Chapter 3: What Do You Call a Man Like That?

I see Hazelle, my mother-in-law, as soon as I round back of her family's homestead. Lifting my hand in a friendly wave, I saunter over to her and give her a big hug.

"Morning, Mama." Hazelle insisted on me calling her "Mama," once I married into the family. She also insisted on us letting her take care of Gale's and my laundry. It feels different now to be handing off my husband's and my dirty clothes to her, now that the district washerwoman is family by marriage. But I pass her the burlap sack. Gale and I can't afford a Capitol-manufactured washer and dryer on his miner's wages – hell, no Seam household can. Those kinds of alliances are almost exclusively reserved for the elite Merchants in Town. It helps our finances that Hazelle also insists on doing her children's laundry free-of-charge, an arrangement I had balked at initially, until Gale chided me to stop being a stubborn ass.

"Saw my boy off to work, then?" Hazelle pokes through the bundle I've presented her with.

I nod, smiling. "With his lunch pail and a kiss."

My mother-in-law lifts her head to beam at me. "I'm so thrilled you and Gale Toasted the bread. I always liked the match; you and he suit each other fine. Now, only thing left is to wait for a little Katniss or Gale to run around." She smiles and winks at me.

I laugh weakly at this. It's not the first time my mother-in-law has brought up her hope of seeing her first grandchildren. Like before with my husband, I don't have the heart to tell her that she may have to wait until Rory and Vick are of age and married before she sees that. "All things in their own time, Mama," I sidestep, keeping it vague. She nods in agreement, letting the matter drop – for now – and I am glad for it. "Gotta go hunting. Say hello to Posy for me! Bye, Mama!"

"Bye, my daughter!" Hazelle calls after me, causing me to smile in fondness, though my grin quickly weakens.

These first few years have been good. I am happy with Gale, I am—at least, as happy as I think myself capable of being. And he is happy, too.

But then he starts asking about the possibility of children, and I know the bubble of our blissful domesticity has been popped.

"Gale, you know I don't want children," I say slowly, carefully. "I've told you this before."

He just stares at me in disbelief. "I didn't know you meant...I mean, ever? You don't want kids—ever?"

"I thought you understood. I thought this was something we both understood." I can feel my precarious grip on a peaceful, undisturbed life slipping already.

He sighs. "I understand your hesitation, I do, but...if I were going to have kids, I would want them with you. You don't ever think about—about having my children, raising them together?" he asks, and I don't know how to respond because the answer is no, never. How can he want kids when the Reaping looms every year, ready to snatch us from the tentative safety of our lives in District 12, however miserable? How could anyone?

"I don't want kids," I repeat stubbornly, and his face hardens, but he doesn't speak of the subject anymore, at least for a few months.

My opposition is only heightened the day Prim tells me she is pregnant, and I feel the fear as if it is my own child. And I know then that I will never be free from the worry, the terror of the Games.

The topic of children becomes a source of contention in Gale's and my relationship. After our first conversation, I thought he had dropped the notion, but soon, he begins hinting at the prospect again, making offhanded comments that leave me agitated and unsettled. When he finally asks me again, my frustration boils over, sparking a heated fight between the two of us that ends with me crying in anger and him storming out of the house. He comes back hours later, smelling of liquor, but he apologizes profusely. He takes me on the kitchen table that night, and I let him work out his rage on me.

After a while, that is all our marriage seems to be: fighting and butting heads and furiously fucking to make amends. I always make him wear a condom, though, and eventually, he comes to resent me for that as well, until, finally, we stop having sex. Now our relationship is just fighting and butting heads and tiptoeing around each other, waiting for the next eventual blow-up.

I am miserable. He is miserable. I'm consumed with the guilt of denying him children, but I had warned him, hadn't I? He can leave me if he wants, but I know he won't. He is just as stubborn as I am, and though most days I wish he had met and fallen in love with someone else, someone who actually wanted to bear his children, admitting defeat is a hard pill to swallow for me, too.


I hoist my game bag over my shoulder as I make my rounds through Town. It is Wednesday, my usual day for trading. Once I started my business in the Hob, I had to switch my main hunting days from Sunday to Wednesday, as Sundays are typically a busy day in the Hob. The switch is just another thing Gale resents me for, I know.

Leaving the apothecary, I head for the bakery. At the back loading dock door, I rap twice, already pulling out the squirrel I normally trade with Barm.

But it isn't Barm who answers the door. It's Peeta.

Startled, I drop the squirrel on the door step. "Oh!" I breathe, and we both lean down to pick it up, fumbling awkwardly for the dead rodent. I let him pick it up, straightening up quickly, and he hands it back to me with an odd smile. Flustered, I take it from him, but then I hold it back out to him. "Well, this is for you—or Barm—or, or whoever," I stutter, trying to will away the embarrassed flush that has crept up my neck. With another smile, Peeta takes the squirrel from me.

"I can give it to Barm for you," he says. "I'm filling in for him right now. Marnie—his wife, sorry—just had her baby, but there were some...complications, so he's taking some time off to take care of her and the baby while she rests."

I nod mutely, not sure what to say. It isn't unusual for women of Marnie's age to have children, especially with the lack of any real sexual education and district-approved contraception, but I've heard talk around town that the baby hadn't been planned; she and Barm already had two, and there is a bit of an age gap between this one and the others. I know from my brief conversations with Barm that this pregnancy has been tough on his wife. I wonder if Mother or Prim assisted in the delivery.

Peeta seems to notice my discomfort, and, perhaps realizing he's said too much, he scratches the back of his head. "Okay, well, I can give this to him," he repeats, holding up the squirrel. "What does he normally give you in exchange?"

I clear my throat, trying to look at anything but him. "Two loaves."

"Any kind of bread in particular?"

My mouth goes dry, and it takes me a couple tries to force the answer out. "Raisin and nuts." He starts to turn around, but then his body jolts, as if he has fully registered her words. He freezes, and we lock eyes.

He remembers. All these years later, and he still remembers that day, too. His cheeks color, and he finally breaks my gaze. "I'll go get it," he mutters, marching back inside, and I take a deep breath, fighting my racing heart. When Peeta returns, he holds out a brown paper bag to me. "Here you go."

"Thanks," I whisper, taking a step back to make a hasty retreat.

"Katniss," he says, pulling me up short. He said my name; he has never said my name before. I stare at him, wide-eyed.

"You look good," he finishes, his voice cracking.

No, I don't. I know I don't. In fact, I look like shit. Gale and I had another fight last night, and we were up way too late hurling accusations and insults at each other. My face is lined with exhaustion, the circles under my eyes dark and puffy.

And yet, Peeta's words make my heart flutter. "You, too," I find myself saying before I can think, and then I am gone, darting around the bakery. Safe in my house I share with Gale, I collapse at the kitchen table, flinging the offending bag of bread halfway across the table. I drop my head in my hand, glad Gale is in the mines; I really need a moment alone, just a moment to think. What is wrong with me? How can it be 20 fucking years later and I'm still so affected by the sight of him?

Since that day at the bakery, the day he got married, the day I finally accepted Gale's proposal, I have done my best not to cross paths with Peeta Mellark. He hasn't been hard to avoid, really, since he no longer works at the bakery. With Barm in charge, getting supplemental help from his parents who still live above the bakery, as well as his wife and his children, there's been really no need for the two younger Mellark brothers. Rye, the middle son, now works as an accountant at the Justice Building, and Peeta is a teacher at the district school. He also coaches the wrestling team. Our paths never really intersect, aside from when I've spotted him across Town while visiting Prim.

I wasn't prepared to see him today, for actually speaking with him. It's summer, and school is out, so I suppose that is why he has the time to cover for Barm at the bakery. I find herself wondering about him, about his life, allowing myself for the first time in a while a moment to really think about the boy with the bread. I wonder if he is happy.

He's been married for nine years, but he doesn't have any children of his own. I haven't given it much thought before, but there has been gossip around Town about fertility issues; Prim had confirmed it to me indirectly, as she's been the one trying to help his wife, Analise, conceive—to no avail. I almost felt sorry for them—almost, because, I think, out of everyone in the district, Peeta would probably make the best father.

I wonder how it makes Peeta feel, knowing his wife can't conceive even one child, while his brother and his sister-in-law have more children than they even wanted.

I wonder if he is happy, or if he is miserable like I am.