I fall asleep without Peeta and wake up the same way. The note he's left on the bedside table says he's at work but he wants to talk when he gets home. The bottom is signed with a bunch of x's and o's. I don't know what he thinks there is to talk about. I've already told him no; there's no way I can make it any clearer.
My trip to the bathroom this morning does not include vomit. Maybe I'll finally be over the morning sickness. Surprisingly, there's breakfast already on the table for me when I get downstairs: hot cereal and cheese buns, along with blueberries and tea. He knows me too well. I manage to eat it all and lean back in my chair, missing the massage that so often comes after eating. The urge to go hunting is strong today, but I know I can't. With a protruding stomach, there's no way I can bring the arrow back far enough to get a good shot. Besides, Peeta and Haymitch would kill me if I went. Still, I want to be moving, getting fresh air. I decide a walk can't hurt seeing as I'm not nauseous yet.
I get dressed and braid my hair before getting my coat and boots on. Since its February, I decide against a hat, but I slip on gloves to keep my hands warm.
The sun shines brightly as I step out. The air is still and smells like rain. Puddles litter the sidewalk, reflecting light to create rainbows on the pavement. My walk takes me past Haymitch's where a few geese have wandered to the gate to honk at passers-by. I've always hated those geese. They're loud, and Haymitch never lets us butcher them to eat. They're always sent to the Capitol for that. Feels like a waste to me.
Things are quiet until I get to town where everyone is getting their shopping done. There are line-ups at all the fruit and vegetable stalls; hot corn on the cob is selling quickly. People still trade; a spool of thread for a swath of fabric, buttons for fresh eggs. The lines are all short compared to the one flooding out of Mellark's bakery. Peeta will be busy today, probably home late, too. It doesn't bother me like it usually does. There'll be less time to talk about DeAnna tonight.
"Hiya, Mrs. Mellark," a boy around 8 or 9 years old waves to me. I don't recognize him, but he seems to know me very well.
"Hi," I reply, smiling a little.
"We learned about you in school today. You're so brave," he continues, his voice filled with absolute admiration. He trots along beside me, telling me every compliment he knows until another boy runs up and tags him.
"I said no 'touch-backs!'" He complains, but takes off running anyway. "Bye, Mrs. Mellark!" he shouts back to me. I smile to myself, the innocence of children refreshing me. If it wasn't Johanna's daughter, I think I would like to spend time with DeAnna. But the fact of the matter is that it is Johanna's daughter and I'm afraid they'll have the same eyes, the same laugh, the same nosy mind. Then again, would it hurt more to find out she's nothing like her mother? I don't know and I find myself not really caring. Won't make any difference what she's like because I won't meet her.
My feet lead me towards the edge of town to where the Meadow is. I can only remember the last time I was here because it was so monumental in my life. It's the place where Peeta proposed – for real. He'd told me that he'd never been to the Meadow, and maybe I wanted to have a picnic there since it was very pretty. I had almost said no about going. I didn't make it a habit to go there anymore – I still don't – and in the days leading up to it, Peeta had been acting funny. I'd attributed it to an oncoming attack, but it had simply been nerves.
Now, however, it seems to call to me. I see they've put in park benches to sit on, so I take a seat and close my eyes. The wind is colder here without the protection of buildings or trees. In my mind's eye, I see myself here with Gale, talking about the Games or what we'd caught. It seems much more innocent, but it's not. Things are so much better now.
Except for with DeAnna, I realize. She was born into a world of freedom and choice, but she's not really free and her own mother gave her no choice. I look down at my stomach and frown, thinking about the life inside me. Peeta's words from last night reverberate through my head: "Johanna would do it for our child… she'd make an effort." I begin to question that. Would she make an effort? Johanna Mason, who put the most effort into winning the Games and getting better for the war, put no effort into loving people or caring for them. There always had to be something in it for her. Her glory, her freedom.
It's all so confusing, because I know Johanna tried to care about me and Peeta, that she must have loved Finnick and Annie. Right now, all I can be sure of is that I can't figure this out on my own. I need Peeta, who can read people so well.
With a deep breath, I stand and walk back towards the bakery. The lines have dwindled after the morning rush. I'm able to wait in line inside. Nearly everyone turns to greet me. A couple people wish to shake my hand. I hate that we can still be the talk of the town after fifteen years.
When it gets to be my turn, Thom smiles brightly.
"What can I get you today, Mrs. Mellark?" he asks exuberantly. Peeta's found himself a replica alright.
"I just need to talk to Peeta." I explain.
"Sure thing," Thom opens the door to the back and calls for the baker. "There's a very pretty girl here to see you," he says, making me laugh a little.
"Watch what you say, Thom. I talk to your girlfriend often," I tease just as Peeta emerges, wiping frosting from his hands.
"Katniss, what's up?" he pulls me out of the line to give me a quick peck on the lips.
"I know you said we could talk tonight, but I want to talk now," I say quietly. My pleading voice must be enough. He takes off his apron and exchanges it for a coat before taking my hand.
"I'll be back in a bit, Thom," he explains, then leads me out the door. At first, I think he's going to take me home; however he starts walking in the opposite direction. "Do you want to start talking now or when we get there?" he asks.
"Get where, Peeta?" I look ahead of us, trying to guess where he's taking me.
"The woods," he says simply. I stop walking and pull him back. "What's wrong? Don't you want to go? It'll be private."
"Peeta, relax. I think it's a good idea so we aren't overheard, but…" I sigh, trying not to laugh. "The woods aren't over here. They're back there," I jerk my thumb behind us. He looks thoroughly confused. "Come on," this time, I lead the way, deciding not to speak until we're settled on a fallen tree.
"Okay, what do you want to say?" Peeta takes both my hands in his, listening attentively.
"Did Johanna love us?" I blurt.
"Of course," he replies, but it sounds automatic.
"How do you know?"
"Because when we were being tortured in the Capitol, she kept calling out for us. Me because I was there, and you because she loved you." I've never heard this story and it makes me feel sick. One of Peeta's hands cups my cheek. "She lived with you in 13 and she felt safe with you. She knew she could count on you," I shake my head.
"But after… we hadn't spoken in ten years, Peeta. How do you stop loving someone like that?" I'm on the verge of yelling and Peeta knows this.
"You don't. You didn't stop loving Gale," he points out. "Or your mother." It feels like a low hit, but he needs to say it. "You didn't talk to them, but you still loved them. That's how it was with Johanna."
"But-"
"There are no 'buts', Katniss. That's the truth. Johanna was never good at showing her love for people. That didn't mean she didn't love you." Peeta interrupts.
"So, I should see DeAnna?" I ask, clinging to the hand that's not on my cheek.
"I wish you would, but it's your choice." This is not as helpful as I thought it would be. I'd been expecting him to tell me exactly what to do. I guess he's right; it's my choice.
"Convince me to see her. Please." I beg. With a sad sigh, Peeta shakes his head. "Please!" I nearly shout. He gives me an astonished look, swallows, and leans in to whisper three words in my ear.
"She needs you," he kisses my ear and then my cheek, and then his lips are kissing away the tears that start to fall. He pulls me closer to him, one hand on my back, the other on my neck. And I cry, nodding my head against his shoulder.
"I need her, too," I say, admitting it only to Peeta and the few birds that sit on the bare branches. My cries echo through the woods, not for the first time and certainly not the last.
A/N I will not stop updating, no matter how much time has gone by since I last posted a chapter!