I can't say I hurried home. All those cameras were looking better by the second. I'd rather face a hundred of them instead of my mother. Don't get me wrong. I still love my mother. I always will. But if life has taught me anything, it is that love only goes so far. My mom has three expressions, pleading, doubt, and dismay. Ever since I was old enough to remember, she was wearing one of the three, at least when she was looking at me. I had a pretty good idea which one she was currently bearing. I was in no mood for dismay. To be honest, I'm not sure I have the patience for her any longer. Yeah, maybe I'm being too hard on her. I guess we are pretty hard on each other. That's precisely why I wasn't looking forward to seeing her. I still couldn't believe she had come all the way from Twelve. It was a long trip and expensive. My mother and an angry Johanna, well I almost didn't go home at all. But I managed to even if it was two hours later.
I quietly opened the door. I smelled food cooking, something good. My stomach growled. Johanna isn't much of a cook. I choked down a couple of her meals then diplomatically decided she shouldn't be on her feet so much. We ate peanut butter sandwiches mostly. I'm not much of a cook either. I can roast meat. I can fry an egg. That's about it. Eggs and fresh meat are scarce. Hunting was out of the question. I didn't have the time for it. I was bound to be rusty any way. I hadn't really used a bow and arrow since the war. Besides the smell of food cooking made Jo sick. We were both getting pretty sick of peanut butter though. Now our kitchen was full of the smells of a good meal. I had to admit I liked it. I hadn't had real home cooking in years. I guess if there's an upside to this situation, dinner would be it.
I crept into the kitchen. Jo was sitting at the kitchen table with a grim look on her face. At least she wasn't in the bathroom retching. Then again, maybe it would be better if she was. My mother was at the sink, washing dishes. She had been at it. I had never seen the kitchen so clean. She had even taken down the curtains to wash them. No wonder Jo was so pissed. She didn't like people in her space. I swear she only tolerates me, which is understandable since she has been living by herself far longer than I have. The house was a good size but she was used to doing things her way. She didn't like me leaving my boots by the bed. She liked the windows closed when she slept, I liked them open. She got angry if I moved anything. I like things to be neat and orderly so I can find stuff. She leaves things wherever they drop. We bickered a lot. We both had a lot to get used. Somehow I doubted adding my mom to the mix would make it any easier, especially since my mother looked at a tidy kitchen as a sort of virtue. Jo glanced over and saw me. Her eyes narrowed. She looked like she was ready to launch one her knives into the middle of my forehead, so much so that I had suppress the instinct to duck.
"Well look who is finally here!" Jo said, her voice carrying a false cheer to it. "Look ma, your boy is home."
My mother turned around and our eyes met. Her face was fuller than I remember. Her hair was more gray than black but her eyes were as always. I felt emotion rise to my throat but I pushed it back. I thought back to the day my father died and how I had to wait for the news. It felt like that, like something we lost between us that neither wanted to say aloud.
"Mom…I…that's a long trip. You didn't have to," I said.
"Didn't I?" she asked. Her voice had an edge to it, a mixture of hurt and anger. And there it was, dismay. I immediately felt guilty and I hate it. Guilt is such a pointless emotion. You can't change what's done. I know that better than anyone. Still I felt it. I should have called her and told her. She shouldn't have had to hear her son had gotten married from a news broadcast. I had been spiteful because she hadn't warned me about Katniss. Of course I never wanted to hear news of her or District Twelve so I couldn't really blame my mother but somehow I did. The funny thing was I wasn't really aware that was what I was doing until I saw her standing there.
"I guess I deserve that," I replied and sighed. My mom gave one of her disapproving sounds but crossed the room and hugged me. I looked over the top of her head and saw Jo. She looked so alone at the table. My heart hurt just seeing her. I pulled away from my mother and gave a faint smile. "You remember Johanna, don't you?"
"I do," Mom replied. "She loves beef stew if memory serves."
My eyes widened. I sniffed the savory aroma that filled the room. "Where did you get beef?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"I have my ways," she said smiling. "It's a wedding present for Johanna from Haymitch."
"You are very lucky they didn't check your bag. There are shortages. Bringing food in from another district without a permit is against the law," I said.
"So arrest me. Since when did you object to a little rule bending if it meant a good meal?" she asked, moving back towards the stove. I didn't have a good answer to that. I watched Jo play with the corner of a placemat. Might as well get it over with.
"You're gonna be a grandmother."
"I figured as much," my mother said in her perfected I-saw-you-take-that-extra-piece-of-bread-now put-it-back tone. It was sufficient to chastise when I was thirteen but hadn't been too effective since I was sixteen. But now I felt my face grow red and it made me angry. I'm a grown man damn it. If I want to take an extra piece of bread, or get married, for whatever reason, I will. "Sit down," my mother said. "Stew's almost ready."
I sat down next to Jo. She glared at me then shrank back into her chair. I put my arm around her, leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I can make her leave if you want." She shook her head. "You want that stew don't you?" She could barely conceal a grin. "Me too." I kissed her cheek.
Suddenly I felt silly, awkward and childish. It was like my mom had come into find us playing house and was going along with the game. I had been a man since I was fourteen, or at least I had all the responsibilities and worries of one. I made most of the decisions. I decided if we could afford shoes for Rory. I decided that Posy could wear Vick's old pants instead of getting fabric for a dress. I was the one that decided Rory had to take out tessera so we could eat. Yet now, at nearly twenty-seven years of age, I felt like a kid and a foolish one at that.
"I have some news myself," my mother said, placing steaming bowls in front of me and Jo. I grabbed a biscuit in one hand and a spoon in the other. I shoveled a piece of carrot and beef covered with a thick gravy into my mouth. I quickly followed it with a bite of biscuit. I looked up at my mother. She sat down across from me. I swallowed.
"Yeah?" I asked and started to scoop another spoonful out of the bowl. I'm not one that thinks food and conversation go together well. I think when you grow up hungry you should give food the honor and attention it rightfully deserves. My mom knows this. So I didn't really pay attention to what she was saying. I would have stayed in blissful ignorance if not for a sharp elbow in the ribs from Jo. I looked over to see her smirking.
"Your mother is talking to you," Johanna said.
"Okay, I'm listening," I replied and reached for another biscuit.
"I'm getting married," my mom said. It sort of hung there, like nonsense words from a small child. I stopped and looked at her.
"What?"
"I said I'm getting married."
I started to laugh. My mother married my father right out of school. She had been a widow almost as long as she had been a wife. I had never once seen her look at another man nor had any man looked at her. She wasn't ugly but four kids didn't make her very attractive. "Very funny," I said, and dunked the rest of the biscuit into the bowl.
"It may be funny but it's the truth," my mother said. I looked her in the eye. She was serious. I dropped my spoon into the bowl.
"To who?"
"To Haymitch Abernathy."
"Over my dead body, you will!"
My mother pursed her lips. She straightened up and squared her shoulders. "I don't see how you have a say in it."
"He's a no good drunk!" I cried.
"Why shouldn't she marry him?" Jo asked. "And watch what you say Gale. Haymitch has good reasons for drinking. He's a good guy under it all. And I don't see how it's your business any way."
"I can think of a hundred reasons why she shouldn't!" I said angrily. I turned back to my mom. "Is it money? Is that it?"
"No, it isn't money," my mother replied angrily. She sat back and collected herself. I got the feeling she had planned this conversation, practiced it even. "I'm nearly an old woman Gale. You boys are grown and starting families of your own. I need something to keep me busy, give me purpose."
"If you call collecting liquor bottles purpose," I said. "You'll be nothing but a glorified housekeeper."
"I won't and I'm not!" my mom said, her chin jutting up in defiance. "I've known Haymitch longer than either one of you. I grew up two doors down from him. I remember when he was reaped. I remember what happened after. I know what he is like and why. I can live with that."
"What do Rory and Vick think about all this?" I asked.
"You kids think my life begins and ends with you! Well it doesn't! I've done my part, been the best mother I could. Now I am thinking of myself! I need somebody my own age, someone who knows what I know, remembers what I remember. I found that. So that's the end of that, damn it!"
Swearing. She was serious. I tried to imagine it, my mother in love with Haymitch. I shuddered at the thought. I shoved my bowl of stew away. It took a lot for me to lose my appetite. In fact it was the first time I could recollect.
"Eating for two," Jo said, sliding it over. I shot her a dirty look. She just shrugged and started shoveling it into her mouth.
"Well if I don't have a say in it, I don't know why you bothered telling me at all!" I said.
"Because I," she replied coolly, "thought I owed you the courtesy." With that, she began eating.
"Oh quit pouting," Jo said as we got ready for bed. I was still mad and no amount of beef stew was going to change that, like I didn't have enough to worry about without Haymitch Abernathy and my mom.
"I'm not pouting!" I snapped, pulling off one boot, then the other. I lined them up by the end of my side of the bed. To hell with Jo. She's my wife and she should have taken my side.
"Oh I forgot," Jo snickered. "Women pout, men scowl!"
I stood up and shucked my pants. "You know," I said as I folded them, "this may be your house, but you are my wife."
"So what?" Jo asked, the closed the window with a bang.
"So you should have taken my side!"
"Oh hell, you know you sound just like a girl!" Jo cried. "Didn't you ever hang out with guys growing up? Or did you spend all your time with that simpering goody-goody?"
I felt my face grow red. There was an unspoken agreement between us, she didn't mention Katniss and I ignored the picture of Finnick in her underwear drawer. We had both lost what we loved and had no hope of getting it back. We conned ourselves with words like fate, timing, and mistake, both of us knowing that if we could go back, changing one moment and the next, saying the right thing, making the right choice, we would still end up on the wrong side of the equation. It was the inexplicable thread that drew us to each other. The baby was still something imagined, a promise yet to be kept. Hurt, deep and lasting, it was all we had to base a marriage on. I walked over to the window and threw it open, with a little too much force apparently because it came back down, smashing my fingers. I swore in pain, shaking my right hand before bring it to my mouth and tasting blood. I left the window closed and crawled into bed in defeat. I remember when I actually dared to dream of being an adult and how even in that dark existence what I dared to dream was so much better than what I ended up.