Haymitch is pretty morose over the next couple days. He denies it has anything to do with Effie leaving, but it's obvious he's lying. He drinks more over the next five days or so than he had been during or prior to Effie's visit. Peeta and I try our best to get him out of it, but without much luck.
Peeta's methods are...different than mine. He challenges Haymitch to chess games to try and pique his interests, bakes him extravagant and delicious bread loafs to make sure that he's eating, stocks his cabinets with food and spends time organizing them as a way to sneakily pull out one or two bottles of liquor at at time, never enough for Haymitch to notice even through his drunken state, but just enough to lower his supply so he has to eventually face the war between his desire for alcohol and his laziness. I, on the other hand, wake Haymitch up by dumping water on his head at least twice a day, drop game off in a huff, and tell him he's a piss poor guardian. I would say Peeta and I have roughly the same success, but at least I put much less effort into it.
I can't seem to settle on how much to worry about Haymitch. This is very normal behavior for him. In fact, I've seen him a whole lot worse. But somehow he had actually been doing better for a while. He wasn't sober by any stretch, but he lost fewer days to the blackness of benders. Even when I caught on to his feelings for Effie, I think I underestimated their magnitude. I also get the impression from his despondency that something she said or did must have implied a disparity between the intensity of her feelings for him and his for her. I know Haymitch would never want to talk about it, so I don't bring it up.
Still, as much as it annoys me, having to take care of the man who is supposed to be taking care of me, I never end a day in the woods without dropping off some of my game at his house. Peeta and I check on him several times a day to make sure he hasn't slipped and cut his arm off with the knife he always holds or choked on his own vomit or something like that. He's our family.
I've been thinking a lot about family since Effie came to visit. It's usually a thought that I've tried to avoid having just because it's painful. My father is gone, Prim is gone, and I've allowed my mother to hurt me by abandoning me yet again. There is no happiness in family in my mind.
This weird little family that got thrown together by the 74th Hunger Games, though, is the reason I'm alive. I mean this literally; Peeta and I have saved each other's lives countless times over, from when I found him by the river bank to when he stopped me from taking my nightlock pill. Neither of us would have made it through our first Games if it wasn't for Haymitch's ability to get sponsors, and as much as I hated him for lying and for not prioritizing Peeta, we probably wouldn't have made it out of the Quell Arena if he wasn't plotting with the Rebellion either. And now more than ever, I am pretty confident that Effie played a bigger role than she let on in keeping Haymitch lucid enough to help us during both Games. We owe each other an impossible amount in terms of our lives.
There's more than that too, though. When I first got back to 12, I had no will to live. Haymitch checking in on me, even though he was in so much pain too and just wanted to drown himself in liquor and lose time, kept me alive. Some part of me wanting to be there for him kept me from losing myself entirely, even if I was close. Peeta's arrival helped me come back to myself. I was so deeply lost, and I really think I still would be if he hadn't come home, if he hadn't wanted to help me yet again. Effie's visit brought me a kind of joy I hadn't experienced in a long time. They've saved my life physically, yes, but they've also saved me from the worst in myself.
I would never, ever, have imagined these people could play such a role in my life. Not only was I fairly certain when I met them that two out of the four of us would be dead in a matter of weeks, I just didn't think any of these people had any of the qualities I would want in the people around me. I didn't think I needed them. I was incredibly wrong.
I am not a forgiving person. It is one of the qualities that is least embedded in my nature. I held a grudge against my mom for leaving us to starve that I was only able to start deconditioning after the Games. I hold a grudge against her again now for leaving me after we lost Prim, for not knowing I needed her or not caring, for not coming back to 12 but rather running off to 4. But I also realize that I'm a lot more like her than I would have thought. I lost myself when Prim died in a way not all that different from her. I got out of it because I had a group of people who cared about me. I don't think she had that. I don't know if I even want to forgive her. I don't want to make myself vulnerable to her and risk being hurt again. But part of me knows that I should.
"Peeta?" I say. We're sitting on the couch, each of our back's against one of the opposite arms, with our legs tangled in the middle. He's reading a book on cooking techniques Effie had brought him from the Capitol, and I've been playing with a piece of rope, practicing knots that Finnick taught me and thinking of new snare techniques.
"Mhmm?" he responds, looking up at me.
"I...I think I want to call my mom," I say. He closes his book and sits up straighter. He knows that this is a big deal for me. I've spoken to her once since I've been here, and all we did was cry over Prim. The wounds were too raw to actually do any healing.
"Ok Katniss," he says. He's trying to stay calm and not do anything to make me more nervous about the situation than I already am. I know he wants me to do this, but he doesn't want to push me on it. "When do you want to?"
"Now?" I ask, my voice small. I'm having a moment of courage on this subject, and I do not know if it will last if I delay. He looks surprised but a little happy. "Is that ok?"
"Of course," he says. He gets up and I follow him. The phone is mounted on the wall in the kitchen, and Peeta pulls over one of the stools from the counter so I can sit while talking.
"Why'd you only put one?" I ask. He looks a little confused.
"I thought you might want some privacy."
"No," I say, shaking my head. "I need you here to do this." Without another word, he pulls over the other stool so he's seated next to me, and then takes my hand in his.
"Then I'm not going anywhere," he says. I sigh and look at the note with my mother's number that Haymitch taped to the wall when we first got back. With trembling fingers, I take the phone off the wall and dial the number. It rings a few times, and I think maybe she won't answer, but then I hear her voice.
"Hello?" she asks from the other end.
"M-Mom?" I stutter. She's silent for a moment.
"Katniss?" she asks.
"Yeah," I say, nodding implicitly even though she can't see me.
"Are you alright? Is everything ok?" she asks. Of course, since I haven't called in so long, now that I am she assumes something's wrong.
"Yeah mom, I'm fine," I say. "I just...I don't know. I thought we should talk. We haven't...we haven't talked. I miss you."
"I miss you too," she says softly. "You should visit 4 some time. It's beautiful here."
"Yeah? Y-you're happy there?"
"I am. Or as close to happy as I can be, given...everything."
I don't know how this makes me feel exactly. I'm happy she's happy. I want her to be happy. It just makes me upset on so many levels that the happiest she's ever been able to be she found only once she went away from me. I know in my head, that's not all it is. I know 12 has too many painful memories for her. I know they're setting up a major hospital in 4, and that even at her worst it was her work healing people that gave her life. I know these things are true, but it still hurts.
"Are you happy, Katniss?" she asks me. I take a deep breath.
"Yeah. As close to happy as I can be," I say, repeating her words back to her. It's true, I think. I feel happy sometimes now. A good amount of the time. The sadness never goes away, the grief is always with me. But it doesn't define my every move the way it did for a really long time.
"Good, Katniss. I...I'm glad to hear that. Have you...umm...Haymitch is your guardian, right?"
"Yeah, he is," I say. "I've been spending a lot of time with him and Peeta, and Effie actually visited this last week too. It was really nice."
"Peeta's there?" she asks. "Is he...how is he doing?" I look at Peeta beside me. He stays quiet, trying not to interfere with my conversation at all. I think he can mostly hear my mother's voice through the receiver, but he's doing his best to be supportive without being intrusive.
"He's so much better," I say, and smile at him. "It hasn't been easy for him, he still flashes, but he does everything right. He takes his medicines, goes to therapy. He's the supportive and kind person that he always has been."
"That's great, Katniss. I'm really glad about that. He's a good boy, he deserves to get to be himself."
"He attributes a lot of his recovery to Prim," I say. We need to broach the topic. It's essential to us getting anywhere. But it hurts, and I can feel her fighting to retreat over the phone.
"She was so good at that," she says, her voice breathy and barely above a whisper. "She would have been a real doctor, she would have helped so many people."
"I know," I say, starting to tear up. Peeta squeezes my hand harder and I squeeze back. "She did so much in such an absolutely unfairly little amount of time. If...if she'd had a full life..."
I can't finish my sentence, but she knows. It is almost impossible to imagine the amount of good Prim would have brought into the world had she been allowed to live a full lifespan, especially if she had time to live in the world we fought to create. If she got to live in a world where she could have access to real school and medical training, where she wasn't starving, where the place she was born didn't dictate all the opportunities she could ever have...she would have done so much.
I'm crying, and Peeta now has both of his hands around my own. I can hear my mother sniffling on the other end, too.
"I miss her so much," I say. "It's hard. It's really, really hard. I just know she wouldn't want me to dwell in sadness and not live my life. She was joy, if joy could be a person. She was goodness. I want to live my life with as much of her as possible. Then...then I feel like she's still with me."
"I know what you mean," my mother says, her voice muddled by tears. "I feel her when I work in the hospital. I'm an official nurse now, and it makes me feel so good to take care of people. I know that is what she wanted. She wanted to take care of people. She wanted me to be happy. I feel her while I do those things."
She's trying so hard. She's trying to meet me where I am, she's trying not to hurt me. But those words break me a little. It makes me feel so good to take care of people. Why, why could I never seem to be one of the people she wanted to take care of?
I feel so childish thinking like this but I can't help it. I don't know why but I'm vulnerable to her hurt in a much deeper way than I am with almost anyone else. I'm shaking a little bit, and Peeta runs one of his hands up and down my arm while keeping the other locked tight in mine. I'm about to find some sort of excuse to get off the phone when my mother says something I wasn't remotely expecting.
"I'm sorry, Katniss,' she says through tears. "I'm sorry I couldn't go back to 12 with you. I just...I just couldn't. There is too much hurt in that place. I couldn't...I'm sorry. I'm so glad Haymitch has been there for you, and Peeta too. I'm your mother and I should have been able to be your guardian but...I just couldn't go there, and I'm sorry."
It's not everything. She's apologizing for not going to 12 with me, not for having abandoned us for years while she retreated into her mind, not for never calling since I've been back, not for never checking in. But it's something. She's apologizing for something.
"Thank you," I squeak out before sobs take over. I can hear her on the other end of the phone, and she seems to be in roughly the same state that I am. It occurs to me that I hope she has someone for her there. I don't know who she's gotten to know in 4. I am immensely grateful to have Peeta by my side right now.
"I love you Katniss," she says through her tears.
"I love you too, Mom," I respond. We just sit there crying on the phone for several more minutes, before we calm down enough to say our goodbyes. When I hang up the phone, I collapse into Peeta's arms, sobbing with full force again.
"I'm so proud of you," he whispers into my hair while rubbing my back. "You did something so hard, you're so strong. I'm so proud of you, Katniss." He kisses my forehead and I feel like a little bit of life returns to me. I sit up and wipe my eyes and nose with my sleeve.
"Are you ok?" he asks gently.
"Yeah," I say, sniffling. "Thank you."
"Of course," Peeta says. He pauses for a moment, and then leans in and kisses me on the lips. He's incredibly gentle, not wanting to do anything to make me uncomfortable. His lips are light against mine, and he pulls away after just a few seconds. I want him back.
"Peeta," I say, and I move to put my mouth back on his but he stops me with his hand.
"What are we doing, Katniss?" he whispers.
"What do you mean?"
"I really, really like you. You know that. I don't need you to reciprocate to the same extent, I just want to know where your head is at, otherwise I feel like I'm taking advantage of you. I guess I just want to know what you want." His tone is completely gentle, completely kind, completely considerate, but for some reason I am immediately so unbelievably angry.
"I don't know what I want! I don't know how anyone knows what they want! Why does everyone expect me to know what I want?!" I scream at him, my tone so much louder and more aggressive than it has any right to be. He's clearly surprised, but he modulates quickly.
"I don't really expect you to know it down to the last detail," he says with a half smile. He's trying to joke, to lighten the tension. I'm not having it.
"Well, what do you expect from me?! What do you want from me?!"
"I want you to let me in!" he responds, his voice now rising a little bit, though certainly not to the point of mine. "I want to know whether or not you like it when I kiss you. If something I do makes you uncomfortable, I need to know. I don't want to hurt you, Katniss! I just want to know what you're thinking when we do things together, when we kiss each other, because I know I like it, but I don't want to just act on that! I want to know what you like. I want to know what you want."
Goddammit. He's so ridiculously good. I'm screaming at him, and he's worried about making me uncomfortable. All of this boils down to him wanting to take care of me. All of it.
"I'm gonna go," he says, and he turns to start walking towards the door.
"Peeta," I say, and he stops. "I...I don't know what I want. I don't know how to understand my feelings most of the time, I don't know what to call things. But I want...I want you. I like when you kiss me. I like it a lot. I like feeling your hands on me. I like-"
I'm cut off by his lips crashing into mine. I back up a couple paces in response to the impact, and end up leaning up against my kitchen counter. His body is flesh against mine and his arms are around my waste. I tangle my fingers in his blonde curls and revel in the feel of his lips on mine. This is different than the kiss from earlier, very different. That was gentle, soft, caring. This kiss is passionate, fiery, needy. Peeta's tongue enters my mouth and I moan happily. I continue tangling his hair around my fingers, and he lifts me up from under my legs and places me on the counter. I part my legs instinctually and put one on either side of his hips.
"Oh God, Katniss," he moans, and hearing that he's enjoying this only energizes me further. Without thinking about any of the possible implications, I tug at his shirt until he lifts his arms so I can pull it over his head. I run my hands up and down his toned chest and stomach, and he moans. He puts his mouth to my neck and starts kissing and sucking and biting and it feels unfathomably good. I only stop him after several minutes because I miss the feeling of his lips on mine. I tug his hair gently and pull him back to me, connecting our mouths again. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him in so there's no distance between us. The mood shifts quickly and awkwardly then. I feel something hit me briefly, and then Peeta jerks away rapidly and turns around.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out. "I didn't mean to...I'm sorry." I'm confused. I feel dumb, like I'm missing something extremely obvious.
"What? You didn't do any-" Ah. I get it now. I may not have had the healing genes of my mother and sister, but I do know basic human anatomy. He doesn't need to be embarrassed, though. I'm right there with him, it just isn't visible for me.
"You're fine, Peeta," I tell him. "Honestly. Don't worry about it." He's alright, but unfortunately the moment is done. I'm exhausted, both from the emotional phone call and from the rollercoaster with Peeta. He seems to be feeling the same way, and his embarrassment, no matter how unfounded, can't be helping.
We don't even end up going upstairs. We just stretch out together on the couch. I'm beginning to realize how much I like nights like this. I like them a lot, as long as they're with Peeta.