Chapter 26:
I have a couple of moments to hesitate, think things through, and maybe even change my mind.
But I don't.
If I had, I might have realized that this news that I was about to drop on Peeta was not necessarily good for the two of us- in fact, it had the potential to be terrible. I think that Peeta's always wanted kids. Telling him that I could be carrying his baby- or that I might not be- seems like the worst sort of cruelty. It would be foolish to automatically assume that the news will bring us closer together.
Yet when those two little words escape my lips, for some strange reason I am beyond optimistic that he will take one look at me and envision me, his newly pregnant wife, carrying his child, and as a result his love for me will magically work itself out, trumping any other emotion that he is experiencing. It's as though in that instant I manage to forget that there is even a remote possibility that the baby is Gale's.
But there is. In fact, the probability is more like fifty-fifty.
And it must be one of the first things that he thinks of- because the pain and uncertainty in his eyes tells me so. He looks so tortured he actually shuts his eyes for a few moments, either holding back tears or simply refusing to make eye contact.
"Is- is-" he begins, but he doesn't say any more, and he doesn't have to. I've already completed his sentence in my mind. Is it mine?
In response, I clear my throat. "I- I don't know," I try to sound loud and clear, so he doesn't have to open his eyes again if he doesn't want to, but my voice is trembling and sounds hoarse.
He snaps his eyes open at my response anyway, but merely nods, completely expecting the answer.
Not knowing what else to say, I turn and walk down the hallway to the door to tell Prim that this isn't the best time for me to be heading over there, that perhaps I'll see her later. But she was one step ahead of me, the entryway is already empty, she had already managed to slip out without either Peeta or I hearing her. For a brief moment I smile. Maybe she'll be a hunter yet.
But I sigh as I turn back around to face the music again.
As it turns out, I don't have to. By the time I get back to the kitchen, Peeta is gone.
In the coming days I notice a few subtle changes. Peeta is somehow both more attentive and more distant towards me. He's started to knock on the door of my bedroom every morning, making sure I've had a healthy breakfast. Most of the time I've already grabbed something, but he asks anyway, sometimes sounding concerned, sometimes almost angry. He now watches me in the kitchen as I prepare lunch; I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, he seems to constantly be calculating the origin of the ingredients, whether they were obtained from the right source, healthy enough, and whether they contain anything unfit for the embryo. One time he literally swatted some cheese crumbles out of my salad, claiming that we had no way of knowing whether there was any bacteria growing in them that could kill the baby- and I looked at him as though he was crazy. But he's not crazy- he's tortured. And I tortured him. So I don't say anything.
Peeta's also started frequently walking with me down to the market, almost every day. It's under the guise of helping me select the proper food for our baby, but our brief time alone and outside is really the only time that we feel safe talking. I tell him about Prim's idea to inform Snow that I miscarried; he seems to agree that it's the simplest explanation for me being six weeks pregnant instead of nine months.
And he always sees me off to mother and Prim's now, even though I'm staying at their place as long as ever, often not returning until late at night. Spending any more time with Peeta than I have to while he's being like this would kill me.
The subtle changes are occurring in me, too. What's growing inside me becomes as big as a grain of rice as I finally put on my 9-month and final prosthesis. The next week the prosthesis is the same, but the fetus is the size of a blueberry.
It is right around this time that we get "the call". The call that we knew was coming, of course. The call from the Capitol in regards to what they expect from Peeta and I in this final month of my supposed "pregnancy". Which feels odder than ever since I'm in the second month of my true pregnancy and my body is already exhibiting some very real changes.
"They want us to do a baby special for mandatory viewing on TV," Peeta announces as he gets off of the rarely-used Capitol phone. After it rang several minutes ago, Peeta had picked up, listening attentively to whoever's voice was coming from the other end, interjecting only words like, "of course," and "absolutely". I sat there nervously anticipating what he would say, but now I groan. This is worse than I thought.
"Of course, labor, the birth, and all of that. But they also want to throw us a baby shower during the special, like for our wedding," he continues. "We will get a lot of Capitol-selected gifts. And they plan to film you with the Capitol doctors so that the audience can be informed of the baby's progress. They even have this machine called an ultrasound where they can generate a picture of the baby in your body based on sound waves."
I am at once awed and terrified. What technology hasn't the Capitol developed nowadays? On the other hand, Peeta and I won't very well be able to fake our way through this. Snow will need to know what's going on before the special starts filming, it's as simple as that. And his reaction to the news that I'm not nearly as far along as he thinks scares the bejesus out of me.
It's then that Peeta drops the next bomb. "They're coming to get us tomorrow around noon," he says quietly. "They'll do a few interviews with your mom and sister first, but then they're taking us to the Capitol for a while. We may even be there until the 'delivery'".
My first thought is that I wonder if he's trying to keep Peeta and I far away from District 12 because of the rebellion. But little does Snow know that Peeta and I are completely uninvolved; for all we know there isn't a rebellion going on at all. I must say, it's a relief not knowing. Since we're public figures now, we don't have to worry about how our reactions and our feelings are being projected onto everyone else in Panem. It can't be used against us. But at the same time I'm dying to know what's going on. Everyone that we know has been so mum about it that it's impossible to tell if something has even been planned.
But that first thought doesn't last long before it's drowned out by my second thought- that we're going to have to decide, and fast, how and what to tell Snow. This is the thought that lingers in my head as I go through the rest of my day, the thought that I can't seem to shake the whole time I'm and mother and Prim's house, the thought that is still on my mind when I arrive back home and Peeta and I retire to our separate quarters.
It's the thought that's still on my mind when Peeta makes the suggestion the next morning to go to the market, even though we'll be leaving the house in roughly two hours for God knows how long. The whole way there, we walk closer than we have in quite a while- no doubt the paranoia of the Capitol coming to get us from our home has gotten to him, and we need to be able to communicate. But the whole time I wished that we could be closer for reasons other than discussing whether or not I should wear the prosthesis when the Capitol helicopters pick us up.
We decide yes. We have to tell Snow right away, but we need to exercise a little bit of control in this situation- especially since we'll be in the public eye. The citizens of the Capitol expect to see me nine months pregnant, so showing up otherwise will be a slap in the face. It makes me nervous because it will clue Snow into the prosthesis, possibly make him realize that we've been lying to him this whole time, but I don't want to completely shock him, either. We need to prepare him for the news somehow.
So I leave my prosthesis on and we get ready for the imminent arrival of Peacekeepers, camera crew, and the Capitol helicopter. It's only us this trip, so thankfully we're spared from the day-and-a-half train ride. I pack a few belongings, snack on some pistachios that we got from the market, and wait. I just hope to God that Snow himself couldn't be bothered to make the journey.
A little while later we hear the sounds of the Capitol helicopter overhead; that's our cue to finish packing and get outside to greet the cameras. It will feel weird not having Haymitch along for this trip, but he didn't really have much to do with this baby's conception, this trip to the Capitol is all about Peeta and me, the loving parents about to give birth. I snort at the thought. Peeta might not even be the dad, the last thing I want to do is celebrate this baby being born, and it isn't going to be born for seven months yet anyway.
Peeta and I are standing outside when the copter lands in a field not far away and the camera people get out and make their way towards the house. I don't see Snow in the helicopter, and feel an immediate sense of relief, but that relief is short-lived; the butterflies in my stomach take flight when I look more closely at the camera crew. They are waving excitedly at us, pointing at both Peeta and I, and rapidly connecting the two dots with sweeping movements of their fingers. They are gesturing for Peeta and me to kiss.
Peeta and I haven't kissed since before I slept with Gale. I am probably the only one close enough to see the hesitation on his face; he obviously doesn't want to kiss me, not after the way that I betrayed him. But Peeta plays along with the Capitol's games better than anybody; he is brilliant at giving Panem what they want, so he will kiss me anyway with enough faked enthusiasm that the people watching at home will sigh with pleasure.
I decide at that moment that I will take full advantage of this situation, of his lips on mine, to let him know how very badly I want to be kissing him for real. I may not be good at expressing it with words, but I can do this. I will kiss him like I never have- at least, not like I ever have in front of the cameras.
Peeta leans forward to press his lips to mine, not in a fleeting way but not with much inward passion either, and despite his ambivalent demeanor I respond more fervently than ever. Whereas for other camera-captured kisses I might have placed a hand demurely on his shoulder, this time I snake my hand and fingernails into his hair and scratch his head before pulling, none-too-gently, at the little tendrils at the base of his neck. Whereas before I might have only partially opened my mouth to perhaps let just the tips of our tongues intermingle, this time I open it wider, gently probing Peeta's mouth open too, and eagerly explore it with my tongue, bringing his tongue up and massaging it with mine, coaxing it to participate. Whereas before I might have put my other hand on his back or around his waist, this time I do so but pull him so firmly against me it squishes the prosthesis practically into a pancake. In the moment I want to be as close to him as possible, to feel him up against me. Before two months ago, we had been a sexually active married couple for over half a year- the lack of contact, not only from sex but things like close hugs and cuddling, had really gotten to me. I try somehow to get my fill of the intimacy I'd been missing in the last seven weeks in the ten or fifteen seconds that we're obliged to this embrace.
Peeta doesn't passionately respond to my advances- he doesn't grab me back or take control of our kissing or run his fingers through my hair in return- but he doesn't rebuff them either. To do so would definitely be sending a clear signal that something was wrong to people watching, which he would never do. But I notice something. When I move my hand from his neck to his chest I feel that his heartbeat has accelerated, that his heart is pounding hard against his chest wall. When the kiss is finally over and I pull my head away slightly to look at him, I can see that his whole face is flushed, his eyes are dilated, his cheeks are redder than I have seen them for quite some time, and that his breathing is erratic and labored. And I don't let go of his body right away, I'm still holding us tightly together at the hips. The bulky prosthesis precludes me from knowing if I've sexually excited him, but based on what the rest of him looks like, I wouldn't be surprised if I did.
I should probably be worried that the prosthesis responded so differently than my body would have in the midst of that embrace, that it collapsed in a way that would have squashed a real-life baby, giving away our secret too soon. But I can only think one thing. Maybe I still have a chance.