My Sunday afternoons usually consist of laundry, some knitting, a lot of cleaning, and Peeta idle, draped over my couch watching TV. He is on his lazy position, but this time his attention is not on some action movie on full blasted volume. He is playing with Pebbles, torturing my dog with a small squeaky toy duck. The damn thing hasn't stopped squeaking since Pebbles approached Peeta with it in its mouth as soon as he hit the couch.
I am across the living room from them, wiping the kitchen counters clean, watching them wearily with wistful eyes and a bit of disdain. I just finished cleaning that living room and it was serious labour. Whenever Peeta comes over, my dog turns into a small ball of hurricane. Her energy level just shoots up and she constantly wants to play with him. However, when it comes to her behavior around me, she likes to be picked up, or sit on my lap, or just snuggle next to me.
She has managed to pick up on our different personalities and camouflage right into them.
I barely catch the sheepish look on Peeta's face as he freezes the hand he uses to throw the toy duck in mid-air, accumulating more excitement on Pebble's end, therefore pushing her further into the brink of insanity, my poor dog. Peeta glances at me and gives me a quick smile as he throws the squeaky toy duck my way and it drops by my feet.
"Go get mommy!" he yells at Pebbles, and her tail is wagging so hard it looks like it's about to tear off and whir away. I give Peeta a small look when he called me mommy. That was the first time he has ever referred to me as that. I don't quite know how to feel about it. But it sounded kind of nice.
Pebbles yips as she sets off in my direction, almost hopping in motivation, but I ditch my cleaning rag and pick up the toy before she is able to bite it off. I tease her with the toy before I fling it back to Peeta, who barely catches it and almost falls off the couch.
After what seemed to be an endless back and forth of chucking the little toy across the room and Pebbles failing to grab it, we stop and decide that would be it for her exercise of the day. I give her the toy duck and she gladly takes it, and toddles away, panting, towards Peeta still sprawled across the couch, and flops down on the floor dropping the toy, looking up at him.
His eyes soften as he finally gets off the couch, all his mischief out the window, and stands over a very overworked Pebbles. He bends over to pick her up gently and holds her in his arms, like a baby, chirping sweetly at her. He starts to sway her back and forth, as if lulling her to sleep. The dog has turned completely immobile in his grasp, her beady eyes slowly drooping.
He stops baby talking to Pebbles and turns to look at me, his face beaming.
"Dogs are sort of, almost like children. I think they're a great preview before the real thing," he tells me, winking at me over his shoulder as he slows down his little dance. "Except you can't leave children unattended in a house for eight hours with a bowl of food on the floor." He takes his finger and rubs the tip of Pebbles' tiny black nose and she snorts in annoyance.
He proceeds to hold her underneath the arms and lifts her up slowly to his eye-level, making silly noises and apologizing for waking her up. He turns to me again and asks, "Do you think I can be a dad now?", with a small, enthusiastic smile, his eyebrows waggling.
I don't really answer his question but I say, "You know, they're cute until they start talking back at you."
I am feeling warm and fuzzy all of a sudden, and I am not certain what to make of this, but I sure am starting to see him in a different light, if that was even possible.
It takes a good couple of hours until Peeta switches off his lazy mood and is now up, clamoring around in my kitchen. I find myself also draped over my couch this time, a little treat after all the cleaning that has just transpired. My senses are shutting off and all I am able to hear from what Peeta is murmuring in the kitchen, in between banging of pots and pans, is "…going to go bake cookies…" before I drift into slumber.
It seems like mere seconds when I open my eyes again but the clock tells me it has been an hour of that power nap I just took. I swing my feet over and touch the floor as I sit upright, yawning and stretching, feeling re-energized. I wiggle my toes and feel something weird and soft underneath it. I turn the sole of my foot towards me and see a blue rose petal sticking to my skin.
My gaze follows to the rest of the flowers on the floor, pooling right below me, and out into what looks like a thin trail of more rose petals, but mixed with white this time, leading away from the couch and disappearing around the coffee table.
Follow the petals
There is an instant smile on my face as I pick up the note and stand, fixing my hair, and there is a refreshed feeling of excitement.
I adore the changing colours of the different petals scattered on the floor as I walk through the living room and onto the staircase going upstairs. The trail extends through the hallway, passing my bedroom, and it stops right outside the bathroom door. I reach for the doorknob, confused. I never know what to expect from Peeta sometimes.
I let the door fly open, revealing to me a continuation of the trail of petals, up until the corner where the bathtub sits. On the ledge of the bath tub there is a silver tray full of cookies, and right beside it, on a smaller silver tray, is a magnificent candied apple.
I feel my jaw drop.
A candied apple. It has been many, many years since I was able to savour in the crunchiness of an apple and the sweetness of the candy that covers it. I float towards it, and slowly descend to the level of my bath tub ledge so I can observe and appreciate it closer.
But the more I maneuver closer to the tub, the more I realize what is in it.
The tub is filled with steaming hot water and partially covered in big bubbles; also there are yellow petals that are floating and some that have sunk into the bottom of the tub. The water smells familiar, like green tea and bamboo, my favourite scents, and I spot a bottle of small bath oil sitting by the faucet as my confirmation. These bath oils are only imported from the Capitol.
I did mention in my bucket list, somewhere along the lines of eating a candied apple while relaxing. The yummy chocolate chip cookies are a bonus.
A hand suddenly comes up on my shoulder from behind me as my reflexes over-react and I jump at the contact. I spin around and see Peeta wearing a half-amused face.
"Once again you have rendered me speechless. Where did you get this?" I gesture at the apple, and glance down at the inviting waters inside the bath tub behind me.
"Eleven. You have no idea how many apples the orchards from that district generates. It's autumn so it's on season. The candied apples are on special. I have nine more for you," he says.
My eyes are twinkling at him and he knows it. "Nine more! You should have a couple. Please, have some." He just smiles at me and shakes his head. We both know he doesn't have a sweet tooth. By now he is turned off by anything sweet, since he has baked sweet goods almost all of his life.
"It's ok Katniss. I got you a lot because I don't think I'm travelling back to Eleven any time soon."
He suggests he take my clothes away so I can dip in the water before it gets cool. I don't argue with that as I start to strip my top and bottoms off, handing my discarded clothes to him as he ventures to my bedroom. By the time he comes back into the bathroom with a pile of new clothes for me to wear after my bath, I am sitting comfortably in the tub, putting big bubbles on top of my head and my knees.
The warmth and the sweet scent of the water captivate me and sooth me so well that I may nod off into another power nap right inside the tub. I shake my head off and focus on my cookies and my yummy candied apple, waiting for me to devour them.
Peeta scuffles out of the bathroom to leave me to relax for the rest of the late afternoon, picking up Pebbles who has been waiting diligently on the other side of the bathroom door. He tells me he will be taking her with him for the meantime, and that he bought her a new bouncy ball.
I am not aware of how long the rapping on my front door has been dragging on, but judging from the increasing volume of the knocks, the person may be getting agitated from waiting. I emerge from the bath tub and dry myself quickly, slapping on the clothes Peeta left for me. I glide down the stairs, yelling "Coming!", in hopes the person could somehow hear. The knocking stops.
I open the door and what is bestowed in front of me is Gale Hawthorne, both hands in his pocket, body leaning over the door ledge, his head sporting a short buzz cut. I remind myself to blink and breathe, and I take my time getting through the door to stand outside with him and click the door shut behind me.
My heart is beating wildly, but I don't think it has anything to do with romanticism. I swallow an invisible lump in my throat.
"Catnip. It's been awhile," he greets me. I nod at him, gauging his movements and his appearance. He is slightly thinner, has deep under eye circles and he seems to have shaved in a quick haste, my eye for detail criticizing his uneven facial hair. He is also sporting scars above his right eyebrow.
We walk side by side towards the woods under an unspoken mutual agreement. He coughs a couple of times and I ask if he had colds. Even our small, less than casual talk is awkward until we are a good distance inside the woods. All I'm thinking now is how curious I am to know how Peeta managed to convince Gale to fly back here to District Twelve. And how much involvement he had in Prim's death.
"How have you been? Talk to me Katniss," he pleads. I jerk my head back, distracted, as if that was the first time I noticed his presence. I approach a big boulder nestled in between bushes and sit on top, followed by him.
"I'm well, thanks. I teach part time. How about you? How's the fancy job?" I ask him. If I remember correctly, he is now a Command Sergeants Major in District Two.
He chuckles. I am suddenly overcome with sadness associated with Gale's old laughter.
"I don't know if fancy is the right word. I'm starting to get bored with it, but it does pay the bills quite well." He starts to reach for his pocket and brings up a black leather wallet.
"I have a little boy. He's quite the firecracker." He picks a picture out of his wallet and shows it to me. "His name is Westin." A handsome, smaller, bald version of Gale is smiling at me, and I estimate that he must be two to three years old. He seems to take a lot after Gale's facial features, except the eyes. They're timid, and reserved. Almost fearful.
"I have a little puppy if that somehow evens us out." I tell him. He looks surprised, but his eyes are smiling. He then switches his gaze to a far off area in front of us.
"Westin's mother and I are not married, but I am working towards it."
My eyes flit sideways at him to steal a glance and his face looks blank, devoid of emotions.
"What's wrong?" I ask. I pause and it hits me that the question is cutting too close to personal but it does add to the conversation. He shifts the ball of his foot from side to side, looking down at the patterns of the rock we're sitting on.
"I don't know if I'm the marrying type. Besides, marriage is a big commitment. And I don't know how committed she is," his face sours for a moment.
"She has given you a son. Doesn't that warrant enough?" I remind him. He just shrugs. I sense loopholes in this story and I begin to wonder if I had anything to do with his visible, damaged faith in women. We share a short moment of silence until he speaks again.
"How are things between you and Peeta?" he asks. I felt this question coming from a mile back.
"Things are very well. He's great," I'm trying to contain myself and I do not want to appear like a gushing teenager to Gale. "He's everything I could ever hope for."
Gale is now staring deep into my eyes, I'm not sure what he's searching for. He smiles before he tears his gaze off of me, slightly shaking his head.
"That's good. That sounds very confident."
Another round of silence wavers between us and we shift uncomfortably on the rock. The dark is slowly eating up the town. I invite him to dinner but he politely refuses, and tells me he has a military assignment in a District Twelve defence post.
"Katniss, there is something I've been meaning to tell you, about...Prim-" he starts and I quickly stand up and grunt while I stretch because of a need to overlap the words that are streaming out of his mouth. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not dealing with any of this right now. It's easier this way. I continue to close my ears and let my mouth run.
"Gale, it's done, it's all in the past. Let's just...forget about it, okay?" I try to sound cool but my heart twisted a little bit the moment he said my sister's name. He's glaring at me, inert and dumbfounded. My mind and eyes are overworking, trying to find fillers, distraction in between. I don't want to open flood gates of emotions right now; either spitting in rage, or raging in tears.
I let out a breath of air and spot a high ant mound on the ground, long trail of big red ants marching out of it and towards the boulder. My eyes continue to follow the line of ants, and it stops under Gale's shoe, and some have separated and made it up on his shoe lace. My lips curl into a smile, and my hand flies up to cover it.
"What are you smiling at?" he asks with furrowed brows. His eyes follow my gaze, catch the trail of ants on the ground, and suddenly pauses at realization. His leg twitches hard in mid air, shaking it violently. He is now on his feet and yelping away, scratching at his pant legs. I have never seen Gale Hawthorne lose his cool like this. He curses the ants, and starts to reach for his belt to take off his pants so he could rattle them off but realizes I'm watching this whole thing unfold so he stops himself while gritting his teeth, a look of distress on his face.
I can't hold it any longer and I burst out into fits of laughter, my hands on my stomach as I guffaw at him uncontrollably. I haven't laughed this intensely in a while. Tears are converging in my eyes and I try to calm down, and this time, I'm the one who is scaring birds out of the woods.
It is around eight pm when I reach home, the light on the front porch switched on and I could see Peeta and Pebbles waiting for me, sitting by the door. I give Peeta a quick kiss and take Pebbles, and I find myself almost humming a tune. He is smiling at me and asks how Gale's visit went. I casually tell him it went okay.
"Did you take him to visit Prim?" he asks straight forward. He is also looking at me with a straight face. We are both frozen on our spot, assessing each other's movements, and thoughts.
"No," I say, as if it's the only right answer. I'm looking back at him suddenly irritated and he blinks in mild disbelief. I shrug and enter my house, him following closely behind. I put Pebbles on the floor and she scampers away, and I head for the closet to hang my jacket. Peeta is about a foot behind me, just hovering. He continues to follow me until I am in the kitchen, approaching the refrigerator.
"Just wondering, how old would Prim have been now, twenty two? Twenty three?," he asks nonchalantly, almost right into my ear. "She would be finished college by now? Maybe on a relationship with a boy?"
He sounds too casual, at the same time, challenging me, and I don't know what he's up to so I don't answer. I open the refrigerator door, grabbing leftover spinach soup and turkey. I place them down on the counter and start to reach for plates in the cupboard. I am suddenly not hungry but I must keep moving.
"You practically raised her like she was yours. The only thing you really cared about."
I whip around before I get to the sink and scowl at him. "What do you want, Peeta?" But he ignores me and insists he stalk me around the kitchen from within two inches.
"She was almost taken away once. Then you became her heroine and you saved her. In Thirteen, as refugees, you were also trying to save her. Somewhere along the way, surely it must've hit you how the only thing you ever did was try to save her."
I am getting agitated and I have no idea why Peeta is doing this to me. He is being a jerk, and I am having none of this. I pick a glass and fill it with tap water, taking a full swig. I fill it up again with more water and put it on the counter. "Leave me alone," I whisper, at nothing in particular.
"But you tried taking care of her, you really did. In the end, she merely suffered the same fate as your father...blown into-"
My vision is slowing in motion and all I see is my hand picking up the glass and throwing the water at Peeta's face. Why is he being so mean to me? I hear the glass make contact with the floor and shatter to bits, and I watch as my own hands curl up in resentment and pummel angrily into Peeta's chest. Next thing I know I'm running clumsily out of the house and into the expanse of my backyard, stopping in the middle. And he's still right behind me, and I'm screaming at him, although I can't make out what I'm saying because I'm weeping like a small child. He firmly yanks me back by the forearm and cups the sides of my face and makes me look at him, his eyes finally softening, the cruelty diminishing. He's holding my shoulders as my punching slows down and weakens.
"Shhh..Katniss, it was not your fault..." he reminds me quietly.
"Gale...Gale didn't kill her, did he? He couldn't have...I-I knew he cared for her like, like a family, right?" I'm sobbing in between, and my nose is running and off into Peeta's shirt. He's nodding, and rubbing my shoulders up and down.
"He didn't know," I'm shaking my head wildly from side to side. "He didn't know Prim was in the crowd," I hiccup and his hand is now caressing my back. "It was all Coin's order...the uhh- the bombing..." I'm babbling, my sentences reckless and incomplete.
I feel my knees give in and I crumble down, but Peeta steps in and holds me steady upright with an arm around me. I turn into a mush in his grip but he is forcing me to stand with him. I finally pull back a little so I can look at him.
"I miss her. I miss Prim so much..." I lean my head down on his chest and sob uncontrollably, "...my little duck." His free hand reaches up and holds the side of my head, his fingers slightly rubbing my hair. He just holds me still, and allows me to cry.
After Peeta whispers sweet nothings of comfort, he allows me space to clean myself. My face is a mess of tears and snot. I wipe myself on my sleeves, and he also offers his without hesitation. His attention is suddenly at the skies above us, looking out into the dark, and perks up at an idea. He grabs my hand as he turns on his heels, and walks away in quick strides. He is pulling me far into the other Victors House's backyards, hopping over low fences with a sense of urgency.
He ignores my questions and request to stop running until we reach a clearing, free of trees. He plops down on the grass, cross legged, encouraging me to do the same, and offers his legs as a pillow for my head. I'm too tired so I don't argue as I lay down, feeling the coolness of grass on my back, and Peeta's eyes still on the sky. Once I get comfortable, he glances down at me while he points at it.
"Look over there," he says. And I see it. Straight in front and above us, is a small crescent of white moon, slowly emerging from behind the tall trees and the mountain. I hold my breath at its magnificence, its ascension a glorious process, as the sliver of moon enlarges and bleeds yellow hue into the dark, illuminating the thin veil of clouds around it. Peeta and I don't exchange a word as we wait until the moon has completely emerged from the bottom horizon, and it continues to float upwards, bright and mighty, a full moon of late September.
We smile at each other, the light from the moon making our teeth glisten.
He starts to point again upwards, but at something different this time. It's the stars that are scattered across the blanket of black.
"They're beautiful," I say, amazed at the beauty of the stars.
"Prim is still here. She is in the starlight," he points at the hundreds of stars twinkling above us. "She's in you, and she's with you. She has never left," he says.
I sigh and study the patterns of the heavenly bodies overhead, and maybe if I try a little harder, I can almost see her. And feel her. I nod slightly, a cool breeze of autumn wind passing through us, making the grass rustle.
"She is all around me," I close my eyes and exhale. I smile upwards at the sky and I feel free.
She surrounds me like a circle.
A/N: The last scene was inspired by a real event, when my BF and I were camping in Algonquin. Come nightfall, out of nowhere he grabbed my hand and we ran through the woods until we reached the lake, made me sit on a huge flat rock with him, our shoes almost touching the water below, and while the moon was slowly rising in front of us, he proposed to me.