"Come home with me," he asks. I've never seen Finnick let himself be so vulnerable.
"It's not my home," I say softly, delicate with the words I know hurt him. I stuff my few possessions into a duffle bag. The pearl. The spile. My family's plant book. My father's jacket. The bundle of Peeta's letters, still sealed and unread.
"Sometimes home is just where you end up, Katniss," Finnick answers. I stare at the quilt on my bed. "I know you close yourself off. I did that for a long time." He closes his eyes and runs his hands over his face. "I don't have a lot of family left. You guys are my family, you and Peeta. Annie and I... we want you in our lives. We want our son to know you." He pauses, taking a slow breath. "Come home with me."
I look up at him and slide my hand on his cheek. He leans into it, his skin smooth and hot. I imagine his son at Reaping age. I imagine Finnick teaching him how to shave, unable to demonstrate on himself. Talking his son through it, pressing tissue against any nicks or scrapes. Annie standing in the doorway, a bittersweet smile on her face.
"I made a promise I have to keep," I answer. His eyes water and he bats them quickly, sniffing his nose and burying the reaction as best he can.
"Okay. Okay." Finnick grabs my bags. "Let me carry these to the station at least. I already loaded Annie and my stuff. Effie appears to have an entire moving crew. You'd think she was moving in and not just staying in Twelve for a couple weeks." He pauses. "It's just weird, you know? Going home."
Home. I didn't think that was a real thing anymore.
Finnick starts walking toward the door. "Finnick! Wait!" I call out, and when he turns back to me I rush forward and wrap my arms around his waist. I hug him as hard as I can manage. He drops my bags abruptly to the floor and envelopes me in an embrace. "You are my family too, okay?" I mumble into his chest. I feel his chin nodding. I close my eyes and see him and Annie on the beach, a toddler stumbling between them, crashing into the soft sand. I smile a real smile.
I hear Finnick sniffling and pull back. He wipes his nose with his wrist and I start laughing at him.
"When did you turn into such a mess?" I tease.
"It's Annie's fault. I hardly sleep anymore. She just won't stop moving," he rambles, laughing through the tears.
"You think you don't sleep now? Wait until you've got a little baby in the room," I joke. He grins widely at me.
We load the train and when I walk past what would normally be Peeta's room, my stomach seizes like I've just swallowed a gulp of ice water too quickly – I can feel the cold lining my stomach and running through my veins to my fingertips and toes. It's weird being on the train without him. Peeta and Haymitch were sent to 12 weeks ago.
I go to my room and unload my bags. I don't unpack. I never really unpack. Nothing in my life is permanent enough for that. I walk across the room and drop unceremoniously on the bed. I lay on top of the blankets, staring at the ceiling until I feel myself drift off. I dream about our Tour. About coming back to our suite after dinner with Plutarch. I'm so glad you're home.
I waste a couple days in my room. Effie comes knocking on my door when I don't show up for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. I ignore her. It's not until Annie comes waddling to my compartment that I let anyone in. She moves carefully to my bed, using her hands to ease her way down.
"I want you to eat something," Annie says, staring at me with concern in her eyes.
"I'm not hungry," I reply, my voice tired. She's not in the mood for excuses, but it's all I have. "I try, it just makes my stomach turn."
"Normal things feel wrong after someone dies," she says. I didn't realize how perceptive this auburn-haired girl is. Annie has always been somewhat of a mystery to me. I like spending time with her because she isn't flighty or nosy and she doesn't talk too much. And yes, sometimes she will just drift away from me, mumbling something incoherent, but she always comes back. "When I went home after my Games, doing normal things felt wrong. I'd survived through something awful but everyone kept expecting me to be happy. Every time I closed my eyes, though, I saw blood and water and death. And so people got mad. My parents got mad because I refused to go back to how things were. My father told me he thought the Games might cure me of my fragility. None of them expected I'd survive. But every normal thing I did felt like a betrayal to those I left behind in the Arena. So I didn't sleep and I didn't eat because doing anything made me feel rotten."
I watch her mouth move, her lips smooth and rosy. Her skin is glowing. I always thought the new mother's glow wasn't real. I'd never seen anyone in 12 glow. But Annie may be the first healthy pregnancy I've seen.
"No one is asking you to forget, Katniss. I'm just asking you to eat this apple," Annie says, holding out a shiny, red gem in her hands. I remember giving Prim my apple in 13 as a reward. I touch the ruby with my fingertips and a rotting feel shoots up my arm, into my veins, and throughout my body. "It's just an apple," Annie whispers. She pulls a knife from her pocket and cuts a slice off. The skin pops as the blade pierces through. She drops the sticky, cold fruit in my hand.
I can do this. I bring the apple to my mouth and the taste of its juice on my lips brings me back to a day in the woods when Gale and I found a virgin apple tree. It was maybe four or five years old. Its branches were still thin and supple and they bent with the weight of their fruit. We ate until we felt like we might explode. We were both so sick that night – too much sugar and sweetness. The next day we did the same thing. Worth it, Gale said with a sticky, syrupy smile. I'd forgotten about that day. I'd forced it to the recesses of my memory, along with every other thought of Gale I'm too ill-equipped to handle right now. But in this moment I can just remember him as who he used to be – the boy in the woods.
"Thank you, Annie," I smile. She and I share the apple. We talk about home. She tells me about sea shells and salt water. I tell her about the lake and the dry soil. Annie finally rises from my bed, but as she lifts her heavy body, her face winces in pain and she shoots a hand to her swollen belly.
"Oh!" she cries out as she drops to her knees, her forehead pressed to the quilt of my bed.
"Annie? Annie?" I repeat, but it's as though she's in her own world. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"It's fine. I've been getting them all day. It will stop," she breathes through her teeth.
"Getting what all day?" I ask, and then it hits me. "Annie, are you in labor?"
"No," she says firmly, but I can tell from the glistening tears in her eyes she knows she's lying.
"Annie!" I repeat back, but she turns her face away from me.
"I'm just going to hold him in. There's a hospital in Four. We'll be there in a day, two at most," she whimpers, but she knows every word out of her mouth is a hopeful version of events that won't come true.
"How often are you having contractions?" I ask. She shakes her head. There is no doctor on the train. There's us, a few staff members, and the crew needed to operate the train. I stand up, cross to my door, and open it. Finnick and Annie's room is just a few doors down from me. "FINNICK!" I scream out. I see his door open, his blonde head pop out. "Get down here," I beckon him, turning back to the girl writhing on my floor. Her face finally breaks, relief washing over her.
"It's over," she says, but her face shines in sweat. "That one was different," she says quietly, panting as she rubs her stomach with one hand. Finnick walks through my door, and when he sees his wife rocking and soaked on the floor, his face changes.
"Annie, oh my god. Annie, are you having the baby?" he asks. She shakes her head feverishly.
"No. No no no. I'm waiting. I'm–" Another contraction rips through her, less than a minute after the first one. She bunches up her face. Finnick grabs her hand and rubs her lower back as she rocks a little, soothing herself. She finally lets go of the tension, burying her face in Finnick's shoulder.
"I don't think we can wait, Annie. I think we're gonna have to do this really soon," Finnick says gently, but her face contorts into a mask of fear and tears fall down her cheeks. Her face is nearly as red as her hair.
"No. No…" she begs, but there's nothing any of us can do to stop nature.
I miss my sister. She'd know what to do.
I bolt down the hall and get Effie. More hands are better, although when she enters my room she turns a shade of green that makes me wonder if that's really true.
"Get her on my bed," I order as I turn to the bathroom. I see Finnick and Effie each take a side, Effie clicking what she thinks are comforting words.
I look at what I have for supplies. I grab some towels and a couple plastic trash bags. Maybe I should put her in the tub. I try not to panic but my hands shake as I run a hand towel under the steaming hot water of my sink. I close my eyes and think back to my mother. The women on our kitchen table, knees sprawled, hands gripping the edges. The screams, the cry of an infant.
I'm in way over my head.
I come back into the room and Finnick jumps up to help me. He turns his back to Annie, blocking me from her view.
"Please, Kat. Please don't let me lose her," he begs, his words barely audible.
"I'll try," is all I can offer him. He composes himself for a moment and turns back to his wife with a fake smile.
I clean her up a little, saving the worst for last. Her contractions grip her entire body as I wipe her face, her arms. Finally, I build up the nerve, lift her dress, and pull the soaked and bloody underwear down Annie's legs. The moment she's exposed my stomach drops. A shiny tuft of red hair protrudes from her body.
"Annie, I'm going to need you to drop your knees out for me, okay?" I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
"Why does she need to do that, Katniss?" Effie twitters, gripping Annie's hand like a vice.
"I just need a better – " I don't finish my sentence. It's exactly what I thought. The top of the baby's head is already poking out. I swallow to keep back the vomit.
"Okay, Annie. Ummm…" I think back to my mom. Face set, body relaxed, hands still. "On the count of three, I need you to push."
"What?" Finnick cries out. "It can't possibly be time for…" he starts, but when he looks at Annie his face turns white and he shifts all his attention to his wife. "You can do this, Ann. You can. You are the strongest woman I know. You can do this."
"One, two, three, push!" I call out. It's over sooner than I'd think, and I have a sloppy, crying, fat baby in my arms. He's slippery and I immediately place him on the bed between Annie's open legs. I wipe his face with a towel and use a straw to clean out his nose. He screams at me until I finally lift him in my arms and place him on Annie's chest. She's crying too. Finnick drops his forehead to his wife's.
"I love you. I love you so much. I love you," he repeats, kissing her face, the baby's head. I've seen so much death, so much hurt, so much pain that I don't quite know how to process what I'm seeing now. It's love. Pure joy. This world is worth being in. This place gives as much as it takes.
"What are you going to name him?" I ask.
Finnick looks up at me, his face covered in sweat and tears.
"Jo," he whispers. "We're going to name him Jo."
Effie and I slip out of the room.
I spend the night in Peeta's room. The vacant cabin is unlocked so I just let myself in. I find a sterile toothbrush in the drawer and scrub my mouth until I can't taste bile anymore. I pull myself under his sheets and stare at the ceiling when it hits me. I left something for Peeta on the train before the Quell. The cleaning crews probably threw it away. It's been nearly a year since we'd been on this train. I left it thinking he'd be back in a matter of days, weeks at most.
I open the drawer to his nightstand with a jerk. It's not there. The smooth rock from the lake. The one Gale laughed at when I dropped it in front of him. My choice for the most beautiful stone in 12. A memory from a day that now feels like a lifetime ago.
Instead, there's a piece of paper.
Our promise.
Across the paper in his post-hijacking scribble are the words we vowed each other: Meet me at home.
I pick it up gingerly, as if it might turn to dust at my touch. Meet me at home.
The train arrives in Four the next day. We help move the new family to their house in Victor's Village. Finnick wants us to stay a day or two, but after the last bag is in their home, Effie and I head back to the train. I start coming to breakfast. Effie reads to me from the paper. I pretend to care. The closer we get to 12, though, the more I start clawing at the walls like a stray cat in a home for the first time. The train arrives just after dawn. Effie did not tell Haymitch or Peeta we were coming.
"I wanted it to be a surprise!" she blushes as the train attendants help us with our things. I carry my few meager possessions on my own. Effie has a caravan of men. When we reach the entrance of Victor's Village, I grab Effie's hand.
"Be careful, he might pull a knife on you," I warn. Haymitch is not one for surprises.
We part ways as she heads down the path toward my house. I stare at it from the yard. It looks the same, but different. I wonder what ghosts await me inside, but that isn't the home I planned to return to. I turn my face toward Peeta's. A small puff of smoke billows from his chimney even though we are now in the swing of early summer. I know these steps, I know this path, and yet my heart slams in my chest. I can feel my pulse in my throat, hammering in my temple, fluttering in my fingertips.
I go to the front door. It feels sort of formal. I raise my fist and knock, which doesn't feel normal at all. I hear some shuffling inside and my breath catches. I'm dizzy for lack of air but I can't remember how to make my lungs breathe. The door opens and he looks exactly as I remember him – a white tee shirt, an apron folded in half and wrapped around his waist. Flour on his hands, a smudge on his cheek. His eyes stare at me in disbelief and for a moment I think I've made a mistake. But before the words I'm sorry can cross my lips he steps forward and wraps his arms around me tight.
"Are you really here? Is this real?" he asks, his voice dwarfed by disbelief.
"It's real," I whisper into the crook of his neck.
We stand like this on his porch for too long, for not long enough, just holding each other and rocking slowly back and forth.
It's time to rebuild.