"Katniss I really don't feel good about this."
"Oh, get over yourself" I snort, annoyed by his protestations. "You are way overdue for getting over your ridiculous hang-ups about this. We're supposed to be adults these days and this is the kind of thing adults do."
Gale looks deeply disapproving but doesn't argue the point further as I grab a firm hold of his hand and lead him towards my front door. For months I've been trying to get him to visit me at home and he's always had some flimsy excuse as to why he can't. We both know what the real reason is but neither one of us says it out loud. Today I've finally tired of all the stubborn men in my life and decided to force at least one of them to do what I want him to do. I've been married for about a year now and not only have I failed to grow close to my husband, my best friend is slipping farther and farther away from me. If things keep developing in this way I will lose them both and I'm not willing to lose either one of them.
"It's just a house, it won't bite you" I say with a scowl. "It's my house and you are my friend and you should be inside it from time to time. You never had any problems visiting me in the other house."
"The other house was your house" argues Gale. "This is your marital… hearth."
"My marital hearth?" I snort.
"You know what I mean."
"I really don't" I say sullenly, knocking my feet against the brick wall of the house to get rid of the snow underneath my boots. "Gale this is serious to me. You need to be able to be in my home or how are we supposed to be able to stay friends?"
To say that our friendship has been strained again is an understatement. After that day in the woods when we had our big fight we didn't speak to each other for over a month. It wasn't until we ran into each other outside the Hob that we exchanged words and it was anything but pleasant and easy-going. Thankfully our encounter did end with both of us offering an apology and since then we've gone back to meeting up in the woods every Sunday but there is a distance between us that I don't know how to bridge. I do know that I really want to try to, which is why I've dragged him out to the Victors' Village to spend the afternoon under my roof.
"It's not your home" says Gale as he walks up the steps to the front porch. "It's yours and Peeta's. You know why I'm not comfortable with that."
"For crying out loud, Gale" I sigh. "What are you expecting, that the walls are adorned with pictures of him and me having sex?" He makes a face even though he knows that we haven't consummated our marriage, which is one of the reasons why I can't wrap my mind around his reluctance to come and visit me at home. "Peeta's not even here right now, if you're worried about running into him." I unlock the door and usher him inside.
"Katniss I know I have to socialize with him on occasion" says Gale, looking around the front hall uncomfortably. "You know I don't have a problem with him in general. But as long as he is your husband…"
"So what do you want to do then?" I ask, slamming the door shut behind me. "Stop being friends?"
I begin to unbutton my coat and some of my anger fades away and in its place comes sadness. My relationship with Peeta is so complicated. Things with Gale never used to be complicated and the fact that they are now is eating away at me. I don't know how to express to him that I need him in my life without giving him the wrong impression and false hope. Why did he have to develop feelings for me? Why couldn't things have stayed the way they were?
"Catnip you know I don't want to stop being your friend" says Gale softly, remorsefully. "I'll try. I promise I will try. I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yeah but you came kicking and screaming" I mutter, kicking off my boots.
"No more kicking and screaming, I promise" he says, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "Just… Have the decency to give me time. I lost the girl I love and I'm worried that I'm losing my best friend as well."
Acting on an impulse I walk up and wrap my arms around him. Immediately his arms wrap around me in return.
"We just have to figure this out" I say in his ear. "Me being married does not have to mean that you and I can't be friends like we've always been."
"I hope we always will be friends" answers Gale. "But Catnip, it can't be like it's always been before."
"It can" I insist. "Peeta doesn't have a problem with our friendship."
"Maybe he doesn't but I have a problem with your marriage." He pulls back from the hug and runs a hand through his greasy hair. "It's not the same anymore and it never can be. You know that. I can't be the guy you're closest to anymore."
"No I know" I say with a nod. "Different doesn't have to be a bad thing, though."
I nod for him to follow me and lead the way into the kitchen. He looks around, seeming uncomfortable. Aside from being mirror-imaged the design of the kitchen, and the whole house, is a copy of the one I won and Gale has visited that house numerous times. Peeta has done other things with his house, though. The kitchen especially differs from the one in my house. Baking gear seems to be everywhere and Gale eyes the large metal frame holding four grates where Peeta puts the bread to cool, seeming to have a hard time figuring out what it's used for. His eyes then go to the rolled up plastic baking sheet Peeta works the dough on and to the five plastic bowls stacked on top of each other.
"He sure has a lot of… baking things" he comments.
"He spends his victor's money mostly on baking- and painting equipment" I say, walking over to the refrigerator. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No, thanks" says Gale, still looking around in the kitchen. His eyes land on a painting of three lemons in a bowl. "Did he make that?"
"He did" I nod. "That was before I moved in."
"So, right now, is he… out painting?"
"He's with his family." I open the fridge and grab a pitcher of lemonade, even though Gale declined something to drink. "He and his brother are helping his other brother paint the nursery for Peeta's niece or nephew."
"Merchants can afford nurseries?" says Gale. "I don't know why they act like they're impoverished, too. It's insulting."
"Depends on what you define as a nursery" I reply, setting the pitcher down on the table together with two glasses. "Ryean and Maggie were allotted a house about the same size as the one your family lives in. The nursery is smaller than my closet upstairs. Maggie wanted it painted to look more pleasant, since it has no windows."
"Which one is Maggie?" asks Gale, taking a seat by the table.
"The pregnant one" I say and he gives me a look. "Married to the younger of his brothers, Ryean. Daughter of a man who works at the Justice Building."
I pour him a glass of lemonade and he takes it in his hands but doesn't drink from it. He looks thoughtful.
"Rory has his eyes set on a girl" he tells me.
"Really?" My eyebrows rise a bit at the news. I take a sip from my glass and wait for him to continue.
"Makes me feel old" says Gale, making a face as he rubs his neck with one hand. "He was a kid, too young for the Reaping, just yesterday. Or so it feels."
"Just wait until it's Posy having her eyes set on someone" I say.
"I'd really rather not think about it."
"I pity the poor fellow she falls for" I say with a grin. "You'll no doubt be keeping a watchful eye on him, armed to the teeth in case he does anything to hurt her."
"I wish I had kept an eye like that on you."
An uncomfortable silence follows his words. I have to fight not to lose my temper. Why does he always have to go down this road?
"It wouldn't have made much of a difference" I say, my jaw clenched. "You are not my older brother. You have no right to ward off any potential suitors."
"I never wanted to be your brother" he replies.
"Good thing you're my cousin, then" I shoot back icily.
He sighs heavily and keeps on inspecting the room. I finish my glass of lemonade in one go, setting the glass back down with a bang. Sometimes I feel like Gale is making an effort to figure out how we will fit into each other's lives from this point on but other times I feel like he's not even interested in trying.
"What's that?" asks Gale, pointing at a picture frame sitting on the small table where we usually put what little mail we get.
"Our marriage license" I reply. We've been meaning to put it up somewhere but until somebody outside our families stops by it will probably stay on the table. "Got to show how proud we are of our wedlock, after all."
He snorts.
"Yeah, nothing in this house to feel awkward about in the least."
Angrily I rise from my seat.
"Fine, then just go. Nobody's forcing you to be here. Just don't come to me later complaining about how we're drifting apart and it's all my fault!"
"Katniss." He stands up as well, regret shining in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I am, okay? I am trying but it's going to take some getting used to."
"We've been a year" I say. Suddenly I'm not sure which one of the two boys in my life I'm actually referring to when I vent my frustration. "How damn long does it have to take to adjust and do what needs to be done?"
I feel Gale's hands on my upper arms.
"I am sorry, Catnip…" He pulls me close from behind, pressing my back to his chest. "I don't want to lose you. I realize now that I need to get over you. That's going to take some time, you know."
"Don't go to any trouble for my sake" I say surly, though being close to him this way relaxes me a little. I close my eyes and allow myself to feel just how starved I am for physical closeness. Peeta never holds me close like this unless I've just woke up from a terrible nightmare.
"You deserve better than all this" mutters Gale in my ear. "You fought so bravely in the arena, you've been so strong all your life… This cage, this marriage, should not have been your destiny."
"It is what it is" I say, sighing heavily. I take a step away from Gale, out from his embrace, and I walk over to the table and grab the framed marriage license. "This part is the easy part. Spending a lifetime with Peeta… He's a good, kind person and I can depend on him." I put the license back down. "The difficult part is when we'll be forced to have children. When we have to be mentors for our own kids." I force myself to smile, trying to push the dark thoughts away, and I turn towards Gale. "I don't know about you but I would love to do something normal. There's a deck of cards around here somewhere. Do you still remember how to play Turn Ten?"
He nods and smiles slightly. Feeling relieved I show him to the study and grab the cards from its place on the bookshelf. There's a writing desk in the room but I would feel weird playing cards with somebody while sitting at a desk. Memories of a conversation I had with President Snow a year and a half ago spring to mind and I shudder slightly. I'm still not sure I have convinced him that I love Peeta. I'm begging to fear that only a baby could do that. A baby Peeta is not willing to make with me.
I sit down on the thick rug on the floor, motioning for Gale to do the same. Quickly I lay out the cards in front of us and place the rest of the deck in-between. I'm not particularly fond of playing card games but I've spent so many long winter nights playing them with Prim, and occasionally with Gale, that I could do it in my sleep. It's something comfortable and familiar. Hopefully it's something Gale and I can do together without any problematic feelings getting in the way.
We end up having a nice afternoon, despite everything that initially pointed to the contrary. Peeta doesn't show up, which makes me wonder how long it takes to paint a nursery that can barely fit an adult and a crib, but I hold back my concern that something might have happened and don't say anything about it. I'm afraid that if I say or do anything to imply that I want to hear my husband walk through the door Gale might get cross or decide to leave. We are having such a good time together, almost like old times, and I want to hold on to it for as long as I can.
Gale even stays for dinner. The thought of offering to cook something fancy crosses my mind but I quickly discard it. Gale probably doesn't want to eat anything sponsored by my Hunger Games victory anyway and if Peeta comes home in the middle of the meal I don't want him to get the impression that Gale and I are having more than a friendly dinner together. I'm working on a new strategy to get him to go to bed with me in every sense of the word and a big part of that is making sure he doesn't think I have romantic feelings of any kind for Gale. As long as he suspects that I might rather be with my official cousin there's no way he'll ever touch me like that.
We eat leftovers from last night's meal, mashed potatoes with meat from the wild turkey Gale and I shot last week and a bit of gravy. As we eat I can't stop my eyes from going to the clock above the kitchen door. It's past six o'clock and pitch black outside. Where is Peeta? Why hasn't he called me to tell me that he'll be late? There's a phone in the bakery and Ryean's house is only three blocks from there. He could easily have gone over to his parents' house to make that phone call. Doesn't he realize that I will worry if he's not home in time for dinner?
If Gale notices my discomfort he doesn't let it show. We finish dinner and he helps me clean up afterward. He looks out the window and squints to see the digital numbers on the thermometer.
"Ten degrees below…" he says, shivering slightly. "I shouldn't have stayed this long. This kitchen seems even more warm and hospitable when it's dark out."
"You can stay a while longer if you want" I say. Having him here helps keep my mind off of Peeta's absence.
Gale nods and smiles at me. He starts to tell me about something Thom told him at work the other day but I'm barely paying attention. I stopped looking at the clock while we were doing the dishes, realizing it won't make Peeta come home faster if I count every minute that goes by until he does. I make us tea and we sit down at the table together, both trying to extend his visit for as long as possible, albeit for very different reasons.
We both turn our heads in the direction of the front hall when we hear heavy stomps on the porch, coupled with the muffled sound of voices. A second later we hear the door being opened and I'm on my feet immediately, feeling frightened for half a second before I recognize the voices. Peeta and one of this brothers. I sometimes have a hard time telling their voices apart when I don't see who is speaking, all three of them sound very much alike, but I can safely assume that at least one of the people who just walked through that door is my husband.
"Peeta?" I say, relief coupled with anger washing over me. I'm so glad he's home but I'm furious with him for making me worry.
The noise from the hallway quiets for a second. Then I hear a thud followed by the door being closed rather hard.
"Hey Katniss!" bellows one of the Mellark boys. "Brought you something fun!"
Gale, who has slowly risen to his feet beside me, gives me a troubled frown. He seems on edge with whatever is going on, as if he's worried that trouble just walked through the door. Ignoring his apparent concern I begin to move towards the hallway when suddenly Peeta and Scotti appear in the doorway, the former leaning heavily on the latter, looking rather worse for wear. It takes no more than a look at Peeta for me to know that he's drunk, even though I've never actually seen him in that state before. His eyelids are heavy, his cheeks flushed and he wobbles where he stands. Scotti has clearly been drinking too but seems to be more sober than his brother, and sports a very wide grin.
"Peeta!" I say in an astonished exhale. "What on earth?"
"My brother the feather-weight" grins Scotti, unloading Peeta onto a chair. He cocks an eyebrow at Gale and me. "We're not interrupting anything, are we?"
Gale crosses his arms over his chest and gives my brother-in-law a challenging look but I ignore them both and walk over to Peeta, now slumping over the table looking like he might fall asleep any second.
"It's only seven o'clock!" I point out. "Why on earth are you drunk? At this hour?"
"Ryean's going to be a father tonight" mumbles Peeta, slurring slightly.
"My baby brother is a feather-weight and my middle-brother is a wimp" grins Scotti. "Poor old Ryean is so nervous about the whole wife-in-labour thing that he demanded we get him sloshed." He slurs quite a lot on the last word. "Peeta here went to Haymitch and pro… proc… well, took some of his drink."
"So why are you drunk?" asks Gale in a disapproving tone.
"Brotherly support" slurs Scotti, steadying himself by holding on to the counter. "I can at least handle a few drinks and so can Ryean. But Peeta here…" He guffaws. "They didn't teach you how to down alcohol in the Capitol? What a waste of fine liquor."
"I'm not that drunk Katniss" says Peeta slowly. He rests an elbow on the table and leans his head against his hand, slumping further.
"Mother threw a fit when she saw him like this" laughs Scotti.
"She threw a fit when she saw the booze" retorts Peeta with sudden irritation and energy. He slurs a bit too. He turns to me and looks like he can't quite focus his eyes. "She sent me home, told me I was an emba… embassement."
"Embarrassment?" suggests Gale dryly.
"Mmm…" confirms Peeta.
"Don't know who's gonna be feeling worse tomorrow" says Scotti, still sounding entertained. "Peeta here, or Maggie if the baby hasn't come yet."
I feel a slight flush on my cheeks, feeling stupid for not asking about the baby on my own accord and cringing inwardly at the thought of what Maggie is experiencing at the moment. To distract myself from the thought of it I take Peeta by the shoulders and give him a nudge to rise.
"Come on, let's get you to bed."
"I'm not… tired…" he mumbles.
"Peeta please" I say, knowing that if he passes out down here like Haymitch tends to do then I will never be able to get him up the stairs.
"Okay Katniss" he says, strangely compliant, and pushes his chair back.
Scotti walks over and grabs a glass from the dish rack, filling it up with water which he then downs in long, loud gulps. Gale eyes him sceptically. I find neither one of them to be particularly helpful at the moment.
"Scotti, are you spending the night here?" I ask, hoping that the answer will be no but doubting that he can make it all the way back to town in this condition. I can barely believe he got Peeta here in the first place.
"Can't" says Scotti, dropping the glass in the sink. Luckily it doesn't break. "Ryean is really freaking out. Guess having to listen to your wife moaning in pain while you wait for the midwife to get there so you can scram can do that to a guy."
I cringe, drawing to mind the women I've seen brought to my mother in the late stages of difficult labour. I was never able to stay in the house; I was out the door at the first scream. I can't imagine the kind of pain Maggie is in right now and I can't blame Ryean for having a hard time dealing with it. If I find it difficult listening to complete strangers giving birth it must be ten times worse for Ryean to hear the woman he loves go through it.
Peeta stumbles as he takes a step away from the table and I immediately grab a hold of him, wrapping his arm over my shoulders.
"Sorry…" he mumbles.
"Let's get you to bed" I say. "Can you walk up the stairs?"
He nods and hiccups. I can't help but wonder why anybody enjoys drinking this much alcohol. Peeta doesn't look happy at all and Haymitch's spirits aren't exactly brightened by the booze either. Scotti, on the other hand, is in a splendid mood. Too bad he's not walking entirely straight either.
"I'll leave you two" he announces, grinning widely at me. "Perhaps it's a good thing Peeta is too hammered to do anything fun with you tonight. Don't want to find myself in this predicament again in another nine months' time."
My cheeks turn beet red at his insinuation and I turn my face away, hoping Gale didn't see it. I help Peeta towards the stairs, finding he can stand without trouble but has a hard time walking straight on his own.
"I think I'd better follow this one home" says Gale, nodding at Scotti. He has a look of utter distaste on his face.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Yeah, I'm heading in that direction anyway."
"Thank you" I say.
"Don't I get a thanks as well?" asks Scotti. "I brought your other half home."
"You also got him drunk" I retort icily.
"I'm fine, Katniss…" says Peeta slowly.
As I begin to move up the stairs with him I hear Gale herding Scotti towards the door. I've gotten Peeta about halfway upstairs when the front door slams shut behind them. Peeta looks tired and full of remorse.
"I didn't mean to ruin your evening" he slurs.
"Don't be ridiculous" I say. "Here, this way. Do you want to wash up and brush your teeth before going to bed?"
"Don't worry about me" he says, pulling his arm away from my shoulder and taking a few staggering steps towards the bed. He stops and sloppily unbuttons his shirt. "You can go back downstairs and be with Gale."
"Gale left" I remind him. "He too Scotti home."
Peeta looks surprised but his expression quickly changes back to the dejected look he's sported since he came through the front door. He unbuttons his jeans and begins to tug them down his legs, getting the fabric caught in his prosthetic. He leans forward and tries to tug them down anyway and almost loses his balance, spinning around and sitting down hard on the bed. I walk up to him and kneel to help him finish undressing.
"You're so good to me…" he says through half-closed eyes.
"Hush" I say. "You need to sleep this off."
I get his shoes off and the pants soon follow. Peeta lets himself fall back on the bed but he notices that he's lying on top of the bedspread and groans loudly.
"I'm sorry" he says again.
"Stop saying you're sorry" I say. I have no idea how to handle him when he's like this. I'm not good with dealing with drunk people at all. Most of the time it's Peeta who tends to Haymitch when he drinks too much. "Can you stand up? I'll get the bedspread."
Slowly Peeta gets back on his feet, standing there looking groggy while I get the bedspread out of the way. He lifts up the covers and crawls underneath.
"It's all wrong" he says and at first I think he's talking about having gotten in on my side of the bed. Then he sits up and shakes his head. "This isn't where you want to be. This isn't where you should be."
"Hush. You're drunk."
He lies down and worms his way over to his own side of the bed, rolling over on his stomach. He turns his head so that he's facing me and his eyes stay on me as I gather his discarded clothes from the floor.
"You wanted Gale. Got stuck with me."
"I never wanted Gale."
"You should have gotten to be with him. I don't want this any more than you do."
"I don't want to be with him so let's not talk about it."
"I love you" he says, and it makes me pause mid-motion. He has never said those words to me in private. "You don't love me. I don't want to be reminded all the time."
Slowly my hands sink to my sides, the clothes I was folding falling back to the floor. It feels wrong for me to hear him say this. I'm positive he wouldn't want me to hear it if he were sober. He would have told me all of this a long time ago if that were the case. Even so I can't bring myself to leave the room. That would only make things worse, like a confirmation that he's right. I feel so sad and tired as I watch him curl up in a foetal position and grab the comforter in his fists.
"I've ruined… for you…" he mumbles, his eyes closed.
"What?" I ask, wondering what he thinks he might have ruined.
"You should have had… If it hadn't been for me you would have…"
"Died" I finish his sentence but he shakes his head.
"You wanted him. Got stuck with me. I'm sorry."
Tears begin to fall down my face. This is all too much to handle. Being friends with Gale is so much hard work these days. I'm still not accustomed to not living with my mother and, above all, my sister. The façade we have to uphold in public is grating already and I know we have to keep doing it until the day one of us dies. Thoughts of Maggie and her current ordeal are still in the back of my mind. The frustration about my relationship, or lack thereof, with Peeta is beginning to take its toll. The concern I felt for him tonight was really difficult to bear, bringing to mind terrible memories of when we waited for my father to come out from the mines and he never did. And now this. Peeta's drunken confessions of love and guilt. He's not the one to blame for all this. I am. I was the one who caused the problems to begin with and Peeta just got caught up in the maelstrom. He's the wronged party and he believes he has ruined things for me.
Not knowing what else to do I discard my clothes quickly and grab my nightgown from underneath my pillow. I crawl in beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Peeta… You haven't done anything wrong. You hear me?"
"It's not right…" he mumbles slowly, drunkenly, sleepily.
"No, it isn't" I agree. "But none of it is your fault. Go to sleep."
"I wish I didn't have to be the one who took it all away from you" he says, and it hurts my heart to hear the words leave his mouth.
I brush a lock of hair from his brow and to my surprise I hear him snore. He doesn't normally do that but apparently this much alcohol has that effect on him. I'm not particularly sleepy myself and I know I need to turn the lights off downstairs anyway so I get out of bed carefully, finding my robe and wrapping it around me as I head downstairs.
The kitchen feels so empty now without Gale, and especially without Peeta. I make quick work of getting the house ready for the night and then I head back upstairs. I might as well go to bed and try to get some rest. When I walk back into the bedroom Peeta has rolled over on his stomach again, his right leg hanging over the side of the bed. I ponder lifting it back underneath the sheets but think the better of it. I pull down the blinders and get into bed next to him, staring at the ceiling and hearing the ticking of the alarm clock in the darkness.
The next morning I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching Peeta as he wakes from slumber. He frowns the second he opens his eyes and smacks with his tongue several times. When he turns to squint at me he lets out a groan.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"Horrible" he moans. "Good grief… Never let me do that again."
"Do you want something to eat or drink?"
He turns and sits up slowly, rubbing his temples.
"No… God, my mouth is like sandpaper."
I wonder if perhaps I should be mad at him. That seems like the appropriate wifely response. Last night he had me very worried, then came home drunk as a skunk and ended the evening by spilling a whole lot of inner thoughts I really wish I hadn't heard. I ought to feel he deserves the way he's feeling now. Perhaps it is proof that I wasn't meant to be a wife when all I feel for him is sympathy.
"Katniss I…" he begins, peering up at me from underneath the curly bangs that have fallen over his eyes. "I have a terrible feeling that I said some things to you last night that you didn't deserve to hear."
Instantly I feel anxious and I reach out my hand and place it on his shoulder to calm him. I'm the one making him carry around guilt he doesn't deserve. I don't want him to apologise to me or feel bad about anything.
"You didn't say anything" I assure him, the lie slipping easily past my lips. "Well, you mumbled something about Ryean and Maggie but that was about it."
He sits up straight, groaning slightly at whatever discomfort the sudden movement caused him.
"Ryean and Maggie!" he exclaims. "Shit, Katniss, I have to find out if my brother has become a father."
"Do you want me to call the bakery?" I ask.
"No" he says, shaking his head slowly. He gulps and looks like he's going to throw up but manages to control himself after a few seconds. "I desperately need to shower. And have some water. And preferably go outside and stick my head into the nearest pile of snow. Ugh, this is the last time I am ever drinking. I don't care if Scotti freaks out a year from now because he's having twins or something!"
I can't help but chuckle and I move off the bed as he carefully lifts the comforter aside and slowly gets moves his feet off the bed and down on the floor. I walk over and help steady him but unlike last night he is perfectly capable of walking on his own. He heads for a cold shower while I make the bed. I can hear him throwing up in the shower and roll my eyes but still I can't seem to bring myself to fault him for any of this.
After his shower he gets dressed, slowly, and then follows me downstairs. He looks sick when I put a plate of fried eggs in front of him but manages to finish everything on his plate somehow. When breakfast is done he agrees to take a couple of pills the Capitol generously bestowed upon us when we were mentoring in the Quarter Quell. They know many mentors tend to drink a lot and they want them to be fit for fight, so to speak, the next morning so they provide everyone with pills that supposedly cures a hangover.
Silently I follow Peeta as he goes to put on his outerwear. He wants to visit his brother and sister-in-law and I know that I will follow him there, no matter how frightening I think this whole thing is. I'm terribly afraid that we'll walk through the door to the sounds of Maggie still screaming her way through childbirth and I'm relieved when Peeta turns to go to the bakery first. His hangover seems to have disappeared almost entirely by the time we knock on the back door and step inside. Apparently the pills work very well.
In the back room of the bakery Scotti is nursing a hangover too, without the aid of Capitol medicine. He doesn't look as bad off as Peeta was earlier today but his eyes are not fully open and he barely says a word as he sits at the table, nursing a large mug of tea. His mother shoots him irritated glances every now and then but doesn't say anything. Peeta grins widely at the sight of his oldest brother in this predicament, as if he's forgotten how terrible he himself was feeling only half an hour ago.
"My brother the featherweight" he grins.
Mrs. Mellark gives Peeta a look but doesn't get a chance to say anything because the bell rings inside the shop. She leaves and Scotti glares at Peeta who walks over to a counter and lifts the towel covering a large bowl, inspecting what is underneath it.
"You were way drunker than I was last night" says Scotti. "How the hell can you seem completely fine right now?"
"I'm still young" shrugs Peeta, the picture of perfect health compared to his older brother. "You, on the other hand, are getting rather aged."
Scotti just glares at him but doesn't say anything. Their mother comes back to the back room and Peeta turns his attention to her.
"We came to see if you had any news…"
"The baby has been born" she says, a strangely soft tone in her voice. "As of five hours ago your brother is a father."
The wide grin that appears on Peeta's face is so genuine that you'd almost think this news is a complete surprise to him. I don't know why everybody finds this news so amazing. Especially Peeta, who so carefully avoids becoming a father himself.
Moments later Mr. Mellark comes down the stairs, beaming, giving Peeta a big hug and me a gentle stroke of the cheek. As it turns out the whole family intends to go and visit the new parents together, which I know I would absolutely not want if I was the woman who only five hours later gave birth to a baby. I would like to sleep undisturbed for as long as possible and preferably not see another living soul except for the baby and its father. I look at Peeta and wonder, with an all new kind of nervousness, if his whole family will come knocking on our door when I've had our baby. He still thinks we can avoid procreation but I know that he is wrong.
Peeta hooks his arm with mine as we leave the bakery. Scotti wants us to stop by Allie's house and have her come with us but his mother sharply tells him no. This visit is for family only, and Allie won't be family until she and Scotti have their toasting this fall. It's strange to realize that Peeta's mother now includes me in the definition of family, although I suppose she has no other choice.
It's a short walk from the bakery to the new Mellark family's house. It's a bright and sunny day and Scotti is clearly suffering in his hung-over state but he won't dare to voice any complaints in front of his mother. Peeta seems bothered by the sun as well, though not quite as much as his brother. We reach the house, Mr. Mellark knocks on the door and after about a minute Ryean opens it. He looks tired and hung-over but the wide grin on his face is something I don't think I've ever seen on anybody before. For a brief second I imagine that it's Peeta's face I'm looking at, beaming with joy over the birth of our child. Ryean waves for us to come inside the house, backing away to give us space.
"Come in, come in" he whispers. "Maggie is awake but the baby is sleeping."
I don't understand how she can be awake, seeing as how she definitely didn't get much rest during the night. Quietly we all take our shoes, coats, gloves and hats off and end up piling all of it on a rickety chair in the hallway. Their house is small but comfortable and it's shaping up to become quite homely. Ryean leads us down the hallway and stops on the threshold of the bedroom door, smiling lovingly at the sight before him. When I reach the doorway I see Maggie sitting up in bed, cradling a little bundle. Her short, dark blonde hair is matted and damp and strands of it stick to her forehead. Her cheeks are red and there are dark rings under her eyes. Even so, the look on her face makes her truly beautiful.
For just the flash of a moment I envy her. That total bliss and utter love on her face is something I'm not sure I will ever get to experience for myself and when I see her gazing adoringly at her baby I can find some understanding in what I've heard so many women say, that the moment the baby has been born you forget the horrors of its birth.
"Come in" says Ryean in a low, calm voice. "Meet our son."
So it's a boy. Typical, since the baker and his wife have three sons and no daughters. I stay in the background as Peeta, Scotti and their parents carefully walk up to the bed and Maggie holds the baby a bit differently so they can all get a first look at him. My eyes go to Peeta and the joy and excitement on his face. It hurts a little, seeing how he loves his nephew already and wondering how much he would love a child of his own. I'm so transfixed on him that I don't even notice Ryean walking up to me.
"You can take a look, too" he says in a friendly, welcoming tone.
Surprised I take my eyes off Peeta and look at his brother, the new father. I'm not at all eager to actually see the baby up-close, having never been one to fawn over infants. It seems rude to reject the invitation though so I walk up to my husband and take his hand in mine, feeling a bit better at the familiar touch. I look down at the tiny person in Maggie's arms and I have to admit it's fascinating how perfectly human he is, even at only five hours of age. He has soft wisps of dark blonde curls on his head, teeny-tiny eyebrows and even perfect little eyelashes. The nose is a miniature version of Maggie's and the mouth has a little cupid's bow. I find myself staring at the baby boy's fingers, each one with a small little knuckle and a perfectly shaped nail. Peeta's hand leaves mine and comes to rest on my back and I feel closer to him in this moment than I have in a good long while.
"He's beautiful" says Mrs. Mellark, an uncommonly tender tone in her voice.
"What are you going to call him?" asks Scotti.
"Thomas" says Ryean.
That quickly pulls my mother-in-law out of whatever sentimental mood she was in and she goes back to being the hag I know her to be. She looks at her middle son with a furrowed brow and eyes full of disapproval.
"Thomas?" she echoes, as if the name is a curse word. "That's hardly a Mellark name."
"It's after my father's uncle" says Maggie softly, as if that explains everything. It of course does nothing to appease the new grandmother.
"Your brothers can name their sons Thomas, then" she says, still glaring at Ryean. "Men of the Mellark family have other names."
I feel compelled to ask her just how many male names you can make out of bread puns but I hold my tongue. If there's going to be a fight today it's not going to be started by me.
"You have no say in this, Mother" says Ryean, a warning in his tone.
Mrs. Mellark frowns, crosses her arms over her chest and opens her mouth to say something in return but Scotti beats her to it.
"This is not the time" he more or less hisses. "Don't argue and wake the baby."
Ryean turns his focus to his child and leans in to take him from Maggie, placing a kiss on her brow. The baby makes a faint noise in his sleep but doesn't wake up. Ryean offers the infant to his father and Mrs. Mellark seems to soften a touch again when she sees her husband holding their first grandchild.
"They're so tiny when they're newborn" says Mr. Mellark quietly.
"Probably don't seem that way on their way out though, huh?" comments Scotti, earning him a death glare from his mother.
After a few minutes Peeta walks up to his father and signals that he wants to hold his nephew. I can't believe he dares to. I would be absolutely petrified of holding someone that newborn. I don't even know how to hold a baby without running the risk of dropping it or squishing it. Peeta seems completely calm though as his father moves the baby over to his arms. I can feel a tug at my heartstrings as Peeta smiles down at his nephew and talks to him in a soft voice. It's clear as day that Peeta Mellark has a way with babies and that he ought to have a few of his own and in that moment I almost feel I genuinely want to give him one, and not to appease President Snow.
As I watch him hold baby Thomas my mind starts to try and work out the risks and the odds. I am as good as positive that Peeta's and my child will end up in the arena but would Snow dare to send more than one of our kids there? Wouldn't that be too blatant? Would the loss of one child be made more bearable if there were other children left with us? My eyes go to the baby and I feel a sense of panic at the thought of having one of those myself and then having to send him or her into the arena after twelve to eighteen years.
Slowly and quietly I move further back in the room, creating distance between myself and the Mellark family. I really don't feel like I belong here as part of the family. I feel like I'm invading a private affair, a private moment. Nobody even notices that I've withdrawn to a corner of the room, not until Peeta finally takes his eyes off his nephew and furrows his brow when he sees me.
"Do you want to hold him?" he asks his mother and she takes the baby from him, cradling him in her arms in what is obviously an experienced fashion.
"Thomas…" she mutters under her breath, obviously still annoyed. "You're too much of a Mellark to be a Thomas."
Peeta ignores his brothers and parents and walks over to me, lowering his voice to a soft whisper.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine" I answer in a low voice. "Just…"
"You want to come and look at him more closely? You can hold him, if you want to."
"No!" I say. "No, Peeta, I do not want to hold the baby. I got a look at him and that's quite enough."
He smirks.
"Not much of a baby person, are you?"
"No, I suppose not."
"You want to go back home?" I nod and he nods back. "Okay. I'll just go and say goodbye to Maggie and the baby real quick and-"
"No, Peeta" I say, putting my hand on his arm. "You don't have to leave. I'll go. I feel like I'm intruding on your family thing here."
"Don't be ridiculous" says Peeta. "Look, it's fine, I've seen him and I've held him and I honestly think Maggie could use some rest now. Let's go home."
I nod slowly.
"Okay. If you're sure. I'll wait out in the hallway."
I feel relieved as I leave the room and walk towards the front door. I can hear soft voices coming from the bedroom and after a minute or two Peeta comes out into the hallway. Without a word I hand him his outerwear and he puts it on. I open the door quietly and we step outside into the cold March day.
"I don't get it" I tell Peeta as we begin our walk back home.
"What all the fuss was about? It's a baby. Babies tend to-"
"No, the name thing" I say, annoyed at his condescending remark. "I understand your mother has a strange fetish for baking-related names but where did they come up with the name Thomas?"
"It's after Maggie's great-uncle."
"Okay…" I say, my tone telling him that I still don't understand.
"Maggie's father works in the Justice Building, like his father before him and so on" Peeta begins to explain. "They came to get those jobs because the family descends from a line of priests of one of the old religions. The family itself has about twenty or so living members at present, cousins and second-cousins to Maggie and so on. There are eleven male names they keep recycling. Maggie's father is Andrew, her uncle is Simon, her grandfather was Jude and so on."
"And her… father's uncle is Thomas?"
"Yes" nods Peeta. "Her paternal grandfather died young. I don't know what the actual causes were but from what I hear through gossip the whole regime and the Hunger Games never sat well with him and unlike the vast majority of Panem citizens he wasn't afraid to voice that opinion. Rumour has it he was poisoned."
"Why have I never heard about this?" I ask. District 12 is a small place and stories like that should have spread to the Seam.
"People don't like talking about it, because such things tend to be bad for your health" says Peeta dryly. "Either way, after Jude died his brother Thomas took Maggie's father, who was about five years old at the time, under his wing and raised him as his own. For all intents and purposes, he is her grandfather."
"I see" I nod. No wonder Ryean doesn't want his mother complaining about the name. Great-uncle Thomas must mean the world to Maggie's father, and to her. I often find my sister-in-law rather silly and too focused on useless sentimentality but I can appreciate wanting to name your child in honour of somebody who made such a difference. "Is the elder Thomas alive?"
"Died two years ago. Of course, we all know tradition dictates that the children be named in keeping with the line of the father but he was so important to Maggie and she doesn't have any brothers. Ryean, on the other hand, has two brothers who can name their kids in the traditional way."
His words make me wonder. I've never spent a single second of my life thinking about what I would name a baby of my own. I never intended on having any so the subject has always been without interest to me. Now that the decision to have children has been taken out of my hands I realize I will end up the mother of children with names like Peeta's. At the top of my head I can't think of a single baking related name that I like, except for my husband's.
"Your mother gets no say in naming our kids" I say sharply.
Peeta gives me an odd look.
"There won't be any kids to name."
"Yes" I say forcefully. "There will be." I think again of the night Maggie has had and it sickens me to think I will be the one going through that at some point. "Snow won't allow it to be any other way."
"What if we're barren?" challenges Peeta. "What then?"
"Do you honestly think we'd be that fortunate?" I scoff.
"No" he says in a dejected tone.