A/N If there's one regret I have, it's that I'm not able to reply to all of my reviews. There just are not enough hours in the day, and I'm finding it difficult to even find time for writing, lately. (See my profile for details.) Be assured that I read each and every one, and I take them all to heart, even (and perhaps especially) the more critical ones. I'm learning so much from you ladies. There are so many talented people here. *Everlark writers' conference, anyone?*
Chap 10: We're a Happy Family
So here I am: lying next to my snoring sister in the most comfortable bed, under the coziest down comforter, in the most luxurious guest bedroom I've ever seen, and I still can't sleep. I stare and stare at the ceiling and run through the day in my mind.
I've never been on a train for that long before. Dad used to take me and Prim down to Boston on the Downeaster train to see the Red Sox play, once or twice a summer. That took maybe two hours, a short sprint.
But today was a marathon.
We changed trains twice, once in Boston and once in New York Grand Central, and had it just been me and Prim, I'm sure I would have been freaking the hell out. It's December 23rd and the trains were cramped, hot and smelly. And I've never been out of New England before.
But because we were with Peeta...somehow, it was fun. Even with his leg, and our three bags, and Prim dragging behind us, and not an inch of spare room once we finally found seats, it was fun. He showed up at our place this morning, all smiles, doughnuts in hand. Our first train left at 5AM and while our asses were dragging, you would have thought he'd been up for hours. (He probably had.) He made sure me and Prim got seats together on every train, he made sure we brought pillows-and boy, am I grateful for that-and reading material.
He made friendly conversation with every seat mate he had, all day.
The only time I really got to spend with him was a brief interlude during the last leg of the journey, just before the train pulled into Charleston and just after Prim finally fell asleep, head lolling against her pillow, propped against the cold window. We were both so exhausted by that time that we didn't even speak; he put his arm around me and I nestled into his shoulder and slept through the last hour or so of our journey.
Peeta's dad picked us up at the Amtrak station at midnight: I looked up and there was an older, greyer version of Peeta with a bushy blonde mustache, grinning at the three of us through the glass double doors of the tiny station, wrapping his son in a tight embrace complete with clap on the back, then clasping Prim's and my hands in his and saying, "Welcome, girls. We've been looking forward to this visit; Peeta's been talking about both of you nonstop for months now." His smile was so genuine and his manner so easy, and his hands so large and warm that I physically felt both of us relax immediately.
The Mellarks live about fifteen minutes away from the train station; the only glimpse Prim and I got of the city was a brilliantly-lit bridge spanning the river just beside the train station; Mr. Mellark's SUV turned away from the bridge and the downtown area across the river, and instead navigated a network of winding, wooded roads. Prim buried her face in my shoulder and I stared glassy-eyed out into the night...
...and tried to get used to the air of West Virginia. The winter is still cold, but less...crisp. Gentler. There is no ocean here, to add bite to the wind. The river lies calm.
So here we are, my sister and I, settled into a very nice guest room after an exhaustive day of travel, and my eyes may as well be propped open with tiny sticks. My brain won't shut off.
I can't get Annie out of my head. I'm staying with Finn, she'd said in reply to my quiet inquiry yesterday. She'd smiled with her mouth, but not her eyes, her small backpack slung over her shoulder as she trudged down the dorm stairs past us, just last night. I texted her from the train today: You doing all right? She replied: I'm here.
I can't get Peeta's final art project out of my head. I showed up at the studio on "gallery" night, the night all the art students' final projects were due, to find that he'd painted me...from one of his dreams. (Not that kind of dream.) In the painting, I'm tiny, looking down from the high branches of a tree, my face muddy and gaunt, my eyes wide with fear. The sky beyond is tinged pink, whether from the sun setting or because it is an alien sky, and the surrounding trees are shadowed and less defined, so that my own precarious perch stands out in sharp relief.
I recognized myself in the picture that night, but I didn't know if anyone else would. I stared into my own eyes, my eerie presence ringing in my own ears. Are you mad? he'd asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. All I could do was shake my head and marvel at the way I could almost feel the pine-scented wind, the rough bark, the swaying of the boughs. The fear, which somehow overwhelmed the painting, infused into every stroke, so what you got from it was dread. The pink sky made the whole thing jarring, apocalyptic. Not what you'd expect from someone like Peeta. I used to wonder what he did with all his fear; now, I think I know.
And hard as I try, I can't get out of my head last year's Christmas. Working the late shift and coming home to Prim curled up on Hamish's couch, the man himself huddled on the bathroom floor. I'd pulled him back to bed and crawled onto the couch with Prim, and the next day we'd visited the Hawthornes; Gale, Madge and I spent Christmas Eve at Ripper's while everyone else was at church.
How times have changed. This year, there will be no one to move Hamish from the bathroom floor to his room. I barely speak to Gale or Madge any more. My sister and I are hundreds of miles away from home, and I'm not clear on exactly what I've done to bring all this about, but it's culminating in my dry-eyed insomnia.
I finally nod off as the sun is coming up, and get maybe one dreamless, unsatisfying hour of sleep.
...
I wake to the smell of bacon and cinnamon.
The sun is slanting orange rays through the gauzy white curtains, and Prim is already dressed and perched on the edge of the bed, staring daggers at me.
"I take it you've been up for a while?" My voice is a low groan; I push myself upright and swipe at my hair, spitting a few strands out of my mouth. The sheets on my side of the bed have been pulled out from under the mattress and are tangled around my feet; I kick them away and fight free of the blanket.
"Kat." Prim bounces up and down on the bed. "Oh my god. I'm so hungry. Can you please please please get up?"
"Uhm." We did kind of forget about dinner last night. Wrinkling my nose, I bring my hand up to my mouth to smell my own breath. Yowza. Forgot to brush my teeth, also. "Gimme a few minutes, Ducky. I've got dragon breath."
"Who cares."
I mumble something about my boyfriend caring, and she grins, picking up a pillow and aiming for my head.
"Well hurry up then."
My stomach snarls at her in reply, and we both laugh. I crouch down beside my bag, and look up at the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall and a soft knock on the door.
"S'open," I say softly, and Peeta sticks his head in, smiling when he catches sight of the disheveled bed, and disheveled me.
"My dad sent me up to wake you two. We've got breakfast when you're ready."
"You guys always get up this early?" I rasp at him.
"Hey. We're bakers." He winks and ducks back out again, to a chorus of giggles from Prim.
This is his family, and if the guest room and the guest bathroom (the guest freaking bathroom) are any indication, they are not used to seeing the threadbare shirts and broken-in jeans I am used to wearing. I pick a newer sweater and my one pair of Dockers and quickly change, in the bathroom that's probably bigger than my kitchen. And smells better, too.
Prim and I venture out into the hallway and pause at the top of the stairs: the white carpeting of the upstairs hallway gives way to polished hardwood in the large, open foyer below.
"How did I miss this last night?" I whisper.
Prim just shrugs, and shrinks in on herself. I can tell she's thinking what I'm thinking: There's some mistake. There's no way we belong here. I guess it was too dark, or I was too tired last night to really see the wealth that their house reveals. But now, in the harsh light of morning, I can't help but feel how out of place I am. Like a squatter.
Along the hallway and stairwell hang family photos, and I concentrate on those as we make our way downstairs, Prim gripping my hand tight: the three boys as babies, smiling blonde and rosy-cheeked; Peeta at around ten, buried in the midst of his family, holding his dad's hand and (it may be my imagination) leaning away from his beautiful but brittle-looking mom.
He's never mentioned her, I realize. Not once.
About halfway down, I pause when I catch sight of a large framed print of Peeta in his baseball uniform, bat slung over his shoulder. He's about sixteen, squinting a bit into the sun; his grin is lopsided, cocky and confident, and he's a bit more solid-looking than the man I know today. This must have been taken before his illness was discovered. I recognize the blue and yellow team jersey he's wearing, and smile.
We practically tiptoe down the rest of the stairs and pause again at the bottom; several male voices are booming and echoing from the back of the house, and we walk out into the most amazing kitchen in the world. It's all done in gorgeous blue tile, with shiny appliances and what seems like miles of counter space. Peeta's leaning against the center island, laughing loudly at an older man I recognize as one of his brothers, who's sitting at the large, oval kitchen table. His dad has his back to us, and he's pulling a baking sheet out of the top portion of a double oven: it's the cinnamon rolls we smelled from upstairs. Amazing...
Peeta catches sight of us and straightens, his face brightening. "Hey ladies. Good morning."
Mr. Mellark sets the sheet down on the stovetop and turns around, sliding his oven mitts off. "Girls! You're up."
I force a smile, trying to avoid looking at his brother, who is openly staring at us. Well, at me. "Yes sir...um, I guess we're not used to rising with the sun."
He laughs, a booming, jolly, infectious sound. "Please," he says, waving a hand. "'Sir' is my father. Call me Tim." I must be giving him a skeptical look without meaning to, because he chuckles again. "Okay then, Mr. Mellark it is. Anything but 'sir.'" He turns back to the oven, opening the bottom door and pulling out a second tray; this one holds steaming rolls with what looks like melted cheese on top, and my mouth waters. "And not many people keep our kind of hours."
Peeta rounds the center island, rolling his eyes at me and pulling me in for a quick hug; I bury my nose in his shirt, inhale and feel instantly better. He ruffles Prim's hair. "Have a seat, I'll load up some plates for you."
Prim and I settle ourselves at the table opposite Peeta's brother, who continues to study me with unabashed interest. It's actually kind of rude, so I make a point of studying him right back: he's taller and lankier than Peeta, his bones jutting out at his wrists and his jaw square and sharp, and his hair is a shade darker and pin-straight. But you can tell they're brothers by their eyes, and the easy way they carry themselves, which in this brother manifests itself as obnoxious cockiness.
Peeta sets down a plate of cinnamon rolls and another of cheese buns and plunks down next to me, handing out smaller paper plates from a stack at the end of the table. He clears his throat and stares across the table. "Katniss, Prim, this is my very rude brother Micah, who doesn't like to introduce himself to guests."
His brother shakes himself, then extends his hand to me. "Mike." I take the hand; it's warm and calloused, and he pumps my arm once and then lets go. "Katniss." He turns to my sister and does the same. "Prim."
Prim's face turns tomato-red and she looks down into her lap.
"So..." I trail off, and Mike zeroes in on me again. "What do you do for fun around here?"
Mike barks out a little laugh, grinning off to the side. "I work with Dad. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
"Oh, come on, now," Mr. Mellark says, settling down next to Mike, and setting two more platters in front of him: one with Belgian waffles, the other with bacon. My stomach growls again, and everyone turns their heads toward me, but Mr. Mellark pretends not to hear. "What's not fun about working for the family business?"
"How about not getting a raise in three years?" Mike grumbles, grabbing a plate and piling food onto it while his father does the same.
"You'll get a raise when you show me you're ready to be a manager." Mr. Mellark hands Mike a small carafe of maple syrup; Mike douses his food with the stuff, grabbing a cheese bun with the other hand and stuffing it into his mouth. "Until then, you could take a page out of Alicia's book."
"Alicia's a suck-up," Mike mumbles, through a mouthful of bun.
I glance between the two of them, grinning, as the argument goes on, an argument I'm sure has happened many times. Peeta just shakes his head and loads up two plates for me and Prim before helping himself.
"Do you guys eat like this every day?" I ask.
"No," Mr. Mellark says. "I'm at work by this time on a normal day. But this..." He pops a strip of bacon into his mouth. "This is a special occasion." He smiles over at my sister and me, chewing. "I just need to go in for a few hours this afternoon to help close up for the holiday. But Jonah and his crew should be here by then."
I raise my eyebrows, and Peeta supplies, "My other brother."
"Yeah," says Mike. "The good one."
"Hey now," Peeta says. "There's more than one good brother." He pauses as Mike looks up. "You're forgetting me." He says it with such a sweet smile that I can't help chuckling.
I glance at Mr. Mellark again, to find that he's watching Prim and stifling a laugh. I look over to find that she's tearing into a cinnamon roll that's almost as big as her head, and the icing has coated her mouth and chin. I wait until she puts the thing down, and wordlessly hand her a napkin; she takes it, her face flaming. I catch Mike watching her with a half-grin on his face, and it doesn't look teasing. It looks fond.
And just like that, I decide I like him.
Shortly after, Tim rises to get ready for work with a "You're very welcome, girls; our home is your home," and Mike retreats to his room with a "Later, all..." Mike clears his throat before disappearing upstairs; I look over at him in time to catch him raising one eyebrow at Peeta, nodding slowly and pointing in my general direction. Peeta shakes his head and shoos his brother away, but I can tell by his small grin that he's pleased.
I find myself staring out the large picture window as Peeta starts clearing the plates. It looks out onto their back yard. A coating of snow blankets the ground, and thins out to irregular patches under the trees that grow thicker the farther you look. There are a healthy mix of hardwoods: birch, beech and even maple, woven together, and somewhere back there is the old coal mine Peeta talked about.
The cave. Had he ever called it that? No, that's what the picture beside his bed back in Maine was titled. The cave.
I shiver, coming back to myself. I can't deny that those woods look inviting, but it would be a cold walk today. Instead, Prim and I help Peeta load the dishwasher, and then head upstairs for a nap (Prim) and a much-needed shower (me).
...
"Kat, where's Peeta's mom?" Prim pipes up from the bed in the guest room; I hadn't realized she was awake. I took an extra-long shower; the bathroom adjoining this room seems to have an unlimited supply of hot water. We're used to the water heater cutting off and the water going icy after about five minutes at home, so I indulged.
I freeze in the process of braiding my hair back, the smile falling away from my face as I meet her eyes in the mirror. That is a damn good question. In all the time we've been together, with as much as we've shared with one another, Peeta has never once mentioned his mom. He doesn't have a picture of her, or indeed of any of his family at school; he has a few random shots on his phone, but the first time I saw his mom was when I examined that photo on the stairs.
"I don't know..." A creep of unease makes its way into my gut, and I do my best to push it down, to make my voice light, but I must be doing a crappy job because Prim's face pulls into a frown. "I don't really know the situation." Why? Why don't I know?
"You guys have never talked about it?"
"No..." And now that she mentions it, it's really strange that we haven't. "He doesn't talk about himself. You know?" He always changes the subject when I try. He does it so subtly and so skillfully that I'm not even sure he's aware he's doing it.
"Yeah. I do know." I turn from the mirror and she's still frowning at me; I shrug my shoulders and widen my eyes. "It's just..." Prim shrugs back at me, and her voice takes on a nervous edge. "If there's something we should know...I'd rather know beforehand."
"Like what?"
"I don't know...are they divorced? Separated?"
Footsteps thump in the hall outside, and we freeze, but they pass our door quickly. They are a little too quick and even to be Peeta's, and I think immediately of Mike. Prim and I catch one another's eyes once more; we're both too skittish to say anything more when it's possible Mike or Peeta will overhear us, but I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She's set a few wheels turning in my head, as well, and I'm in much need of reassurance.
By now it is close to noon; when we descend the stairs once again, there is a cacophony from the kitchen; we eye one another before entering to find Peeta and Mike in loud, animated conversation with a solid-looking man around Peeta's height and a tall, slim woman holding a golden-curled baby. I recognize the man from his photo on the stairs, and sure enough, he is introduced as Peeta's eldest brother, Jonah. His wife is Alicia; as she is moving the baby to her other hip to shake Prim's hand, Prim asks shyly, "Are you the Alicia that Mike is supposed to take a page from?"
There is silence for a beat, and then Peeta catches my eye and we both bust out laughing. Peeta moves in to give Prim a quick hug. "Prim, I love you. Yes, this is the Alicia who works in my dad's shop. And yes, Dad was right; she's very good at her job."
Everyone else (except Mike) laughs too, and Prim's cheeks burn red again. Alicia is smiling broadly as she pulls Prim in for a hug too. "Your dad is much too generous," she tells Peeta, over Prim's head. "But I'll take it." Prim steps back, smiling up at Alicia through her eyelashes, and I can see that, already, my little sister has won this family over. Even Mike; though her comment was a subtle dig at him, he doesn't seem to have taken it personally, and is gazing down at her with a wry smile.
Jonah turns to me. "You must be Katniss..."
I nod, biting my lip and trying to smile. Why is this so much easier for Prim, all this social stuff? This is a far cry from the dry, stilted family interaction we're used to, but she has taken to it immediately. My sister even looks like one of them, with her fair coloring and easy smile.
I guess I'm just taking a bit longer to catch up.
Peeta sidles up beside me and slips an arm around my waist, planting a kiss on my cheek. I blush and duck my head as Jonah says, "Well, it's very nice to meet you."
"Yeah," Alicia adds, leaning down to set the baby on the floor; the little girl toddles a few steps, then falls backward onto her chubby rump, clapping her hands and beaming up at her parents and uncles. Her mother straightens and smiles gently at me. "We were wondering if we were going to get to meet Peeta's mystery woman."
"Mystery woman?" I raise an eyebrow at him. Has he been as closed-lipped about me, when talking to his family, as he was when talking to me about them?
"Hey. I told them plenty." He glares at Jonah and Mike in turn. "Right, guys?"
"Oh, yeah." Mike's voice is dripping with sarcasm. "We knew your name, and that you were incredible and amazing. And..." He turns to Jonah.
"And that's about it, yeah." Jonah grins at me.
And I can't help grinning back; smiling seems to be infectious in this family. "Well...isn't that enough?" And to my surprise, everyone dissolves into laughter again, including Peeta, who leans in to kiss my cheek again.
"C'mon you guys, let's eat," Alicia says, flashing me a smile as she heads to the fridge.
We put together sandwiches for lunch, and then leave the dishes for later as we crowd into the family room to introduce the baby to the Mellarks' enormous Christmas tree. I've walked by the room several times now, but I didn't really appreciate how well the huge and fragrant evergreen filled the space under the high ceiling...or just how many presents were piled underneath.
It's truly a staggering pile of gifts. Prim and I both pause in the doorway to gawk; Jonah and Alicia must have brought some presents over with them, because the pile is easily twice as big as it was before lunch. Beautifully wrapped in shiny paper and bows. It's like nothing we've ever seen.
Prim grips my hand, frowning up at me, and I know she's thinking the same thing I am. We didn't bring anything. I know Peeta told me it wasn't necessary, but...I managed to scrounge up a lame box of chocolates and a cheap bottle of wine for the family, and it seems like a pitiful offering now.
I put my arm around Prim and we join the others in the family room. I can't help but laugh at the way Jonah's daughter has to be physically restrained from throwing herself at the pile of gifts. Alicia scoops her up and carries her over in my direction just as Prim is distracted by Mike and Peeta (and Mike's smartphone) across the room.
I have a moment of panic; I'm not great with kids. I don't really remember Prim as a baby, apart from not really liking the smell of dirty diapers, and I was a less than adequate (and totally uninterested) babysitter for Gale's little brother and sister, considering what was going on in my life at the time. Not being a naturally upbeat person, I can't really engage little kids in the way they need to be.
So I'm more than a bit nervous when Alicia greets me with, "Would you like to hold Mary?"
"I, uh..." And then the squirming bundle is in my lap. She's surprisingly solid, and feels stronger than I expected; I have to strain to hold her up as she cranes around to look at me while Alicia plops down on the couch next to me. The baby and I regard one another nervously for a few seconds; then, Mary pokes my cheek with one chubby finger, I grab hold of her impossibly soft hand, and we smile at one another. She has two teeth on top and two on the bottom, and makes a cooing sound at me.
Alicia groans, massaging her back with one hand. "That's a load off..."
"Um, how old is she?" I ask, as baby Mary grabs the end of my braid and yanks. I wince and try to gently pry her fingers away, but she's having none of it.
"Thirteen months," Alicia says. "Aren't you? Yes you are!" She brings her face close to her daughter's and plants a kiss on her nose; Mary disengages her hand to bat at her mother's head. "She's a little devil right now."
"She's wonderful," I say. "She looks like you." And she does: her curly hair is the same honey-blonde, a darker shade than the Mellarks', and her lovely brown eyes are clearly Alicia's.
"So they tell me." Alicia smiles, and speaks to Mary again. "Can you say 'Katniss?'" The baby stares back and forth between her mother and me. "'Katniss!'"
I feel a bit foolish, until Mary squeaks out a tentative, "Tat..."
My mouth falls open. "She totally just said my name..."
"She did! Mary, 'Katniss?'"
"Tat. Tat!" Mary claps and bounces up and down on my knees, then squirms to get down, grabbing my braid again for purchase as she lowers herself to the floor.
Alicia laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "That's it; you're in."
"I'm in?"
"Yes. You are in." She shakes her head as her daughter toddles across the room toward her uncles. Peeta crouches down and holds out his arms, and I can't help but melt a bit as he scoops the baby up and swings her around. "Not that it's hard to get in good with this crowd." I look back at her, and she's studying me closely, not in a mean way, but in a way that says she's still trying to figure me out. "They're pretty great guys."
"That they are." I look back at Peeta; he's handed the baby to Mike, who's tossing her into the air repeatedly, causing Prim to shriek and cover her mouth with both hands. Alicia chuckles, but when I look back at her, the smile is fading. "I know you're nervous about being here. I was intimidated at first, too. Only child? Coming into this family? Forget it. But...you don't need to be nervous about these boys."
But?
"But, I feel like I should warn you. About-"
"Oh, dear sister in law!" It's Mike, closing on us from across the room and holding his neice at arms' length. "Dirty diaper alert. This is where my fun-uncle duties end." He dumps baby Mary in Alicia's lap on his way back out to the kitchen.
Alicia sniffs tentatively, then wrinkles her nose. "Ugh. He wasn't kidding." She stands, settling Mary onto her hip and turning back to me. "We'll talk later, okay?" She hurries away toward the upstairs bathroom.
Leaving me to wonder what the hell she was trying to warn me about.
...
Mr. Mellark returns from closing the bakery later that afternoon-but before Alicia and I have a chance to 'talk' again-and the family sits down for an early dinner. Just as my family has its Chinese Thanksgiving, the Mellarks seem to have a Christmas Eve tradition of take-out pizza.
"Yeah! Pizza," Prim squeals, earning her a round of laughter.
"The real feast is tomorrow evening," Peeta's dad explains as he serves the slices out onto more paper plates. "Tonight, we do pizza, and then everyone gets to open one gift before church."
Church? Oh, crap.
He must catch my look of utter panic, because he chuckles and adds in a low voice, "Totally optional, of course. I'm really the only one who goes, any more...old habits die hard." He pauses, then adds, "My wife spends Christmas Eve with her family in Pittsburgh. She'll come home tomorrow, and then we'll have our real celebration."
I bite my lip as he moves off down the table. Well, that's one question answered, anyway...I let my gaze fall onto each person around the table, in turn. My sister, digging into her slice and smiling broadly, completely in her element. Mike, slouched in his chair and hissing a whispered conversation with Jonah while simultaneouly fiddling with his phone. Alicia, settling the baby in her high chair and cutting a slice of cheese pizza into extra-tiny bits. And directly across from me...
Peeta's studying me, a soft smile on his face. I realize I'm smiling, too; it's hard not to.
I love you, he mouths wordlessly, in the midst of the noise.
I bite my lip, look down at the table's wood grain, then back at him. I search for his foot under the table with my own, hooking my heels around his ankle. I love you...my lips form the words.
He reaches for my hands, twining our fingers together on the tabletop as his dad settles down to eat at the opposite end of the table, the baby begins throwing bits of pizza on the floor and Jonah and Mike's discussion becomes more heated. I tune out the happy chaos.
Outside, it begins to snow.
...
Evening has fallen, and the group is lounging around the TV room. I'm not really paying attention to whatever's on the screen; Peeta's dad has turned on the porch light out back, and I find my eyes drifting back to the falling snow outside the windows, the rush of white blotting out any view of the woods beyond. I'm burrowed deep into the cushions of a love seat, with baby Mary half-sitting, draped across my chest and stomach and drifting closer and closer to sleep. Prim is curled up beside me, while Peeta and Mike are hunched over a chess board across the room. When we walked in here, the chess board was already set up, and the two of them began moving the pieces around haphazardly, only briefly interrupting their conversation. The game became more and more intense, the words petered out, and soon enough they were both frowning in silent concentration.
Mr. Mellark, Jonah and Alicia are upstairs getting ready for church, and the baby (I've been told) needs a nap before venturing out again, but she won't settle down. Each time I think she's drifted off, she shakes herself awake again with a weak cry, and begins chewing on her own wrist. I wish I could turn off the TV, as no one is really watching, but I'm unwilling to remove myself as the human pillow for Mary, and also for Prim, who's drifting off as well.
After Mary shakes herself into whining wakefulness for a third time, I become desperate and start humming under my breath, searching my memory for a suitable lullaby. Nothing comes to mind, until...
"Sing her the Valley Song," Prim whispers.
I glance at her, a smile stealing onto my lips. Our father's old song for us. I don't know whether he made it up himself (I wouldn't be surprised) or whether it's an old folk tune that was handed down in his family; I never got to ask him. The last time I heard it, I was eavesdropping from the hallway in our old house as he sang it to five-year-old Prim. I can't even believe she remembers.
I close my eyes, recalling his voice and his words, and find that I remember every bit of the old song. I take a few deep breaths and begin softly,
Down in the valley...under the willow...
The baby stills her squirming immediately, her solid weight relaxing against me. I smile as I sing some more. Mary's tiny fists open and close, her head dips back and forth and then gradually sags down onto her shoulder. By the time I reach the end of the song, she's breathing slow and even, her body slack.
I look up at the sudden silence, to find that Mike has muted the TV, and both he and Peeta are staring over at us. I glance at the doorway; Mr. Mellark and Alicia are hovering there, smiling. I hadn't realized I had an audience; I'd been singing only for the baby in my lap. Alicia tiptoes over to me, ignoring my flaming cheeks as she lifts Mary into her own arms. "Thank you," she murmurs into her daughter's hair.
I clear my throat, rubbing suddenly sweaty palms on my pants, uncomfortable at the identical half-smiles I'm receiving from both Peeta and his dad. I rise and drift into the kitchen, opening a few cabinets until I find a glass and filling it with water from the tap. I hear Alicia, Prim and Mr. Mellark talking quietly back in the family room, but I don't return right away, leaning up against the sink and watching the flying snow outside as I drink my water.
"Come back in the summer," says a deep voice behind me, "And we can walk in the woods." He walks over to me as I set the glass down, pulling me into a warm hug. "Without, you know, freezing our asses off."
"Maybe I will," I say, resting my chin on his chest. Our mouths are inches apart, and his is still softly smiling. "You know...your accent has gotten about ten times thicker since we've been down here."
He frowns. "Naw...it hasn't. Really?" I just laugh silently, and I feel his chest shaking as he does the same. "Okay, fair enough. But, so has yours."
I open my mouth, feigning shock. "I do not have an accent."
"Oh, okay. Whatev-AH."
I bury my face in his shirt, laughing aloud. As a New Englander, I have been known to drop my Rs from time to time. But I'll never admit it. "You're full of shit."
He kisses the top of my head and pulls me tighter into him. "We're about to do presents."
I stiffen. "I...I don't..."
"I told you. It doesn't matter. Come on, I'm sure Mike at least has opened one of his already."
I follow him back into the family room; he and Prim settle onto the couch together and I sit on the floor, leaning back against his legs. As promised, Mike has already opened a gift labeled with his name, and Jonah and Alicia are busy picking one package out of a mound of gifts labeled for the sleeping baby, as well as picking out two for themselves. Mr. Mellark is pulling the paper from another. To my relief, the gift-opening seems to be quite informal, and there's little attention paid to who gives or gets any particular item.
Peeta has me fish out a small package with his name on it; he unwraps a scarf, which he wraps around his neck, saying, "Okay, Prim. Your turn."
"What?" I hear the confusion in her voice, and turn to see her frowning up at Peeta. "But we didn't..."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says. "I see one with your name on it, right there." He points to a side table next to Mr. Mellark's chair; on it, there is a small box marked PRIM.
She glances at the box, then back at him, and then slowly gets up and goes to retrieve her gift. I meet his eyes and slowly shake my head at him; he shrugs and grins down at me, ruffling my hair. I swipe at his hand, inexplicably annoyed, as Prim sits back down. She looks at me, eyebrows raised; I shrug and nod at her.
She tears into the paper, unwrapping what turns out to be an Ipod. "Oh my god," she says.
"Oh...my god," I say. "Peeta...come on. We can't-"
"Oh yes, we can," says Prim. She digs her fingernail into the box, popping the top of it open. "See? It's opened. Can't take it back now." She sticks her tongue out at me, then turns to throw her arms around Peeta's waist, burrowing her head into his shoulder. "Thank you. Very much."
He hesitates before hugging her gently back, smiling at me over her head and shrugging his shoulders again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeats. "That's from Santa. Didn't you read the tag?"
"You're full of shit," she says, unconsciously echoing my sentiment from earlier. "Thank you," she repeats.
"Welcome."
"You didn't have to do that," I say, through my teeth.
"Didn't have to do this, either," he says, pulling another small box out from between the couch cushions and tossing it into my lap.
My heart sinks to the floor. He got me a gift. After I told him not to. I turn to him, eyes narrowed; he's pressing his lips together, trying not to smile.
Prim is grinning beside him. "Well...come on! Open it."
I sigh, picking up the small box in my lap. "I told you not to get me anything..." I begin working at a corner of the wrapping, suddenly aware of the silence in the room. I don't dare to look up, just concentrating on unwrapping the small box marked Abacus.
I frown up at him. He didn't. He just smiles at me, kicking me softly on the hip. I bat his foot away and settle back against his leg again. I open the box.
It's...
I spin around, mouth open. "How the hell did you know?"
He chuckles. "The neighborhood is crawling with my spies."
I roll my eyes, turning back to the box in my lap. Containing the one piece of jewelry that I'd admired the most, every time we'd gone to visit Finn and stopped at Abacus before heading upstairs. It's a necklace: a single pearl, about the size of my thumbnail, dusky grey, with a tiny silver bird carved into its surface, and it hangs on a simple, hair-thin silver chain. I'd actually asked them to take it out of the case, I remember now, to look at it, the first time we went in the store, back in September. Before Peeta and I were even together. How in the world did he remember...
"Look at the back," he says.
I roll the pearl over, and there on the back I see two words carved in delicate silvery script, but I can't read it in the low light. "What?" I turn to him, frowning. "I can't..."
He leans over and flicks on the lamp. "I know, the writing is really tiny. Can you see now?"
Yes, I can. The two words carved onto the pearl along with the songbird are...my name. Katniss Grace.
I turn around; he's smiling nervously. Prim is beaming and holding out her open hand, waiting for me to pass her the necklace, but I'm not going to. "I..." My throat is dry, and the room is silent and everyone is looking at us. But I don't care. "I really love it."
He sags, relaxing, and his smile grows into something wide and gorgeous. "I'm glad."
"Let's see!" Prim is practically squealing.
But I shake my head. "No way. I'm putting it on first." One glance around the room tells me that they're all watching, and suddenly my hands are shaking too much to do the clasp.
But his hands are there, warm and steady, to help. And the pearl lies just in the hollow at the base of my throat.
I perch on the arm of the chair so Prim can see; this time, she really does squeal, earning a round of chuckles from Peeta's brothers and dad. I half-rise to go around the room with my gift, but Mr. Mellark waves his hand at me.
"Don't worry about it; we've all seen it already."
"What?" I turn back to Peeta.
He's wearing a sheepish expression. "Yeah, I kind of had it shipped down here as soon as you agreed to come visit. I didn't trust myself not to give it to you earlier."
Too...much. All I can do is shake my head at him, and wonder what I did to deserve this.
The group disperses soon thereafter; Mr. Mellark, Jonah and Alicia (and the freshly-napped Mary) are all going to church; I manage to corner Peeta's dad as he's pulling on his jacket in the front hall.
"...Sir?"
"Katniss. What did I tell you about 'sir?'"
I chuckle, looking down at my feet. "All right, then. Tim?"
"That's better."
"I just...I wanted to thank you. Again. For...having us. For Christmas. It's. It's really, um, different. From what Prim's used to. And it's...it's just...I'm really glad to be here." Jesus, Kat. Inarticulate much?
But he either hasn't noticed my awkwardness, or he's too nice to say it. He grins, and it's so spontaneously joyful that I'm reminded strongly of Peeta as he rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly. "No. We're the ones who are grateful to have you and your sister here." He glances back into the family room, where Peeta and Mike are working on their chess game again. "I haven't seen my son this happy in a long time."
I duck my head, frowning. "I...can't pretend to take credit for that."
He just smiles again when I look up, shaking his head. "You have no idea."
...
So here I am, almost 24 hours later, lying in the same bed and staring at the same ceiling. My sister has been asleep beside me for half an hour now. You'd think I'd be exhausted, but I'm wired, buzzing. Needful.
I finally get up, deciding that a glass of water is just the thing I need. Maybe a cheese bun, also. I walk as softly as I can down the carpeted hallway and hug the railing as I'm going down the stairs. One creaks near the bottom, and I wince, hoping that Peeta's and Mike's bedrooms are far enough away that I won't wake them.
I gulp down some water and grab a bun from the covered basket on the kitchen island, and wander into the family room. The Christmas tree is still lit, and I drift over to stand in front of it, allowing the white, red, blue and green lights to fuzz out of focus for my tired eyes, and leaning in to idly examine some of the ornaments, fingering the pearl that still lies at my throat.
I tear apart the bun and slowly chew, taking in the shining lights and green boughs. Prim and I never have a tree this big; we always find the Charlie Brown-est tree we can find and nurse it through the holidays on our kitchen table.
I hear a loud creak behind me, and feel a grin spreading across my face as I turn to see Peeta rounding the bottom of the staircase. "Damn creaky stair," he mutters.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I couldn't sleep." He walks over to the tree; I turn my back to him as he appraoches and he wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me close and burying his face in my shoulder, then my throat. "Couldn't stop thinking about you. Being here in my house." I feel him smiling against my skin. "It's pretty awesome. It's..."
I turn to rest my forehead against his, and he leans in to kiss me. There's a surprising heat behind it, and I find myself dizzy when we finally pull away. "Whoa."
"Come back upstairs with me," he mumbles into my neck.
"Um." I gulp. Oh...don't tempt me. "Why?"
"You know why."
"What?" I catch his eye, laughing a little, until I see that he's serious. "We...can't." My eyes flit away, back to the stairs, the front door. I don't know when his dad is getting home. I don't want to wake his brother. I don't want to accidentally fall asleep in his bed and have to explain it to Prim tomorrow.
"Well, we'll just..." He nips at my ear, and I shiver. "...Have to be quiet."
I snort, shaking my head. "Take your own advice, pal."
"That sounds like a challenge."
"Maybe it is."
"You're on."
We manage to avoid the creaky stair, at least, on the way back up, but I'm not sure we do such a good job of stifling our laughter behind our hands. Prim, at least, is a heavy sleeper; I'll just have to hope that Mike is too.
This is crazy. I am crazy.
His room is dark, the shades drawn; I can make out pennants and shadowy posters on the walls, a disheveled bedspread, and not much else. I slither out of my sweatpants as I crawl between the sheets, and he lands heavily beside me, pausing to take off his leg with his back to me. As always, he's curved away from me just enough that I wouldn't be able to see him do it, even if the lights were on.
I smooth my hand over his back, enjoying the ripple of muscle as he moves. "I wish you wouldn't hide from me like that," I whisper.
He turns; I can feel him searching my face in the dark. "I'm not..."
I pull him down to me: down, down, until he's squarely on top of me. I slide my fingers under the waistband of his pants, savoring his weight on me, how I can feel his every small movement as he adjusts himself. "Yes...you do." It's barely a whisper, and I couldn't say it in the daylight.
He props himself up on his elbows, cradling my face in his hands. I can feel him frowning, and it won't do.
"I like you, the way you are. You don't have to hide." I say it right into his ear, and then I take his earlobe between my teeth and bite down.
He moans out loud.
"Ssssh," I remind him, grinning as I work his pants lower along his hips; he lifts up slightly, lowers one of his hands, and they're off.
He settles onto me again; I shift myself until he's positioned just so, between my thighs. He is so hard and I am so, so wet, and we are both just...poised.
"My god," he breathes. "I love you so damn much."
"I...aaaaaah." He's inside me all at once, and my response turns into a moan that is a bit louder than I would have liked.
"Ssssssh," he reminds me, thrusting forward a little more. I bite down on my lower lip, stifling a squeak, curling my fist into his hair and wrapping my legs around his hips.
This is not going to take long for either of us. He slips a hand under my shirt and cups one breast, squeezing in time with his quick, hard thrusts, faster and faster, and in the end he squeezes his lips together to stifle a loud moan and I grab his pillow and stuff it against my mouth, and hope it was enough to muffle my shriek.
He lowers his forehead onto mine. We're panting at one another in the dark, fumbling with shaky caresses.
It's bigger than us, this thing we're feeling. It's bigger than words.
"I love you back," I manage finally, and earn myself a deep, wet kiss, his hands tangling into my hair, pulling the tight braid free. When he finally pulls free of my body I give a soft moan, not wanting it to ever, ever end.
I'm still smiling when I shimmy back into my pants, creep over to the door, take one final look back at my beautiful boy. He's propped up on one arm, watching me go, and I can't see his face in the dark, but I know he's smiling back. I'm still smiling, too, when I ease the door shut behind me, and turn to tiptoe back to the guest room.
The smile fades when I catch sight of the open bathroom door, the glaring white light spilling out into the hallway.
The smile disappears when I turn fully, when I find myself staring into a pair of ice-blue eyes not two feet away from me. A chill takes its place when I recognize her face from her portrait on the stairs, the one in which her little boy was leaning away from her, like he was afraid.
I want to turn back time and decide not to go into Peeta's room, I want to curl up into a ball and sink down through the floorboards like a ghost, when I realize that I am face to face...
...with Peeta's mom.