185 days:
And yet
Gale calls during a mid-winter snowstorm, when the entire world is howling and the grass outside crackles with a thick layer of frost. Peeta answers the phone and I can tell immediately who it is by the way that his shoulders tense, by the way he curls around the phone as if he can protect me simply by hiding the receiver from view.
"She's right here," he says sotto voce. "I'll ask her, but if she says no I'm going to hang up."
He turns around slowly and looks at me with wary eyes, and I walk to him like I'm sleepwalking, like I'm treading water, like I'm fighting through molasses.
The phone is cold against my hand, but I make myself hold on to it like it is a life preserver and I am in a sinking ship.
"Gale," I say. "What do you want?"
For a long second there is only the humming of the phone line, and then he's there.
"Your mom told me," he says without greeting. "I guess I should say congratulations."
Peeta offers me his hand, and I take it without thinking, my fingers reflexively curling around his.
"If you want," I say evenly. "You didn't need to call."
"Are you sure this is wise?" Gale asks. "Having a child? As much trouble as the two of you have caused?"
"I've thought of that, yes," I say, and now a little spark is igniting in my stomach, coloring the words harsher than I intend. "You know, as much as I'm enjoying this, I think maybe I'm going to go now."
Peeta makes to take the phone, but I shake my head, just a little, and he purses his mouth and watches me.
"People are paying attention," Gale says to me, and I can hear the smallest of tremors in his voice as it fights to stay steady. "No one is planning anything, but you need to know that they know."
"Who are they, exactly?" I ask him, and the spark is growing, is catching kindling, and now Peeta puts his hand over mine on the phone. His touch is gentle, insistent, trying to take the phone back from me, and I unfurl my hand from his and turn away. "Gale, who knows? Why did you call me?"
I forget, sometimes, how strong Peeta is, and the phone is out of my hand before I can blink, before I can get an answer.
"Don't," Peeta spits, and there is a loud buzzing from the receiver as Gale starts to yell, as Peeta drops it back into the cradle and stands before me with his empty hands.
"Katniss," he says. "It's okay."