I slide a tray of cookies into the modern capitol-built oven, grateful that we don't have stone ovens like the ones my father used while teaching me the trade. I'm haunted a rush of heat, the sting of burns, the memories of harsh words, and recollections of unwarranted slaps that tainted the joy of being a family in this small space. Baking is a release. The bakery is not because I still don't understand the difference between "normal" and what crosses a line. That worries me. How can I ever know? I need to know.
Did my mother love me? Did she love me too much? Is that why she was so hard on me? I love Daisy…maybe too much. Or did my mother hate me? Was I just a complete disappointment to her from the very beginning?
Was my mother afraid? Like I am? Did she start out feeling like this and end up doing the things she did? My free hand forms a fist as I slam the oven door a bit too hard. I shouldn't be in the bakery yet. Despite my attempts to prepare for the undeniable influence of this place I'm still not ready, yet life as a father demands much more of me than staying in Haymitch's spare bedroom. I need to be here for my family.
Katniss and I refused the types of work that would have made us wealthy in the first few years after the war. Between opportunities for speaking engagements, political appointments, interviews, and the "rights" to our story we could have cashed in on our experiences in the Hunger Games and everything that happened thereafter for years. Our safety and sanity were more important to us than the option to make quick money, but our refusals didn't stop ambitious entertainers, entrepreneurs, marketers, and historians from making money exploiting the story of the star crossed lovers from District 12.
First there was a very inaccurate documentary about the time between our first games and our second. It's version of the victory tour, which was portrayed as an exciting trip for a couple in love, was particularly upsetting to us. Then a film-maker made a movie supposedly depicting our life from the end of our "victory" in the Hunger Games through the end of the war. In the movie we enjoyed a passionate love affair between our two games, married in a secret ceremony, grieved the loss of our unborn child, and reunited happily in District 13. The film couldn't have been further from the truth. It glossed over my imprisonment and ignored the hijacking, portraying us as a close couple facing the horrors of a ground war through the streets of the Capitol. Katniss and I sat in silence for what felt like an eternity after watching it. A whole day passed before we talked about the film and how being shown as so happy and heroic when we were actually conflicted and confused troubled us deeply. Personally, I resented how the publics' newfound misunderstandings of my torture and our injuries would likely impact their image of us forever.
Other moneymaking media productions followed, but we avoided seeing or reading them as much as possible. Having refused to participate repeatedly we earned nothing from them. I'd been proud of those choices until recently. Until Daisy, actually.
Katniss and Haymitch didn't ask me about returning to work, but I noticed Katniss getting increasingly anxious about money. She nervously counted the coins before leaving for the market in town. ClearlyI needed to be the one to go back to work. Katniss leaving the baby for long periods to try to earn money would have been much more difficult for everyone. Besides, I could bake with much more confidence than I showed when caring for Daisy. So I called my boss, the owner of the bakery that was built on the site where my family's had once stood. He kindly offered to let me come in to help with an order for a large wedding taking place two days later.
As I'm reading over the instructions from the bride's mother I hear the baker's footsteps. He nods when I look up at him. I've been working more slowly than usual today, but the results have been high quality. He passes a piece of paper to me, and within an hour I'm rolling out a special dough ordered by the groom's out-of-district parents who provided a detailed recipe. I've never made this kind of pastry before, but I actually function better when given a challenge like this sometimes. The baker knows that about me and obviously suspects that fact hasn't changed. I take it as a vote of confidence.
"How's the baby?" he asks when he walks by again to check on my progress.
"Great," I answer, trying to keep my mind focused on the pastry dough and answer him appropriately at the same time. The baker leans over, apparently expecting more from a conversation with a new father about his child. He has six children of his own, two of whom work in the bakery after school. An awkward minute passes before the baker goes to check the ovens. I know I should say more. Silence after a question like that only fuels rumors that something is terribly wrong with the Mellarks, specifically with me.
Once the bakery opens for the day the baker asks me to work the front counter. Working with the public normally comes naturally for me, but I wouldn't choose that duty for my first day back at work. I'm relieved when most of the customers greet me warmly and congratulate me on Daisy's birth, but a few customers glance down uncomfortably or glare at me. Despite Hazelle and Haymitch's attempts to clarify the truth, some in District Twelve believe that I've abandoned my wife and baby out some kind of selfishness. A few speculate that I had an affair! Of course they have some evidence for the abandonment rumor. But an affair? That idea's ridiculous.
After a long day I walk home wearily to see Kantiss and the baby before returning to Haymitch's house. I don't want to vary our routine of daily visits, even if my visit is later than usual.
/
The combination of high elevation, a small population and a general lack of concern about the outer districts made the Capitol particularly unlikely to install centralized cooling systems anywhere in District 12, so our house had never had air-conditioning. A few years ago we inquired about installing it, but the costs were simply too high. Though our bodies are more accustomed to the heat than our neighbors who enjoy more modern advances, June hit us hard with a nearly unbearable heat wave in the very first week.
This evening Katniss and I are sprawled out on the bed together wearing as few clothes as possible. A small portable unit sputters out a little cool air here and there.
"I think the cross ventilation from the windows and the fan works better than that old thing," Katniss says, glancing over at the cooling unit.
"Want me to get up and try that?" I ask her.
"Nah, not yet," she says.
I'm grateful to be spared experimenting again with the best ways to cool our bedroom. I'd do anything to make Katniss and the baby more comfortable, but right now I'd rather be left alone. I turn to face the wall, twining my fingers nervously around the ties on my pajama shorts. Katniss' bare arm grazes my back and makes me flinch.
To be honest, I don't really want to be here right now. I'm nervous but unable to determine why. I know parents have to do things they don't want to do all the time. Husbands do too. Katniss does so much for Daisy and me. All I'm doing is leaving her in an early summer heat wave to care for a cranky five month old alone.
"I need a shower," Katniss announces unceremoniously. "Want to come with me? It might cool you off."
"Sure. Whatever," I tell her.
She notices my less than enthusiastic tone, sits up to catch my gaze and narrows her eyes at me. But really, how could a person be enthusiastic about anything right now?
"If you don't want to then don't," she says.
"Okay," I tell her quietly.
"You know where I'll be if you change your mind," Katniss says with a sigh.
When Katniss stands up from the bed a moment later I turn over and scoot closer to Daisy, who has been sleeping beside her mother. I'll admit that she softens my perspective on the evening. Leaning over to give her a kiss I notice her sweet baby smell seems unaffected by the heat and sweat affecting the rest of us so dramatically. Daisy's dressed in only a diaper, her arms and legs stretched out more than usual as her small body tries to stay cool. Suddenly I'm wishing more than ever that I could afford to keep this place cooler. As it is we'll be fortunate if we can keep the house heated this winter, something far more important here than staying cool in the summer.
As Katniss turns on the water in the shower, I gently touch our daughter's small hand with my fingers. The baby has balled her hands into fists as she often does in her sleep. Slowly, I try to tease her fingers open. They just look so uncomfortable held so tightly. They remind me of reactions to pain, but I know Daisy's not in pain. Her hand opens slowly and she takes a deep breath in her sleep. Pleased with myself, I lay my head down on the pillow beside her only to see out of the corner of my eye that Daisy's tightening her fingers around her thumb again. My own scarred fingers reach over to touch hers, but not to try to change how she holds her little hand this time. She must want to hold it that way, and there's no reason for me to try to stop her other than to make me feel better. Tears well up in my eyes without warning, and before I can stop the cascade of feelings I'm whispering apologies and promises to my daughter. I've already failed her in so many ways.
There was nothing I wanted to do more than to have a child. Well, I take that back. I wanted to be with Katniss more. After we were married then there was nothing else I wanted more than to have a family with Katniss. When she didn't want children I convinced myself that part of loving Katniss was accepting that. I tried to reassure her that if we did have a child everything would be alright in part because I was afraid Katniss might get pregnant by accident and be terrified. Of course, I also hoped she'd change her mind about having a family. Finally, and quite unexpectedly, she did.
I came home one day with a package from the train station, things from the Capitol. For privacy reasons Katniss and I still ordered medicines and anything we didn't want everybody in District 12 to know about from other Districts. I placed Katniss' birth control pills on the table as I was unpacking the box from the train. She walked by and stopped to look at them for a moment. Then she smiled at me.
"I didn't think they were going to send me more of those," she said.
I unpacked a few more items.
"What do you mean? Did you switch what kind you are taking or something?"
Katniss leaned over the table teasingly, her face just inches from mine.
"No, I was just thinking I wouldn't take them anymore at all," she said before she pecked me on the lips.
"Are they bothering you? Is something wrong?" I asked, rounding the table to meet her on the other side.
"No." she answered.
"So what are we going to do?" I asked, slightly annoyed.
I wondered why she was acting so happy. We hadn't discussed any alternatives to the pills, and most of them were things we'd tried before and disliked for long-term use. She'd liked the birth control pills better and had taken them for years. I wondered what had changed. Maybe she wasn't supposed to take them after a certain age. I thought maybe I'd heard that somewhere, but honestly I was thinking selfishly about having to curb our activities until we figured out what to do for birth control.
"A little testy today, aren't we Peeta?"
I rolled my eyes.
"No, I just wish you'd told me."
"You are probably right that I should have told you that I want to have a baby," she said.
Not understanding that my life was about to change in a way I would certainly see as for the better I continued to argue my point, "I just think we need to talk about these things. We need a plan if you don't want to get pregnant. At our age we've got quite a few more years before we can stop worrying about pregnancy. We have to talk, Katniss. I know it's a sensitive subject, but…wait, what did you say?"
She pecked me on the lips again and closed the remaining gap between us, accidently knocking the pills off the table in the process.
"I said that you are right. I should have told you that I want to have a baby with you."
"You mean now?" I asked, bewildered.
"If I read the pamphlet I got from the doctor correctly I probably wouldn't get pregnant today, but we can still try if you want," she said. "I'm a little tired, though. Maybe in the morning?"
She really was teasing me, but she did it so endearingly that I couldn't dislike it. I grabbed on to the chair beside me, this time from shock and not some kind of flashback to something horrible. No, the warm feelings spreading across my chest and filling my head were connected to something I thought would be nothing but beautiful: parenthood. Idealistic? Sure. Unrealistic? Definitely. But in that moment harsh realities didn't matter. My second most important dream was coming true.
Being bad at parenthood never crossed my mind. An inability to live in the same house as my child was unfathomable. I worried about Katniss and the baby, once we found out there was a baby. I prayed they'd be safe and healthy. I didn't worry about me, a mere observer. Unfortunately, it was me that created the most cause for concern in the end.
Even though I see her every day. Even though I take care of her sometimes. Even though I love Daisy, I know I'm not what I dreamed of being to her. The heartbreaking truth is that I'm nothing like I imagined I'd be as a father. Instead of being carefree about playing with her, I'm apprehensive. Instead of confidently feeding her…I mean, I'm a baker, I watch hesitantly as Katniss spoons cereal into her mouth. What if I do something wrong? It must seem ridiculous to anybody else, but I sometimes see the images of those children blown to pieces in the Capitol when Daisy's confined to her highchair being fed rice cereal. My stomach turns over, and panic starts to set in. I certainly can't tell Katniss exactly what's running through my head. Her sister was among the ones blown to pieces. Her sister…who she might remember eating rice cereal.
I close my eyes and try to recall an easier time for us. For long stretches I've had all this mostly under control. My daily life was nearly unaffected by fears and intrusions like these. At least I've once again talked myself out of Katniss being something evil in my life. I trust her, but I don't trust myself. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will again. I'll always know now that this kind of decompensation is a possibility. What a threat living with that is, but I could live with it if it weren't for the baby. She and her mother are everything to me.
My heart begins to speed up, and my head feels dizzy as the tears slow. The temperature suddenly seems ten degrees hotter in this already sticky bedroom. Daisy's just lying there, unaware. When will she be aware? Can her small body already sense how tense I am? When will she know about me? About how I almost killed her mother? Will she watch those movies about us? Maybe that vision of us will be better for her. No, no, it's what she'll see at home that'll matter. How will I be at home? Will I even be home? Is there a chance I could be better forever so she'll never know how I really am?
I've turned away from her now, trying to think of a peaceful place. Dr. Aurelius tells me to do this when anxiety starts to take control. I think of the back porch, of swinging back and forth on the porch swing Haymitch installed there as a wedding gift. He built it himself, something we didn't know he could do. I'm swinging with Katniss and smiling. Then I imagine she's holding Daisy, and my heart starts to race again. Damn. Poor baby. Why does her mere presence in my vision of peacefulness do that to me? I love her. I love her so much.
"Peeta, what's wrong?" Katniss says. She's standing beside the bed wrapped in a towel.
I'm huddled near the wall, trying to slow down my breathing.
"I'm okay," I tell her.
She sighs, a bit exasperated. Sometimes her patience runs out, especially when the heat and the stress get to her.
"At least I'm working some this week," I tell her.
"Yes, you are," she admits as she goes to the dresser and opens a drawer. "And that's good, but we have to get back to normal, Peeta. We have to try or we're both going to end up a mess."
"Are you trying to tell me something?" I ask her.
"Only that you aren't the only one with problems. I'm tired. I'm hot. I'm bored. I'm frustrated. Maybe that pales in comparison to your problems, but my problems matter."
"I don't know what to say to that," I admit.
Katniss sighs again. "You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know it."
"It, um, kind of makes me feel like I should hide things from you," I tell her.
"Why?"
"Because you're upset already, and I'll make you more upset if I tell you something bad."
"Peeta, you know that lying to each other has never worked very well for us," she says as she pulls on a t-shirt.
"Yeah, that's true."
"So don't do it," she says.
"But disappointing you..."
"You don't disappoint me. I'm just sad for you sometimes," she says.
Is that better? I don't want her to be sad for me. I want to be what I used to be to her, something solid she could depend on for strength.
"Do you still need me?" I ask her.
She lets out a short laugh.
"Yes, I need you. You are the love of my life and my baby's father."
A breath I've been holding leaves my chest in a rush of relief.
I turn to Daisy again. She's started to move in her sleep, rubbing the side of her head against the bed sheet. She'll wake up soon.
"And I'm proud of you for going to work," Katniss says.
Hearing her say that makes me want to hold her. I reach for her hand.
"I'm not ready to be there. It's hard," I tell her, still looking at our baby while pulling Katniss closer to me. "I'm doing it for us, though. For all three of us."
"Peeta," she says softly. "Things are better. We're going to be okay."
She's absolutely right that things are better, but I'm not sure we're going to be okay.
"Are you staying here with us tonight?" Katniss asks, her voice becoming uneven. "I want to feel like we're a family."
Since the night the baby was born I've never stayed at the house with Katniss on purpose, but I know she's been wanting me to try it. Since I'm already so nervous tonight's probably not the best night, but I'm having trouble refusing.
"Well?" she asks, almost pleadingly.
"Okay," I answer, trying to hide my reluctance. "I'll try."