Sorry that this update has taken so long guys. The fact of 3 English classes has finally caught up with me, as did the homework, but without further ado, here is Chapter 37...
Johanna stayed. We weren't sure if she was going to. She wasn't sure if she was going to, but the day that Willow started walking was the day she finally decided. I knew she would stay, if only for Willow. She cares more about my daughter than I previously thought. She's been surprisingly welcomed with open arms by the District as a whole. Peeta and I hardly thought she'd get a hello, what with being a victor from another District and all. But once again the kindness and compassion of those in District 12 has surprised me. I guess I should have had more faith in our few remaining residents.
Peeta started rebuilding the bakery, it was a long time coming, but it finally got finished. I've never been so proud of him. The bakery is twice the size of the older one, but with how much money we have between the two of us, he could have made it grander than that. But this is what he wanted, and Peeta's asked me for so few things so of course I would give him this. He wasn't especially close with his family, but it was where he grew up. We're still working on finding a name for it. That has most definitely been the hardest decision in the whole process. Everyone just says they're going to "Peeta's Bakery," which seems plain and boring to me, but we might just end up using that.
Darius and Lavinia figured out some type of, hand symbols language. I think it was called Sign Language at one time and they've been teaching everyone in town. It's taken awhile to be able to communicate with them, but they've been very patient. The kids have picked it up much faster than the adults. They got married too. It was a beautiful ceremony. Given what they've been through, and no one can understand that better than Peeta and Johanna. They had to watch it happen.
Willow's started talking. We can't get her to stop, not that we'd want to. Her voice is angelic at best. She's growing up so fast. She'll be three soon. It takes so much effort, and so little at the same time, to remember a time before this. Where reapings were commonplace occurrences. But now they're not. We haven't had a reaping in two years, and it has been wonderful. No more children will be forced to fight to the death.
Paylor has been doing wonderful as president, and she has united the Districts. I'm glad I killed Coin. She would have been terrible for Panem. She was terrible for District 13.
"Momma," I hear turning my head, I'm still not used to this. "Momma." My beautiful precious daughter with light brown hair and Peeta's blue blue eyes walking into the room where I'm sitting.
"Yes, Sweetie?" I ask, and there's a smile on my face.
"Where's Poppa?" she asks crawling into my lap.
I could never have pictured this without it actually happening. The warmth of her body, the soft steady pace of her breathing, and the lazy curls that fall around her face. "He's working baby," I coo as I encircle her in my arms.
"Can we go, bakery, pease?" She pounces up and down at the idea. Her vocabulary is really coming together and that's wonderful, but at the same time, her grammar…well, let's just say, we're working on that.
"You want to go to the bakery?" I ask with a smile. She bobs her head up and down emphatically, and almost falls off my lap in the process. I set her on the floor. "Okay, but you need to put your—" I start but she's already out of the room and back in before I could say anything, dragging her boots behind her by the laces. I can't help but laugh a little.
"I funny?" she asks as she plops down on the ground and shoves her shoes into my hands.
"Yes, love, you are."
"I know," she says with the biggest smile I've seen in awhile. I put her boots on and lace them up. "Yours!" She jabs her fingers at me and runs from the room, returning for a second time with boots in tow, this time they're mine. "Come, Momma, come," she drops the boots at my feet. I put the boots on but it's still not fast enough for her because as soon as she darts from the room I hear the front door fly open.
"Willow Primrose!" I yell and I hear tiny little feet skid to a stop.
"Come on," she pleads, just poking her head into the living room enough to be seen. "Pease?" she adds hesitantly.
"Yes, Sweetie, we're going to see Poppa." I stand up and walk over to her and she darts through the front door, and I follow closely behind her, shutting the door behind me.
"Where's Auntie Jojo?" she looks up at me as we walk – I walk, she skips – on our way to the bakery.
"I don't know, actually," I tell her, and I don't really know. Every so often she leaves 12. Where she goes, I don't know. I care, but I don't ask. She's entitled to have secrets, and I promised her I'd never pry. One of the things I had to agree to for her to stay, though that was a lie, but I said it anyways to appease her. Because, I wouldn't admit it completely outright, but I didn't want her to leave, I always wanted her to stay.
"Momma!" I feel a steady tugging on my sleeave, it's only now that I realize I've stopped walking. "You stop-ded," she shakes her head at me, "you can't stop-ded. Move Momma, move."
It's moments like these that I'm really not sure whose child she is. Sometimes she's so much like Peeta – in fact, she's more like Peeta than she is me – she has the same calming effect he has, but it's a different kind. She doesn't know what it was like in the Games, but Peeta does. Peeta's not tiny and can't be carried around – and let's be honest, I've already done that – and she can be. She has the same sweetness, and goodness that exists only in Peeta. Well Prim too. Sometimes she reminds me of Prim, and then I miss my sister. She was too young, Rue was too young, we were all too young.
"Momma," she pulls me behind her. We're almost to the bakery, when I'm overwhelmed by a thought. Four years ago today, Peeta and I won the Games. The first Games. If I wasn't being pulled by a very persistent three year old, I would probably steel myself away to the meadow – it's been growing back, there's more life there, but it's not as it once was – but I can't. Not today.
We round the last building into the center of town when Willow let's out a shrill cry of excitement. "Poppa!" She drops my sleeve and runs fast towards the bakery, I'm amazed her little feet and small size can even carry her that far, but they do, and she runs. Fast.
"Willow?" Peeta says stepping out the door. "Katniss!" he yells as a baguette comes flying through the air in my direction. I catch it just as he scoops Willow up into his strong arms and holds on tight. "Hello lovebug!" He throws her into the air and then catches her as she comes back into his arms.
"The bread," I wave in the air, "was this necessary?"
"Yes," he says with a smile and another toss of Willow into the air, "it's how we met."
"Not really," I say. "We really met because of the Reaping."
He stops tossing Willow and looks me in the eyes, "Katniss. It's just a part of our life. We will always have those Games in our past. Everything we've been through will always be there. And we'll go through plenty more I'm sure."
"We won the Games—"
"Four years ago," he nods, "yes."
"Poppa!" Willow strokes his hair. "Cake!" She smiles and points into the bakery.
"You want cake?" he asks her with a smile.
"Don't give her any cake," I say following them in, "she'll never eat her dinner."
"You want some cake, Willow?" he asks her again and she nods.
"Pease," she smiles up into his blue eyes.
I still can't believe that Peeta is here. That we overcame the hijacking…not once, but twice. He still has what we've termed, episodes, where he's not sure about a memory…some of the venom went deeper than we thought, but he asks if it was real or not real, and I'll answer him.
"Peeta," I say a little more harshly. "Don't give her any cake. She won't eat her dinner."
Peeta laughs, "Katniss."
"What?" I say as my hands ball into fists and land firmly on my hips.
"You love me, Real or Not Real?" he smiles widely.
I shake my head, but a smile comes and I tell him, "Real."
He smiles proudly, "Good." It's only now that I realize he's already given Willow a piece of cake while I was paying attention to him.
"Peeta!" I holler as I toss the bread back at him, which of course he catches.
"It's a small piece," he says and then smiles before adding, "and she has your appetite. She'll eat her dinner. What are you making tonight anyways?" He knows I don't cook often.
"I found a turkey, so that."
"Did you de-feather it, and all that good stuff?"
"No," I admit, "Greasy Sae came over and helped."
"Did she make dinner?" he teases.
"No," I start, "not all of it."
Peeta laughs good-naturedly as we both turn to watch our daughter, who has managed to eat all of the frosting off the top of her cake and is not digging into the piece of cake with her hands.
"You're giving her her bath tonight," I tell him.
"If I have to," Peeta says sardonically.
Just then as our eyes lock and we share a smile the door to the bakery opens and we both turn to see who it is. Peeta staggers before falling into me, I manage to catch him, but our audible gasps are hardly mistakable. Neither of us believing what we're seeing. Neither of us understanding how it could be true. Didn't he die? Where was he? How is he here? Why hasn't he come before? The questions seem endless. I didn't know him very well, hell, I didn't know Peeta very well at all until the Games. How is he alive?
I finally break the silence, though I don't know his name, I don't think Peeta could form the words anyways, "How are you…alive?"
"I left District 12, after the announcement of you going back into the arena."
"Why?" Peeta's voice is just above a whisper.
"Because I didn't want to see you die," he says to Peeta as his shoulders slump. "I didn't want to go through that again."
"You didn't want to go through it?" Suddenly there's an unfamiliar kind of harshness in Peeta's voice I haven't heard since the first train when he told me about what his mother said. How wounded he was by her comment, and I could hardly blame him.
"No, Peeta," he proceeds, "I didn't want to go through that again. Especially not for the Quell. I knew that if you had any power over the outcome, you'd make sure she lived and you died."
"She?" says Peeta, "'She' has a name, Taf."
Taf! Taftan! Peeta's oldest brother.
"Well, it's because of her that—" Taf tries to continue.
"That I'm alive?" says Peeta more forcefully.
"You don't understand Peeta," he shakes his head.
"But I do," I say. "My sister died."
"Oh," Taf says slowly. "I just didn't want to see that happen."
"I know," I say. If anyone understands that, and more, it's me.
"Poppa?" Willow tugs at his sleeve. "Who that?" she points at Taf.
"It's Poppa's brother," I tell her.
"No," says Peeta harshly.
"Peeta," Taf says slowly. "Can we please just talk about this?"
"Yes," I say before Peeta can object. I know his family didn't treat him the best, but when his brother is willing to come back to 12, to prove he's still alive, to want to mend things with his brother, when this kind of a thing happens, yes. "Yes, he can talk."
"Katniss," Peeta says.
"Nope," I say shaking my head as I let go of him and scoop Willow up into my arms and make my way for the door.
"Are you really leaving?" he hollers over at me.
"Yep," I say curtly. "See you at home, love."
"Seriously?" he half-screams at me as the door just about shuts.
"Bye-bye, Poppa!" Willow hollers at him and waves just as the door shuts. "Can we do horsey?" she asks. I nod and switch her to my back. I know that Peeta's had a rough life, when it comes to his family, but his brother is going to try to make amends for that, and as long and as much as I can help it they will. Because family is precious, and we never know how long we're going to have with them. Speaking of which, I need to call Finnick. See how Magnus is doing. He pulled through. The doctors can't explain it, how Magus survived, how Willow survived. They're the first children of victors to not only live, beating insurmountable odds – apparently the odds were in their favor the way they never were for their parents – but also baffled the doctors into how they could have done it in the first place. Yes, I need to call Finnick.
When we get home Willow wiggles her way off my back and runs to the room where all her toys are, apparently the higher-ups in the Capitol still like to shower her with gifts. The apology gifts we got from Caesar Flickerman were more than we need for years. Paylor herself had us up there to award us for our participation and eventual win over the Capitol, felt ironic to be getting an award for defeating a place, in said place. But we were there, because of who Paylor was. Before I get too invested in my thoughts I walk over to the phone and pull it off the hook, dial Finnick and Annie's number and hear the familiar ring.
"Hello?" Finnick's voice asks.
"Hello, Finnick," I say as a smile spreads over my face. I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd killed Finnick in the arena. I'm sure it would be a lot worse. Finnick is a rare treasure, I can see why everyone in the Capitol wanted him.
"Katniss!" there's a certain tone to his voice and I can tell he's smiling too. "How are you?"
"We're doing good," I say. Because despite whatever's happening in the bakery, we are good. Compared to life before, we're very good. "How are you doing? I hear Magnus is doing tremendously!"
"Doctor G tell you that?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say with a light laugh. "I know he's told you about Willow."
"Of course, he has," says Finnick excitedly. "We need to get together, Katniss."
"Yes, Finnick," I say, "I agree!"