"You didn't have to come," I say for what has to be the twentieth time.
In response, he slides his hand into mine. Giving it a squeeze of reassurance, he nudges me in the side with his elbow. "What else was I going to do? Even Haymitch had plans."
He plays it off casually, but I'm thankful he offered and that I wasn't too stubborn to accept. I stare down the front door, still unable to make myself knock yet, and I don't know how I even would have gotten off the train if it hasn't been for his urging.
"This was a terrible idea," I say, my feet backpedaling. His grip holds firm, and he roots me to my spot. My heart sinks as he does the thing I have not been able to do myself. With his free hand, he reaches forward and raps on the door. Just like that. As if it is the easiest thing in the world.
My insides try to force their way out. Even the world starts to feel like it is spinning around me. Peeta wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him and giving me the support I cannot muster on my own.
I don't have time to dwell on how this makes me feel. The door swings in, and then she's just standing there. She looks so much like Prim that it hurts to see her at first. I look at her and see my sister in her features.
"Katniss." It's soft and familiar, so different from all the times I would call her name, plead with her, after my father's death. I hate that she seems so composed, that our roles have now reversed. She is uncertain, however, in how she stands. As if she might want to hug me, but doesn't know how to break the barrier between us that is currently Peeta.
He tries to pull away, but I keep him there. I am not ready. Not yet. Just seeing her is a punch to the gut, and the air has been knocked from my lungs. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes and I don't know why. I wanted this trip. I had practically demanded this visit. But now, now I can hardly even look at her.
And suddenly, I understand. Not completely, but I do. How it must have been for her, after Father died. To look at me and see him. In everything I did, in every feature of my face. I can almost sympathize, except that I had been a kid, and she had been my mother. It had been her job, her responsibility, to keep going. But now I see what it was like, and a part of me regrets how I treated her all those years. How much I resented her.
Then Peeta is pushing me towards her again, and I don't object. Her embrace is warm and familiar. She is so far away from home, and yet she smells just the same. A little bit of the Seam, a little bit of her merchant upbringing. A faint undertone of medicine clings to her clothes. She is still my mother, and she is my home. The part of my life that has been missing. The part I know will never come back.
"Hi." It's a half choke, half sob against her collar. Now that I'm in, I can't pull away. I cling to her almost desperately. Part of me is afraid of seeing her face when I look at her again. Of that stab of pain that will follow. By even thinking it, I imagine myself hugging Prim. And it hurts just as much.
I can no longer hold back the tears. I no longer try. Just like that, she lets go as well. In that instant, we are one of flesh and bone, alike more than we are different for the first time in my life.
It is a while before we make it off the front step and into the house. After ushering us into the living room, she disappears into the kitchen to put a kettle on. Peeta idly strokes my hair, and I lean into him as I close my eyes and take a shaky breath. This house is so different from ours, and yet it feels the same. It has the same touches and characteristics as my childhood home. There are even a few salvaged photos on the mantel, charred around the edges and slightly morphed from the heat.
The china rattles as she brings the tea out. She's just as nervous as I am. We both thank her, and she says that dinner is almost ready to serve. "It isn't much," she warns. I can't remember the last time she cooked for me and not the other way around.
"I'm sure it will be more than enough," I tell her, on my best behavior. I'm still trying to work this out. How I should feel, what I should do. As soon as the hug ended, the spell died. Now, the dynamic feels broken; wrong somehow. And for the first time in my life, I don't know what we should be to each other. I no longer have clearly defined roles predetermined in my mind, and I'm at a loss.
She sits. We sip tea and chat about nothing of consequence. After she returns from checking on the quail, "It'll be just a few minutes more," she asks the one question I've been dreading since we arrived. "Have you spoken to Gale recently?"
"Have you?" I ask, diverting the attention away from me for the moment. She seems unsure, then slowly nods. "We converse from time to time. He misses his family. Feels guilty about leaving Hazelle and the children." Her eyes dart towards the ceiling. "I can relate."
Peeta places a hand on my knee as a gentle warning. I press my lips together to keep from saying something I will regret. Does she know? After all this time, I am still uncertain. I never shared my suspicions, but I can't be the only one who put the pieces together. Did anyone think to mention to my mother that Gale, who did so much to help her family when she couldn't, very well could have been the one to take her daughter from her? Has she wondered? Does it torment her, like it does me?
I have to know, but I cannot ask, and I doubt she'll say. "But he is well?" I ask with a tight voice.
"He certainly has done well for himself." She sounds just as evasive as I'm trying to be. I guess that's another trait I inherited from her. Glancing down at Peeta's hand on my knee, she adds, "He has a new friend. She sounds as sweet as can be. From the way he describes her, she sounds like she looks like a Seam girl. I think she reminds him of home."
Each word is like a knife to my gut. My mother talks to Gale about his personal life? She cannot be bothered to pick up the phone and call me. She cannot even write a letter or send a video message. But she talks to Gale about girls he's infatuated with now?
My insides boil, and my temper flares. How dare he weasel his way into my mother, when she's shut out her own daughter. How dare he even speak to her, after what he did to Prim, to our family.
"Katniss," Peeta says, clearing his throat. His grip on my knee has turned painful, and it's what pulls me out of my blindness. "Since dinner is almost ready, we should go set the table." The look in his eyes tells me it is neither a suggestion nor up for debate.
When he stands, I follow. We are silent as we move into the kitchen. It takes a few tries to find the right cupboard for the plates, but we eventually track them down. Peeta hands them to me wordlessly, and I continue to silently fume as I carry them into the small dining room and set the table. It looks like an exact replica of the one we had in our house, which only infuriates me further.
"You aren't mad at your mother," he tells me softly, making me jump in my own skin. I hadn't heard him approach. I've gotten more and more careless these days. I set the last plate I'm holding down and turn around to face him.
"I'm not?" I ask. I'm pretty sure I am.
"You are mad at Gale," he clarifies for me, since he knows what I feel better than I do.
"Why am I mad at Gale?" I have to lower my voice midway through the question as it creeps up in anger.
"Pick a reason," Peeta says with a touch of his own anger. "Because he is talking to your mother, but not talking to you. Because he's found a Katniss look alike to replace you in his heart. Because he never came back."
I mean to tell him he's wrong. Instead, the words that come out are, "Stay out of my head."
He mumbles the next word under his breath, but it sounds an awful lot like 'gladly'.
My mother has moved into the kitchen. "Quail is ready," she proclaims softly, closing the oven and turning it off. "I'll just move this onto the table and we can eat."
"We should go wash up," Peeta says, once again speaking for me. I follow on his heels down the hallway, now just as mad at Peeta as I am with everyone else.
He stops just inside the doorway to the bathroom and turns to face me. As I open my mouth, he beats me to the punch. "Can you please, just this one, not turn this into a fight? I know you are upset and uncomfortable and angry, but she feels just as bad as you do. Spewing off at the mouth is not going to make anyone feel any better today. Let's just try to be civil."
"I-" I open my mouth, but can't think of what to say. Defensively I finally spit out, "I don't spew." Then, for good measure, I add, "And I don't care if Gale has a girlfriend." A look of disbelief crosses Peeta's face. Adamantly I insist, "I don't!" Though I don't know why I feel the need to mention anything about it at all.
His hands rest on my shoulders, and he pulls me a step closer. "I know this is the last thing you wanted to do today." I want to prove him wrong, to tell him it was my idea in the first place, but I'm tired of arguing. "But it means a lot to her that you are here. And it means a lot to you, too, even if you can't admit it. I don't have a family to be mad at anymore, Katniss. I don't have a family to have awkward conversations with, whom I can pick fights with over disagreements. You do, and you should be thankful for that, today of all days. She is the only family you have left. So, just for today, throw all that crap away. Just be here with her. Okay?"
He's getting awfully preachy, but he's right. I nod, and he finally releases me and moves to the sink to wash his hands. As he moves back into the hallway to let me in, I open my big mouth once more. "I don't care what Gale does."
"Oh, Katniss," he sighs. The look in his eyes carries a heavy weight of hurt and sadness. I try to make it better and only succeed in making it worse. I want to put my fist through the wall. Instead, I let him walk away as I turn on the sink and scrub my hands vigorously. After I turn off the water, I lean against the counter, pressing my palms into the rounded edge. A glance up at the mirror reveals a reflection I'm all too familiar with. A girl licked by flames, who carries the fire within her still as rage.
Then I drop my head. Closing my eyes, I count to ten. I force all the thoughts from my mind. When I open my eyes again, I will be Katniss Everdeen, grateful daughter. I will let go of all that crap, just as Peeta says. I will fake a smile and try to mean it. And I will get through this dinner without killing either one of them.
I hope.