad of his thumb delicately tracing it. We stayed like that for a little while, his thumb making soothing circles on my tingling skin. Then, ever so quietly, he asked the one question I'd known he would from the minute I shared Mia's full name.
"Where's Primrose from?" My jaw tightened imperceptibly and I let my hand slip from his. I shut my eyes and pretended I hadn't heard the question. That was a story for another time. I was so tired. I could feel my mind sagging beneath my heavy thoughts. Then Peeta's hand was brushing the hair off of my face, his fingers combing through the chestnut strands. His lips were on my forehead for the briefest of moments, like a ghost. They left a warm imprint, save for the coolness that the tip of his nose had sown when it too had brushed my skin.
Words would have been arbitrary at that point, so I was glad when he didn't utter any. He simply placed a blanket over me and then slipped quietly from the apartment as though he had never been there at all. I clung to the contrast on my forehead, the warmth against the chill, and floated easily away.
The weekend blew by and before I knew it, it was Monday again. I was leaning over the counter in the Mellark's kitchen and squinting at the tiny font of a recipe card for sugar cookie dough. "It's really simple," Peeta had assured me when he handed the 3x5 index card to me. "Just follow the instructions and call me if you need help." I ran my finger across the card to keep my place.
"One cup of butter, softened." I muttered to myself as I read. Okay. I could do that. Tugging at my apron, I walked to the cooler and stepped in. I located the sticks of butter and grabbed four of them. Back at the table, I turned a stick over in my hands, trying to make sense of the tablespoon markings on the wrapper that it came in. Rye, who was cooking bacon in a pan on the stove for the bacon-jalapeno-cheese cornbread they made, noticed my distress and removed the cooked strips from the pan to come over and see what I needed. "How many sticks of butter are in a cup?" I asked, frustrated.
"Two," Rye informed me gently, taking the stick from my hand. He glanced at the recipe. "But you want to use softened butter here. Otherwise it'll be too hard to cream." I wasn't sure what he meant by "cream", but I let him show me where they kept several sticks of butter at room temperature so that they would always have some ready if they needed it for a recipe.
I put two of the mushy sticks into a large bowl. "Okay...now it says I need to cream the butter with one and a half cups of sugar."
"Yup, so measuring cups are in here." Rye opened a cabinet and waved a hand like Vanna White to display the array of measuring tools inside. He pulled two of them out, each different sizes. "So add your sugar." I did. "Great, now take the wooden spoon and start mixing it together. That's creaming. You want it to be pale and fluffy when it's done." I attempted that and managed to slosh some of the sugar over the edge of the bowl and onto the counter within the first thirty seconds.
"Wow, I suck at this," I laughed.
"You'll get the hang of it. With enough practice, you're going to be making these babies in your sleep." I wasn't so sure about that, but I eventually got the sugar-butter mixture to the fluffy consistency he was talking about. Granted, it took about fifteen minutes, but it was a victory in my mind regardless.
"Okay and then in another bowl, two and three-fourths of a cup of flour?" Rye nodded and told me to keep going while he went and got the correct amount of flour for me. I was measuring out vanilla when Peeta popped his head in from up front to check on me.
"How's it going?" he asked, strolling over to see my progress. "I thought you said you were terrible at this." He held up my creamed butter and sugar, which I had to admit looked pretty good. "No, I do," I promised. "If it weren't for Rye, I'd still be trying to figure out how many sticks of butter are in a cup."
"It's true." Rye piped up from the back room. "But hey Peeta, can you come back here for a minute? I think I found the logbook, but it's stuck behind these crates."
"Oh, now I remember! It must've fallen when-" Peeta's voice became indecipherable when he disappeared into the back. I had cracked an egg and began to stir it into the wet ingredients when I noticed a deep, smoky smell filling the room that wasn't usually there. I scrunched my nose and looked up. My brain didn't register what was happening in time.
The pan Rye had left on the stovetop was popping and smoking heavily. Then, all at once and impossibly fast, it erupted into bright orange and yellow flames. My mouth went dry as I stumbled backwards in shock, my throat sealing up and swallowing the scream that was fighting to get out. It felt like my mind was on fire too. Images of the other fire I'd seen danced viciously behind my lids: thick, black billowing smoke, burnt flesh, walls devoured by hungry flames.
When I opened my mouth, the fire had already climbed to the wall behind the stove, reaching its menacing fingers towards the wooden cupboards above. "Fire..." It came out of my mouth like a squeak and my knees buckled under me. I sagged to the left and I found myself suddenly on the floor. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Why couldn't I save her? She was right there! I could see her through the smoke now! "Prim!" I finally screamed. "Prim!" I reached out for her lovely, lovely hand. The minute my fingers wrapped around hers, they crumbled in my grip. She burned and fell apart. I watched her sweet face peel away like old wall paper, and her golden hair glow like the sun in the light of the fire before it turned black and charred. I watched my sister burn and burn and fade away until she was just a pile of ashes on the floor.
A/N: Oh goody, my first cliffhanger in this story. I'm sure you all just love me right about now. Just in case you were wondering, the name Mireille is actually pronounced like "meer-ray". It's actually my baby cousin's name! Hehe. Oh and for anyone who's curious, I actually just put up a link to a picture of what I imagine Mia looking like on my profile. If you're interested, you can go check it out.