Last Time in Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged:
I sigh. "Can you finish with Mom while I go make dinner?"
Prim glances at the hollow shell of what's left of our mother. "Yeah. Just… save me some dessert, will you?"
I pick up my brother and give her a nod.
As we leave, my little brother wraps his arms around my neck and whispers into my ear, "When's Mommy coming home?"
I glance back at my mother's wasting form. "I don't know, Little Man."
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Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged
by RoseFyre & FanficAllergy
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Chapter Twenty-Five: Live For Today
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"Remember the past, plan for the future, but live for today, because yesterday is gone and tomorrow may never come."
― Luke (The Bible)
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The air in Haymitch's kitchen smells. Not of stale booze and unwashed Victor, but of sage, rosemary, and thyme. Of fresh baked bread and candied orange peel. Of lamb and lentil stew and roast turkey. It's a marked improvement. After a solid month of cleaning, I still have a lot to do. More than I ever thought, if I'm honest. But it's progress. Progress enough that I finally feel safe bringing Aven to work with me.
My little brother divides his time between playing with a few toys underneath the kitchen table and helping me with whatever task I'm doing. Like drying the spoons or sweeping the floors. He's happy. And more importantly, the hollows in his cheeks are gone. He goes to bed every night with a full belly. We all do. And the change it's wrought is almost a miracle. I didn't know how much of my tiredness and despair was linked to the fact that I wasn't eating enough. How much of my anger and irritability with everyone came from the gnawing pain in my belly. I see the change in all of us. Aven is happy. Prim is able to be a child again. And I'm less terrified.
As I watch my brother play, I vow I will do anything - and I do mean anything - to ensure that my family will not go hungry again.
But thankfully I don't think it will come to that. I'm not going to be leaving this job for a long time.
I haven't even made a dent in Haymitch's money. And there's still the matter of all of the items he's got socked away in storage. Once Delly finishes clearing out one of the bedrooms on the first floor, I'm going to have her and Thom set it up as a workroom for me. A place where I can keep track of what Haymitch has coming in and going out, of what we're actually using as well as taking care of some of the more minor tasks that I don't want to do in the kitchen - like mending. I can keep a box of toys in the room for Aven to play with, and maybe even a desk with some books so Prim can do her homework. And a couch I can put my feet up on and possibly catch a nap when things are slow. Oh, I have plans for some of the empty rooms in Haymitch's house.
My eyes drift to the new clock on the wall. School just got out, so Prim should be by soon, and so should Thom and Delly. There's a lot of work to do now that the snow has melted, hopefully for good. Thom's going to work on segmenting out Haymitch's yard so the goats and the pigs don't end up in the new kitchen garden I'm going to have Prim prep today. Even though Haymitch can easily afford to buy fresh fruit and vegetables from the greengrocer, there's something about fresh food from the garden that tastes so much better. Plus it gives me an excuse to have my sister do something for a little bit of coin.
Today, Delly will be tackling the front room. I think Haymitch calls it the sitting room or the living room. I don't know. It's the place where, until Haymitch hired me, he slept most of the time. The overstuffed couch is vomit and alcohol stained. Not to mention some of the cushions are split displaying the compacted stuffing inside. Personally I'm not sure if it's salvageable. I'm going to have Thom's mother come by to evaluate it. If it can be saved, I'll have her reupholster it. Haymitch seems to really like this couch; I don't want to take that away from him. If Thom's mother can't, I'll have to look into ordering a new one, probably from the Capitol. I really hope Thom's mother can pull off a miracle.
The kitchen door opens behind me and the sound of somebody stomping their shoes on the rug I've set out filters over. I know that stomp. It's Haymitch. And I know what he wants.
I don't bother turning to look at him. "There's soup on the stove, there's bread in the box, don't put your feet on the table."
"But it's my table. I'll do what I want."
"It's your table when you clean it. Until that unlikely day occurs, it's my table and you are allowed to use it." It's not. If he puts his feet up, I can't stop him. But Haymitch seems to enjoy me telling him what to do and the lack of respect that I wouldn't dare attempt with any other employer.
I glance back over my shoulder to see Haymitch regarding me with a bemused expression. He bends over at the waist to address my brother who's playing underneath the table. "Did you hear that, squirt?"
"Yup."
"What do you think? Whose table is it?"
"Mine!" Aven replies instantly, sending Haymitch's eyebrows straight toward his hairline.
I can't help it; I grin at Aven's matter-of-fact statement. He's reached the age where he wants everything to be his - that includes Haymitch's table.
"You sure about that?"
"Yup."
Haymitch laughs and wanders over to the cupboard to fish out a bowl. "You want some soup too?" he asks my brother.
Aven crawls out from underneath the table and rests his arms on the seat of a chair. "No thank you. Can I have an apple?"
"Well?" Haymitch turns to me. "Do we have any apples?"
I point to the bowl sitting right in front of him in the center of the table. A bowl filled with a mix of apples and oranges and other out-of-season fruit that had to have come from the greenhouses of District Eleven.
"Can Aven have an apple?" Haymitch follows up.
I blink. That's new. Normally he doesn't ask, he just grabs and tosses. I need to figure out a way to encourage this. Aven doesn't really need more food; he just wants something sweet. But at the same time, I don't want Haymitch to go back to grabbing and tossing.
I come to a decision. "He can split one with you." It seems like a good solution.
Haymitch ladles out a bowl of soup for himself before tearing off half of a loaf of bread to dunk in it. "Can you slice it?" he asks around a mouthful of soup.
Baby steps. Baby steps.
I pause what I'm doing, making a fruit-filled muffin for Haymitch to snack on when I'm not there, and grab the closest apple out of the bowl.
"Not that one," Haymitch says before my knife can pierce the skin. "The yellow ones taste better."
I blink at him. "It's an apple. It tastes like an apple."
"Yeah," he motions to the apple in my hand, "but the green ones are sour and the yellow ones are sweeter and the red ones, they only taste good baked. Red delicious they are not."
Who knew Haymitch had opinions on apples? "What about the red-and-green ones?" I can't stop myself from asking.
"Do we have any?" he asks with anticipation.
"I think there's a couple in the bottom?" It's a question because I don't feel like emptying the admittedly very full bowl to find out.
"Those are the best."
"Well, you can have one later." I put the green apple back and grab another one randomly. "This red one's good enough for now."
"Sorry about it, squirt." He turns to my brother. "I tried."
"It's okay." Aven pats Haymitch's knee like a dog. "I like the red ones best."
With a shake of his head, Haymitch stares at my brother with an expression of half-amusement and half-fondness. "We're going to have to work on your taste." He looks back up at me. "Fine. You win."
As I'm slicing the apple, there's a knock on the door. "You can just come in!" I call out.
Haymitch looks at me sharply.
"What? I know who it is." And I do. It's Delly. No one else does that half musical knock. And it's definitely not the authoritative knock of a Peacekeeper. I know that sound way too well.
My intuition is borne out when the door opens and Delly and Thom step through.
"Hey boss," Thom says to me half in jest.
I ignore the title. "How was school?"
"It was school."
Delly lightly elbows him. "Knock it off. It was lovely. We learned lots of things. Lots of them."
I'm not surprised Delly's so into school. If she plans on being a schoolteacher, she'd better like it. "Anything interesting?"
"Yes," Delly says at the same time Thom says, "No."
I chuckle. "So normal then?"
"Eh, pretty much." Thom shrugs. "It could be worse."
It's small talk, something I hate. But ever since I started working for Haymitch, and maybe even a bit before, it's been harder and harder to find anything to talk about. If we're doing something like hunting or making syrup, then we can talk about that. But general everyday non-special-occasion things? I find myself talking about things I never was interested in before, like school or the weather.
Thom seems to have reached the end of his patience for it too. "So what you got for us today, boss?"
I outline their tasks for them, noting when Prim slips in the door. My sister should have been here before my friends, but I'm guessing she either spent some time with her boyfriend or out in the woods, or both. I'm not going to chide her for that. I was her age once. She deserves a chance to have some fun.
I finish up my instructions with, "Before you leave, come see me. I've got some things to send home with you." Mostly more expired cans and boxes of food, but my cupboards at home are stuffed to overflowing, so I don't need them.
Once my friends start on their tasks, I turn to my sister. "I need you to prep the garden."
"Yeah, I know."
Ah, the long-suffering voice of a pre-teen being asked to do something. I know it well. I used to sound like that myself what feels like a lifetime ago. Instead of acknowledging Prim's tone, I continue, "I also need you to dig up some dirt so we can start some little pots of herbs and tomato and pepper plants early."
She rolls her eyes. "Do you want to tell me what specific kind of dirt?" Her tone is mocking, snide.
I ignore it to answer her question while knowing full well my nonchalance will annoy her more than rising to her bait will. "No, just regular dirt's fine. Although…" I pause. "You should get some of the goat droppings from Thom to mix in."
Her nose wrinkles. "Ew."
"It's fertilizer."
"Yeah, I know. But still. Ew."
I sigh. "Just do it."
Haymitch watches the two of us with amusement. When Prim goes outside, he says, "You know, your sister reminds me of someone I know."
"Is it someone you see in the mirror?" I can't help but snark. There's something about my employer that brings out the sarcasm in me. I blame the alcohol fumes.
"Sometimes. It depends on the angle of the mirror."
I don't let him get a rise out of me. That's what he wants. He likes pushing my buttons to get a reaction. His words aren't even cruel or mean. In a way, he reminds me of another sibling, and I treat him like one.
As the afternoon goes on, Haymitch stays in the kitchen playing healer with Aven, a game that requires him to cough, bend his knee, and drink some kind of tea at alternating intervals. He lets Aven order him around and I'm grateful Haymitch is here to provide my little brother with a distraction. Otherwise he'd want to play healer with me, and I don't have the time.
My attention's already divided. Delly keeps popping her head in to ask me questions about what she should do with the various items she finds. Most of them have an easy answer, and thankfully she doesn't ask the same question more than once. But every so often she comes in with an item I have to make a decision about. Like a stack of books that have been propped up underneath the leg of one of the chairs for who knows how long. Most of them are Capitol propaganda, but one or two are worth saving. Like a book about the Dark Days and another that seems to be a field guide to identifying birds.
While I'm sorting through the next pile of stuff that she brings me, there's another knock at the door. This time it's Gale, here to drop off the laundry his mother did today and pick up the next batch. He's having to come every day. Not because Haymitch is going through clothing that fast, but because we keep finding new and forgotten items to be laundered. Like an entire closet filled to the brim with sheets and tablecloths. I don't think I've seen a single tablecloth on a single table in this entire house. Yet Haymitch owns seven of them, two of them made out of a delicate lace now yellowed with age.
I don't know what I'm going to do with them. I don't think I've seen Haymitch even go into the dining room, let alone eat there. The heavy butcher block table in the kitchen, while battered and scarred, is where everyone eats. And there's no point in covering it. I have to work in the kitchen. A tablecloth would just get sliced and stained. It's far easier to just wipe off the table. For now I'll get them cleaned and then maybe see about selling the cloths to the tailor. The lace ones I know he could use for embellishment to the white dresses he rents out to the district brides. Maybe he'll give me coin for the others.
As if Gale's appearance is a signal, the floodgate opens and there's a seemingly endless stream of people coming to Haymitch's house. A man from the train station with the rest of Haymitch's pigs. The greengrocer's teenage son with the day's delivery. The dry goods store's apprentice, here to pick up the cans for recycling. The glazier's daughter doing the same for the broken glass.
And Peeta…
Peeta…
Unlike the others who are there and gone as soon as they're done, my boyfriend remains. Boyfriend. It still feels weird calling him that, but that's what he is. Peeta is my boyfriend.
He sets his basket of bread and rolls on the counter and holds a hand out to me. Not for money - I pay all of the merchants weekly. But for me.
I go to him eagerly. "Hey."
"Hey," he echoes.
Not the most romantic of greetings, but it works for us. These little moments are all we get most days. Peeta has to go to school. I have to work. He has to work. So all we get to reconnect and strengthen our bond are these stolen moments scratched out in the midst of our everyday chaos.
But it's not enough. It's never enough. Part of me craves being around Peeta. Taking in his calm. His certainty. He knows who he is. His place. He knows what he's going to do with his life. It's a certainty I alternately appreciate and envy. The only place I feel that secure is in the woods.
Speaking of…
"What are you doing this weekend?" I ask. We both have to work then. Frankly the work never stops. But it's less. I get to recharge myself in the place I feel most at home. And I want to do it with the person with whom I feel most at home.
Peeta's eyes glitter. "I don't know. I was thinking of spending it with this really awesome girl." He takes a step back and opens the door. "Hey, Prim, what are you doing this weekend?"
My sister responds with something I can't quite make out.
"Oh. Okay. Can I ask you a question?"
I watch the exchange, amused. Does Peeta really think I don't know he's talking about me? I'm certain he knows I'm not that dense. But I let him have his fun. The teasing is nice, normal. And being able to participate in it helps me forget everything that transpired to lead to this moment.
My father's death. My mother's incapacitation. Cray. Donaldson. Darius. Without the first three, I never would have talked to Peeta. Never would have known what he felt for me. And without the last two, Peeta and I would have never become friends. Real friends.
I know Peeta has my back and will be on my side. I know he's comfortable with letting me take the lead. I feel guilty because I know I can't give Peeta everything he wants. I can't give him my full and complete trust. I can't surrender my independence and trust that Peeta will take care of me. And it's not because I don't want to. It's because I don't have it to give. It was stolen long ago, and not by Donaldson. And not by Cray. But by the Capitol.
It's not safe in Panem. Not if you live in the districts. There's always a Gamemaker twist. Always. And I cannot forget it. But for as long as I can, for as much as I can, I'm going to steal these moments and this happiness - until the other shoe drops.
Because I know it will.
"Katniss?" Peeta's voice filters into my thoughts. There's concern in his tone. I must have been staring off.
"I'm fine. What'd you and Prim work out?" I ask to deflect the conversation away from my thoughts and back onto something safer.
"Oh!" He brightens. "Prim and Rory are going to watch Aven so we can have a date."
"What'd you have to promise her?"
"Oh, nothing much."
"Really…"
"Just a chocolate cupcake for her and Rory to celebrate their one month anniversary."
Am I supposed to be doing something for that? Peeta's and my one month anniversary is in a couple of weeks. I should find out. "...Is that even a thing?"
"Probably not, but I'm not about to argue." He reaches out to clasp one of my hands and hold me close. "Is there anything special that you want to do on our date? Anything special I can make?"
"How about another lesson and some cheese buns?" I'm being deliberately vague. I'm painfully aware Haymitch has been watching the afternoon rush with either an amused or a bemused expression on his face. I'm not quite sure which. It could be both.
Peeta takes a step forward, and I automatically tilt my head up to capture a quick press of his lips.
"Sounds like fun." He pulls away with visible regret. "I need to get back to the bakery."
"I know."
"I don't want to go."
I smile. "I know that too."
Another kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early."
"I can't wait."
And then he's gone.
"Well wasn't that just positively the most sickeningly sweet exchange I've ever seen?" Haymitch fishes around in his front pocket and pulls out a flask. "And I've seen the entire Finnick Odair romantic library."
"That explains a lot."
"It wasn't by choice."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I'm just the help."
"Yes." He points at me. "Yes yes yes, you are. Speaking of…" he pauses as Delly comes in and drops off another box of stuff for me to go through. "Is this hullabaloo normal?"
"It's a little busier today," I tell him. "Mostly because the greengrocer only comes when there's been a train. Same with the station agent."
Haymitch doesn't seem convinced. "But the rest of them... Hazelle's boy, Mellark's kid, and the rest?"
"They're here every day, along with Delly and Thom."
"How many people are you overseein'?"
I don't even need to think about it. "Three. Plus arranging stuff with merchants. And at the Hob."
"Yeah, I noticed that I'm not havin' to pay anything to Ripper when I go see her." He takes a drink from his flask, eyeing it and me with equal interest. "How'd you work that out?"
"She tells me how much you owe and we settle up at the end of the week."
Haymitch blinks. "You can do that?" The tone of his voice implies that he's never even considered the possibility.
"Well, I am doing it, so yes."
"Huh." He eyes me as he sips from his flask. "Probably shoulda gotten me a housekeeper a long time ago."
"You don't see me arguing with you there. This place would certainly have been a lot neater if you had."
"Sounds like you're a bit more than a housekeeper. Not only are you doin' the cookin' and the cleanin', but you're overseeing the garden and the grounds and the employees and the accounts"
"So what of it?" I don't know if he thinks I'm doing too much or not enough or if I'm overstepping the authority he's given me. There's too many possibilities, and I can't tell which one is right.
"Sounds like I ain't payin' you enough."
My heart starts pounding in my chest. Is he suggesting what I think he's suggesting?
His eyes narrow. "How much am I payin' you?"
"Twenty-five a week."
A belch as Haymitch shifts to scratch at his belly. "Yeah, I'm definitely not paying you enough. Setting up all the accounts and deliveries is worth twenty-five a week, let alone the rest of it."
My heart pounds faster. "I'm not going to argue." Maybe he'll give me thirty coin a week. I could do a lot with thirty coin a week. It was close to what I think my parents earned.
"It's settled then. You get a hundred a week."
"...What?" That's more money in a year than my father made in four years! That's more money than a Merchant makes! "You only make five hundred a month!" I can't let him give me almost everything he's earning.
"No, you didn't hear the clerk correctly." He finds a spot on his stomach and digs in with gusto. "I have to withdraw five hundred a month. I make five thousand. That's not even countin' the supplies the Capitol gives me."
I lean back heavily against the counter and stare at him. Yes, I've seen his accounts. Yes, I know how much money he has. But I didn't realize he'd been spending so much on drink. Or whatever he's spent it on. For all I know, he's been stuffing coin away in mattresses.
A random thought strikes me. Now I know why he has seven tablecloths.
"I can't take a hundred coin! What if someone finds out?"
"Don't tell 'em."
I wave his suggestion away. "Thirty-five." It's still more money than most Seam people make. But it's not unreasonable.
Haymitch stops scratching to raise an eyebrow at me. "Are you trying to talk me down from paying you what you're worth?" His hand starts back up, migrating to his right armpit.
"No. I'm trying to not get killed so someone else can take over as your housekeeper." It's a fear I couldn't vocalize before. But now that I have, I realize it's been there, steadily growing ever since that night when someone smashed my windows. Right now I seem to be on good terms with everyone other than my mother's family. I'd like to keep it that way.
He freezes and regards me with serious gray eyes. "Do you really think someone will kill you if I pay you that?"
"I don't know. It depends on if someone gets desperate enough." I think about the attack on our house. If those bottles had been filled with kerosene rather than urine, that would've been the end of us. It could happen again. I shiver.
"You think it'll paint a target on your back."
I nod.
"Fine. I'll pay you fifty. But anything, and I do mean anything, from your clothes to Prim's sweets to the Squirt's toys, I'm paying for." His gray eyes bore into me, telling me louder than any words that he's serious. "If you want it, I buy it. And that's not negotiable."
"...Okay," I say after several long moments.
"Good." He leans back and the tension lifts. "Now what's a man got to do around here to get some dessert?"
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AN:
Written: 1/26/19
Revised: 3/19/19
This is a bit of a set-up chapter, but there's some important stuff going on that will become relevant later.
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