Katniss' POV
Once the patio door closed shut I heard the muffled sounds of Peeta's mother screaming at him, which only added to the growing tension in the room now that I was left all alone with Peeta's father.
"Don't mind the commotion. They'll sort things out," he assured me. "They always do."
I was still deliberating whether or not I should leave, when I remembered the pot of flowers stashed in my bag. I fished out the flowers from inside the bag and placed them on the edge of the table.
"For the cookies," I explained.
His face broke into a genuine smile as he carefully examined the gift.
"Yellow irises," he said thoughtfully. "You know, Katniss, I don't usually accept payment for gifts, but these are my favorite. Thank you."
I didn't know what else to say so I just stood there, trying to muster up the strength to ask the question that had been plaguing my mind for the last couple of months.
"Why did you give me the cookies?" I finally managed to ask in a hushed voice. My fingers instinctively dug into the plastic of the bag I was holding, as I anxiously waited for Mr. Mellark to reply. But he didn't. He only stared up at me with an curious expression in his eyes.
Peeta must have said something to appease his mother's anger in the other room, because eventually the noise coming from the patio died down—but this created a somber silence that merely added to the tension in the dining room.
"Why don't you sit down, Katniss," Mr. Mellark proposed delicately.
I took his suggestion and quietly sat down in a seat opposite him.
"How has your day been?" he asked suddenly.
"Fine," I muttered, slightly annoyed that he wasn't answering my question.
"You went shopping in the Town Square today?" he said motioning to the bag I held in my hands.
"Yes," I replied, as I unclenched the bag and carefully draped it over a chair post behind me.
"And did you find something for yourself?"
I nodded. "A dress—for my sister."
"Oh, is it her birthday already?"
"No. It's no special occasion. She just needs new clothes."
"I see," Mr. Mellark paused for a second before continuing. "So I take it, your sister informed you of what she needed before you made your trip to the store?"
"No, she didn't have to say anything. I already know what she needs."
"If she needs a new dress, then surely she should be able to ask for it," he pointed out.
I didn't understand why he was questioning me about a dress I bought for my sister. The things I chose to buy and my reasons for buying them were private and certainly none of his business. And frankly, I was getting annoyed by the manner in which he chose to ignore my question.
"I suppose she doesn't really need it," I conceded in an attempt to end the conversation. "She does have other clothes."
"Well, if she doesn't need a new dress, then what compelled you to buy her one?"
"Because," I started with a hint of exasperation in my voice. "I wanted her to have it."
"And naturally you expect her to compensate you for such a gift?"
"No, of course not," I said brushing off his ridiculous suggestion with a small laugh.
"But I wonder what is it that you get out of this transaction?"
This question caught me off guard. I never thought of the things I did for my sister as being part of some sort of transaction; a contract where two people trade an item for another of equal value. I just liked doing things for my sister because of how happy it would make her.
"I suppose I get the satisfaction of making my sister happy."
"Yes, because sometimes we do things for others simply because we believe that they deserve a little happiness in their lives—and we hold no concern as to how that happiness will benefit us."
Mr. Mellark stayed silent for a couple moments and allowed me to take in what had just happened.
"I hope I've helped you answer your question, Katniss," he finally added with a smile.
Mr. Mellark was saying that the reason he gave me the cookies is because he thought I deserved a little happiness in my life. He didn't expect to gain anything from it, much like I never expected to get anything in return when I showered Prim with gifts of food and clothing.
It made sense for him to assume that my life lacked in happiness in the days that immediately followed the reaping. In volunteering for the Games, I had automatically lost my family, my friends, and my freedom all in one night, and I was being dragged away to a distant land with the threat of never being able to see them again. I was definitely in need of a pick-me-up and that's what the cookies were supposed to be. But, unfortunately, instead of appreciating the gift, I threw it away. At that time, I was entirely convinced that the cookies were just a clever ruse intended to trick me into trusting Peeta and rendering me an easy kill in the Games. But in reality, those weren't his intentions at all.
I felt guilty for holding a misguided grudge against Mr. Mellark for so long—so much that I couldn't even look him in the eye anymore.
I sheepishly lowered my gaze and resorted to examining the table in front of me instead. I softly brushed my fingertips against the polished texture of the table. Its oversized grains made it easy to see that the wood used to build it came from a Beech tree. The wooden floors stretching out from beneath the table clearly came from a white oak and were spotless and polished too. In front of the table stood a large wooden cabinet, with glass doors, that housed a wide variety of ornamental dishes and trinkets placed on display.
The house I grew up in didn't have a dining room. Like most houses in the Seam, we only had a kitchen, a living room, one bathroom, and one bedroom. Luckily, my father was a skilled craftsman and he built a wooden barrier that split our bedroom into two, making a room for me and Prim to share. Since we didn't have a dining room, we ate all our meals on the kitchen table, which also doubled as a gurney for my mom's medical work. My father built our kitchen table from wood he had chopped down from an old cherry tree in the forest. The table was simple in design, and we couldn't afford a polish for the wood, but it was sturdy and managed to do its job well. It's astounding to see how long that table has survived even after all these years of use.
"Now, you must be hungry," Mr. Mellark remarked. "I'll fetch you a plate." He stood up and hurried into the kitchen.
I could see the inside of the kitchen from where I sat. It was perhaps two or three times as big as the kitchen in my mother's home. Inside, there was an advanced model of the typical district twelve oven and a variety of machines that I had never seen before until my very first trip to the Capitol. Now I had all these gadgets and more installed in the kitchen that I shared with Peeta. I still wasn't accustomed to using most of them, and didn't see a point in learning since all I needed to cook my meat was an open fire.
Mr. Mellark came back into the room with a plate of food in one hand and a set of eating utensils in the other.
"Please, help yourself," he said placing the plate in front of me. "Before the food gets cold."
"No, I'll wait," I replied. It would be rude to begin eating before Peeta and his mom joined us. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure if Mrs. Mellark wanted me here, or if she was still intent on kicking me out.
Mr. Mellark sat down and began cutting a loaf of bread that sat in front of him. He silently handed me a slice and placed another on Peeta's plate.
I wasn't sure of what to discuss with Mr. Mellark. Normally, when I came to the bakery to make a trade we would make polite small talk about business. I tried initiating a business oriented conversation like this, but made sure to carefully omit any mention of my trade, due to the recently added surveillance cameras in the house.
"How's the bakery?" I asked.
"It's doing well. Surprisingly, the recent surge of Peacekeepers has led to an increase in business," he said trying to mask the true downward scale of business.
"Even a soldier can't resist a frosted cookie," he joked.
Business in district twelve was anything but well. Ever since the Capitol sent more Peacekeepers into the district they've been inspecting every shop in town, fining some and closing down others if they were deemed inadequate. Sometimes they would even burn down entire shops. But this wasn't something you could discuss in a room filled with Capitol cameras. So I just smiled at his joke instead.
I noticed the windows behind him were framed with curtains adorned in a familiar flower pattern. My mother had a similar set of curtains hanging from our kitchen windows. It was one of the few things she managed to bring with her when she ran away from her parents' home and came to live with my father.
All of a sudden, the patio door swung open and Peeta entered the dining room with his mother following closely behind him. I don't know what he said to her, but she seemed to be in a slightly more pleasant mood than she had been before. Still, that didn't erase my apprehension about her attitude towards me. With her in the room, I automatically felt unwelcome in the Mellark home.