It's easier to do than I expected. I dare say I even enjoy a good half of the evening. Conversation is slow to pick back up, but then Mother starts to tell us about what she's been up to since arriving at District Four. And instead of feeling hateful and resentful, I just listen to what she has to say. She even mentions the medicine factory and confirms that the rumors are true and that they hope to start breaking ground sometime next year.
We stay as long as possible, and it isn't even forced. I'm actually surprised when Peeta glances at the clock and mentions we need to go if we are going to catch the last train.
"You can stay," she offers. I am tempted, but I see her exterior crack just the slightest. She means well, but I don't think she means it. I don't think she knows how to have me back here, playing pretend. Staying the night would be too much, far too soon. It will only bring up reminders of Prim, so I politely decline.
"Well, come again. Whenever you want. You are always welcome." It sounds like friendly acquaintances talking, not a mother to a daughter.
"You're always welcome back home, too." She winces slightly at the word home, and I know I've crossed some invisible line I hadn't known to look for. I backtrack as quickly as possible. "We'll definitely come again. Soon." It feels like a lie even as I say it, but someday, maybe, I will.
She pulls me into another tight hug, and this time it is only her and me. No ghosts, no shadows, no reminders. When she pulls away, she touches my hair. "It's so short," she comments. "I like it," she says with a smile. That one comment almost breaks me.
"Peeta," she says, giving him a hug as well. "Take good care of her."
"I try," Peeta says with a smile and a sideways glance at me.
"Off you go, then," she says. "The trains wait for no one."
Technically not true, but I don't say so. No need to ruin the moment.
The walk back to the station is made difficult by the richness of the food in my stomach. I had never known my mother could cook such a delicate plate. It had been superb, and my stomach both aches from the richness and yearns for more.
We reach the station with a few minutes to spare, but there are no available seats available on the benches to perch while we wait. I practically groan as I find a light post to lean against. "Remind me to never eat that white sauce again," I comment to Peeta as I gently prod my gut.
He laughs. Shrugging out of his coat, he moves to wrap it around my shoulders. Only as I lean slightly off the post to allow it behind my back do I even realize I am shivering from the cold. One drink too many with dinner I figure is to blame.
His coat is a welcome comfort, and I pull it tighter around me as I sink back into it. "Thank you," I tell him. Then I meet his eyes and turn serious. "I mean it. Thank you for everything today." I reach for his hand, to let him known I mean it, and it's not something I'm saying just to say. "For coming with me. For keeping me from doing something stupid I would regret by tomorrow. I actually had a nice time tonight, and that's all thanks to you."
"Of course," he replies easily. Then adds, softly, "Always."
His hands slide into the front pockets of his jacket for warmth, bringing him a few steps closer to me. A warmness spreads through me. I blame it on the thickness of his jacket and the three glasses of wine in my belly. But as he moves closer, my heart leaps with anticipation. As if it recognizes this scenario, and can guess what happens next. My eyelids slowly shut on their own accord as my hands find his shoulders and draw him in.
But his head turns at the last moment, and my lips smack cold air as my cheek brushes against his nose. His hands turn awkwardly in the pockets, and the coat pulls towards my sides as he holds my waist through the coat. "We probably shouldn't," he says softly. Regret fills his words.
"Why?" I ask stupidly, my eyes still only partially open.
"I'd hate to ruin our record." His nose slides away from my cheek before his forehead rests against mine, tilting my head back to rest gently against the pole.
"Record?" I ask, even more confused now.
"Mmhmm." His breath tickles my eyes.
Licking my lips, I fight to breathe under his close proximity. I curse my body for reacting this way around him, always. As if I have no say in how I feel; no control at all. "What record?" I ask again.
I can hear the blast of the train's horn in the distance, signaling its arrival. I expect Peeta to pull away, but he doesn't move. "How long it's been since the last time we kissed. We made it three months this time. I honestly didn't think I had the self-control, and now I kind of don't want to ruin it."
My brain is still partly addled, and I can hardly understand what he's saying. The only thing I really take away from it is that he's taking pride in not kissing me. And that he wants to. But he won't. Which seems counterintuitive in my mind.
I am about to say as much when the train pulls to a stop. I happen to glance at it over Peeta's shoulder, and I do a double take at what I see in the window. "Haymitch."
It's Peeta's turn to be legitimately confused. "What?"
I turn Peeta away from me, twisting him as I point at the window I'm looking at. "Haymitch is on the train."
"What?" he asks again.
"What?" I agree.