Peeta and I spend the rest of autumn and most of the winter healing and growing back together. He bakes, I hunt. We laugh and spend time with our family. It is boring and comfortable and joyous all at the same time. We are ravenous in our newfound physical relationship, and it feels safe, yet exciting and new. I can express myself in ways words have always failed me in the past. I watch as any doubt Peeta has about our commitment to one another melts away. We help Delly move to the watermelon farm after they announce their engagement. I know she's only a couple miles down the road, but it feels so much farther. I mope around the house for days and Peeta calls it endearing, which earns him a vicious scowl. He just smiles at my expense and keeps folding the dough in his hands.
Peeta spends hours at his house painting. His house has become more of a workspace than a living quarters. His home is with me. His house is just a house. One night, he confesses how much it hurt him that his family didn't move to Victor's Village with him. He understood – obviously the bakery needed to be tended, but he was wealthy enough to hire help. The Mellarks weren't interested. His mother insisted that's not how a family business is run. His father went along with his wife, as he always did, but gave Peeta a sad look when they moved the last of his few, meager belongings into the Village. Peeta's mother resented all of his new things, but spit at any offers. She didn't want his "charity." One night, after Peeta invited his family over for dinner at the new house, he overheard his mother say he should have killed me when the Gamemakers announced the rule change had been revoked. Now he had to split his winnings with a worthless piece of manure from the Seam. I could tell after he told me that, Peeta wished he could take it back. I don't. There are no more secrets between us.
Peeta sketches and erases and draws again the plans for his new bakery. We don't need the money of a business, but Peeta has always been a guardian, a caretaker, and he wants to feed the people of our district. In the last few months, more and more residents have returned to 12. They are always a bit trepidatious at first, when we see them in the Market or drop a welcome loaf at their new home. But slowly, our district grows and thrives. Gale is instrumental in having a new medicine manufacturing factory built in 12, and many of the skilled laborers from the mines find work there. The wealth of a steady income of the working class boosts the merchant class. A restaurant opens. People take on leisurely activities, like sports and music. We are growing from the ashes of our former home. Gale says the Senator from District 4 taught him the phrase "a rising tide lifts all ships." Looking around our district, I can see the proof.
Plutarch calls persistently. We've asked that all calls be routed through my guardian, so Haymitch and Effie do most of the negotiating. In the end, we agree that Cressida and Pollux can come film the groundbreaking of the bakery. No other crews. After much debate, Plutarch finally gives in.
When the ground thaws, the groundbreaking of Peeta's new bakery arrives faster than he's prepared for. He's on the edge of hysteria as his fingers shake trying to knot a tie around his neck.
"Here, let me," I say. He sits on the edge of the bed and I stand over him, wrapping his tie into a knot and pulling it tight.
Peeta smiles at me sheepishly. "Where'd you learn to do that?" he asks.
"Finnick," I say back, with a bittersweet melancholy in my tone. Peeta wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my stomach.
"I don't know that I can do this," he says aloud, though I'm not sure it's to me.
In lieu of words, I run my fingers through his hair. He breathes in deeply, and exhales slowly though his mouth. It's an intimate, quiet moment of comfort between two best friends. Two partners. Two lovers. Two human beings. I could stay in this moment forever, but my prep team bursts into the bedroom.
The entire team is a flutter, like a gaggle of birds. They begin primping and preening over both of us. Peeta locks his hand in mine and refuses to let go. I know this is hard for him. Peeta saw his prep team executed in front of him. I can feel him counting his breaths, and I know he's trying desperately not to flash back. He doesn't want to do that today.
Flavius let his hair grow out, and his corkscrew curls have fallen into loose waves with the weight of it. His look is similar to how he looked before, but toned down. His signature purple lipstick still adorns his mouth, but the shade is less royal and more of a muted lilac. Venia's angular face is framed by a straight sheet of hair. She's permitted her natural silver to overtake the aqua, and the precision in which each silver strand lays reminds me too much of Coin. Her gold tattoos still decorate her eyes, and between the gold shimmer and the silver hair, she looks almost dignified… in an outlandish kind of way. Octavia's skin has faded back to its natural color. Her auburn hair is teased and stands up high on her head, but other than that she looks mostly normal, save the three-inch false nails that jet out at the tips of her fingers.
"That mop will never due," Flavius says as he waves a discerning hand toward Peeta's hair. He leans down and pulls a pair of sheers from his bag. Before I totally know what's happening, he starts trimming away at Peeta's locks. I feel Peeta tense, and his grip on my hand becomes almost painful. I squeeze him back, hard, and he controls his breathing. I don't always know exactly what he's reliving, but Peeta clearly is terrified of the quick snips of Flavius's blade around his face.
"Don't cut too much. I like it long," I say. Octavia grins at me with a knowing smile, and after a few more locks hit the floor, Flavius pools a light cream into his palm and run his hands through Peeta's hair. His blonde curls fall like silk around his head. Peeta's eyes are still closed, but the tremors have begun to ebb. After what feels like days, Peeta and I are deemed camera ready. The team rushes out as quickly as they arrived, and we are left alone in our room. I tidy, sweep Peeta's fallen curls into my hand and toss them in the bathroom trash. I look at myself in the mirror. I delay going downstairs. I know Cressida and Pollux are in the kitchen with Haymitch. That was the deal. Peeta gives me a look, and I know it's time.
Peeta and I head down the stairs. Our hands remain locked together. I need him to keep me on this ride, and I cling to him like I did on the chariot. He clings right back. Pollux greets me first, and wraps his arms around me in a strong embrace. I put my hand on his cheek and smile. When Cressida sees me, she pulls me into her chest as well. I don't know when I became the girl that lets people hug her, but I have a special respect for Cressida and her crew. They ran into a war zone, unarmed, to tell the people what was happening. A free press is as important to democracy as free will, or at least that's what Gale tells me. She's never conformed to society's expectations, and she refused to bend to Snow's will. She didn't starve as a child. She didn't want. But she saw injustice and she couldn't sit idly by.
"Ready for your big day?" she asks Peeta.
"I don't think I'll ever be ready," he replies, and we all head down to the site of the bakery. There is nothing there yet, the groundbreaking is more ceremonial than productive. Peeta will hold a shovel and smile as he drives a spade into the earth. It is symbolic – the breaking of ground to create something new. Or rebuild something old. We are there early so Cressida can get shots of Peeta and me. I'm nervous. My hands are trembling, and Peeta rubs the back of my hand with his thumb.
"Okay, Katniss. Let's do this the old way, OK?" Cressida says as she adjusts the cameras and takes light readings. "I'll ask you a question, you answer." I nod, but my mouth feels like it's full of cotton balls. Peeta whispers something in my ear, but my heart is pounding so hard I can't even hear him. A red light flicks on on Pollux's camera, and I try to swallow the lump swelling in my throat.
I'm grateful the first question goes to Peeta. He always knows what to say.
"Peeta," Cressida starts. "How does it feel to be out here, about to break ground on the new bakery?"
Peeta takes a deep breath. "I won't lie, it's not easy. Surviving isn't easy. Being the one left behind isn't easy. But I'm not alone. We are all survivors, whether we fought in the rebellion, or lost someone to the cause, or were victimized ourselves. We are all survivors, and we are going to recover together. We will move forward together. My parents lost their lives on this spot. My brothers did as well. I'm not going to lie and say I don't feel that pain here. But I also feel their presence, and I'll feel them even stronger when I'm kneading dough, and making cookies, and using recipes passed down through generations of Mellarks. My family is not here physically, but I feel them in the air. I smell my dad in the cinnamon. I hear my brothers when a pan crashes to the floor."
Here, but not here. I squeeze his hand.
He continues. "I hope maybe someday, I can teach one of my children how to make snowflake cookies, and icing that melts on your tongue. And I can't do that unless I have courage, get through the hard part, and rebuild the bakery." Peeta just talked to the nation about having kids. His having kids… but it implies our having kids. And I'm not panicking.
"Katniss," Cressida turns to me. "How do you think all this has changed you? The Games. The War."
I'm quiet for a minute. She can cut that later. I need to think. "I lost myself." I barely whisper. "For a minute. When I was on fire and my sister was gone. For another minute, when I went into her room for the first time since the bombing and she wasn't there. I lose myself for a minute every morning, when I wake up, and reality hits me. But I get through those minutes. I breathe. I find her there, in those spaces, and hold her close, and set her free. I changed because I've lost her. But I've become a better person for knowing her. I'd like to think Prim changed me more than any war ever could. She taught me to open my eyes. To love innocently, and freely. To accept kindness, and pay it back. To find the good in everyone. I'm still working on that last part," I say, and Cressida laughs lightly. "Grief is just a bunch of minutes, strung together by ordinary moments. It shouldn't be hard to brush your hair, but it is when you remember your sister untangling the knots of your braid. It shouldn't be hard to sing, but it is when you remember singing a friend to sleep. It shouldn't be hard to love, but it is, when it's hurt you so badly to say goodbye." I look at Peeta. "But we grow together. As a country. As a people. Those of us left behind. We grow together, and we find love, and we remember. We find peace."
Peeta breaks ground on the bakery. Everyone from the district shows up, and they cheer and applaud. That night, the entire district celebrates Spring. We gather outdoors in front of the Justice Hall, where they Capitol used to reap children. Where they used to torture and execute people. But instead, we take it back. We dance. The music hums through the night air. Food is plentiful, and everyone spins and twirls. Cressida can't stop working, and films every moment of joy she can find. Pollux claps and stomps his feet in time. Gale and Johanna only have eyes for each other, slow dancing every fast song. Gale dips Johanna down and kisses her delicately under the night stars. The watermelon farmer twirls Delly in a circle, and her curls bounce to the beat. Effie claps and Haymitch sings along to an old drinking song. Peeta and I duck into an alley, exhausted and dizzy from dancing, and desperate for a moment alone.
"Do I have anything to be sorry about?" he asks. "For what I said earlier? About kids?"
"No," I smile into his mouth as I bring my lips to his.