"So how did it go last week?"
The question surprises me a little. Peeta doesn't look up at me as he asks it, his eyes on his notebook, his diligent hand scribbling away.
"How did what go?"
"Gale's birthday. The present."
"Oh. Fine, thank you."
Thankfully that reply isn't entirely a lie, even though the day didn't start off very well. We were able to make up in the evening, and Gale said he loved my gift. I'm almost positive he would have liked a physical gift a whole lot more, but at least he didn't say anything to that effect. Of course, the evening was, for the first three hours, awkward enough on its own. Gale, not being a complete idiot, realized that his request had made me uncomfortable, but since it was his birthday he was constantly surrounded by his family – Posy in particular seemed to want to sit on his lap, or sing to him, or tell him stories almost the entire time. Because of this we didn't have a chance to speak alone until an hour after dinner, when Posy had gone to bed.
When we finally stepped out on the back porch to talk, shrouded in darkness as thick clouds covered the moon and the stars, and the candle in Gale's lantern was close to burning out, we had talked. Not for long, but for long enough I think. He apologised. I apologised too – not for refusing his request, but for storming off instead of telling him no there and then. He confessed he had had a rather miserable day in the mines, worried about having offended me.
That could have been the end of it, but Gale insisted that we need to have a deeper conversation sometime soon, preferably out in the woods, far away from other people and with as much time as needed on our hands. We both knew it wasn't the right time to have that talk right there in that moment; the hour was growing late and both him and I would need to get to bed soon – separately. Though he didn't say what topic we need to discuss, I know already. And it makes me weary to think of it. I feel I have made my position as clear as can be regarding sex – still I suppose I'm willing to have that conversation, if for no other reason than to get a better understanding of what's going on in his mind. I feel so oddly alienated from him in that regard nowadays. For such a long time we've understood each other well, and now it seems we don't understand one another at all.
Yesterday, when we were hunting in the woods, we should have spoken about it, but it ended up never being brought up. And no wonder – it was a beautiful day yesterday, and both of us felt invigorated by the change in weather that signalled that spring is arriving. When we met up we were both in good spirits and all of a sudden we were back in sync with one another – both Gale and I understanding that the other wanted to enjoy this feeling as much as we could, and not spoil it with talks about problems in our relationship. So we set the problems aside for a day and enjoyed the feeling of things being right between us. The temperature was above freezing even when we met up, before the sun had risen. The snows have begun to melt, the birds are singing more cheerfully, and it won't be long now before life comes back to the world. Perhaps… perhaps it can bring something back that's been lacking with Gale and me. With a soft smile I think back on when Gale stood, yesterday, beneath a tree that had branches heavy with snow, and the higher temperature and warm sun caused said snow to droop and eventually fall down right on Gale's head. We both laughed, and when he pulled me close for a kiss it felt alright. I wish we could feel that way more often.
"I think I have some bad news," says Peeta, bringing me back from my thoughts and making me scowl.
"What?"
He sighs heavily and lets the pencil drop, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
"I just don't think I'll be able to complete the work in time. Strictly speaking, all we've got is this one hour. Next Monday we'll have to set aside to work on our essays and start compiling the work we've done on the rest of the scenario, and the Monday after that we've only got thirty minutes to get it all ready…"
"And then we hand it all in," I finish his thought.
I can't believe that's all the time we've got left. A few months ago this project seemed never ending, and now… I look at Peeta and I think I see similar thoughts in his eyes, but neither of us puts them to words. What good would that do?
"How is the rest of your week?" he asks. He coughs into the bend of his arm, and I note that the coughing fits still last a rather long time. "Do you think you can pencil me in for a work session? Preferably tomorrow, or on Sunday, since I've got either wrestling practice or shifts at the bakery the other days."
"I should pencil you in for the days when you've got wrestling practice," I say dryly. "Save your health from ruin."
"I don't care about my health. I care about winning the tournament." I give him a look, trying to determine if he's joking or being serious. He leans forward again and grabs his pencil, drumming it against his bottom lip in a by now familiar gesture. "Personally I think Sunday fits the best. We could get an early start and just work until we're about done. If we meet up tomorrow we'll only have a couple of hours."
I take a moment to think it over. I ought to set Sunday aside for hunting. Especially now, when the snows have begun to melt, and the environment out there is about to change and come to life. I don't think the weather these past two days has been a fluke, today the sun is shining bright and the birds have begun to sing more eagerly in their trees. But Peeta has a point. Meeting up tomorrow might not mean we won't have to meet up Sunday.
"Okay," I say, making up my mind. I can go hunt on Saturday. Gale can manage on his own without me Sunday morning.
"Okay what?" asks Peeta, somewhat confusedly.
"Okay, Sunday it is."
He grins at me and I smile back at him.
"Good decision," he says in a preppy voice, making me chuckle.
"Now stop dallying and get back to work," I say in a mock-stern voice. "Come Sunday I want to hear at least something about how our parallel-selves can manage a marital crisis."
"Geez, a guy can't take a two-minute break without his wife being all over him to get back to work," he says dramatically, his eyes rolling.
"That's how it is," I say, still in that stern voice. "And I don't hear your pencil scribbling."
He laughs a little, but his laughter turns into a coughing fit. I give him an uneasy look as he coughs into the bend of his arm while rummaging through his backpack in search of a water bottle. Once he finds it he has a bit to drink but it does nothing to put a stop to the coughing. He then finds something else in a side pocket – a brown paper bag, looking wrinkled and folded and crumpled to the point of being just about ready to fall apart. He takes something out of it and puts it in his mouth, sucking on it until the coughs dissipate.
"Stop looking at me with that tone of voice," he says, his voice hoarse from the coughs and a touch unintelligible from whatever it is he's sucking on.
"Peeta would you please skip practice today?" I implore, crossing my arms on the table and leaning forward. "Are you even able to get anything out of it, when the slightest physical strain makes you cough like that?"
"I went to practice all week last week and lo and behold, you are not standing by my grave."
"Maybe not, but you know my thoughts on this issue."
"Why the hell do you care so much?" he scowls, the thing he's sucking on making clicking noises against his teeth.
"Well for one thing, if you drop dead from lack of oxygen I would rather you did it after we were finished with our project."
"Ouch," he says. "Cold, even for you, Everdeen."
"I just don't see the point in you attending practice when you can't participate."
"What makes you think I don't participate? I've competed in worse shape than I am right now."
"Yeah? How did that go?"
"I came in fourth."
"And how many were competing? Five"
His eyes narrow and he gives me a look that seems disproportionately annoyed. For the life of me I cannot understand why this matters so much to him that he's willing to put his health on the line. I know what he told me the other week, but it's still just a contest that will have no impact on the rest of his life. It's supposed to be a hobby, isn't it? But it's clearly a touchy subject with him.
"You know, sometimes you can be a real-" He stops himself abruptly and averts his eyes, still looking angry. I don't think I want to know what he was about to say. I can't imagine it being anything particularly bad, Peeta isn't the type of boy who goes around and calls people by crude names, but if it wasn't something bad then why did he stop himself? He looks at me again, his arms now crossed. "I appreciate the concern, or whatever, but it really is none of your business."
"Maybe not, but it's downright idiotic!" I can't help but counter.
"So is you trying to tell me what to do," he shoots back, biting into what I'm now guessing is a peppermint candy. It smells of peppermint, at any rate. "Especially when you know you're not going to be able to convince me."
"What does your girlfriend think about you putting your health at risk like this?"
"None of your damn business," he says coolly, giving me a look as icy as his tone.
"I think you're being an idiot," I tell him, turning my eyes back to my notebook because I don't like seeing that look in his eyes. "A foolhardy idiot who's putting his pride above common sense. And for the record it is my business, for as long as the project lasts. If you get pneumonia or something I will be left high and dry."
"My pride?" He scoffs. "Well here's what I think. I think you don't care one way or the other if I start coughing up blood or faint or anything during practice or during the match. I think you're being a pain in my ass because you need some way of venting the pressure that we're all under right now with just a few more months of school left. So from this point on, I ask you to keep your comments about my wrestling to yourself. Your opinion on the matter has been duly noted and you're not going to change my mind."
That hurt. That hurt a lot. I press my lips together and try with all my might not to let him see just how cutting it was. Do I really come off as so cold a person that the classmate I've been working so closely with for months on end, and whom I've opened up to about things that aren't so easy for me to talk about, believes I don't care one iota about his wellbeing? Am I as big a failure as a friend as I am a girlfriend?
"What makes you think I wouldn't care?" I manage through gritted teeth.
"You've said it yourself, haven't you? Once we hand this last leg in you have no intention of speaking to me again, other than when we run into one another when you come to trade with my father."
I press my lips harder together but don't offer him an answer. I don't know what to say to that. I probably have said that, or something to that effect, but that has to do with being realistic and not with a lack of caring about him.
"Fine, then," I say coldly.
I get back to work, or at least the illusion of it. I'm not even entirely sure what I'm writing, and by the time I reach the end of the sentence I realize it makes no sense and I have to erase all of it and start over. I hear Peeta sighing, and it angers me. I don't know why he sighed, but I can assume it's got to do with being fed-up with me, and for that I think he's a jerk. What angers me even further is that he's not doing any work. I don't hear him writing anything at all. All I hear is a zipper being pulled and the rustle of a paper bag. Then he pushes something towards me and I lift my eyes to find that it's the same paper bag from before, the one he got the candy out of. Scowling, but with a bit of curiosity mixed in with my anger, I lift my eyes further to look at him. His anger seems to have gone away for now, but he's not looking to be in a good mood either.
"I should have offered you a candy before. It was rude of me not to."
"Thanks, but no thanks." The sight of the bag, and the knowledge of its contents, actually makes me salivate. But I can't take candy from him. Especially not when he might be offering solely to smooth my ruffled feathers.
"Come on," he urges kindly. "I've never met a person who doesn't like candy."
"I didn't say I don't like them. I just don't want one."
I expect another spout of bickering to begin, him insisting that I should have one and I insisting that I don't want any. But he nods and takes back the bag, putting it back into the side pocket of his backpack. He then pulls out his chair.
"I need to go to the bathroom. Back in five."
"Have a blast," I say dryly.
He heads off and I watch him slalom between the tables on his way to the bathrooms. A memory comes to mind, of me being the one to flee to that particular place when I was in need of a breather during the very beginning of our working together. I remember the kind of thoughts that had occurred to me that time. Of him with his previous girlfriends. Doing things. Somehow I manage to will myself not to blush at the memory, but then other images come to the forefront of my mind. Him with his new girlfriend – Belle's face, even though I'm not one hundred percent sure it's her – doing all the things Gale wanted me to do with him last week. I groan inwardly, cursing my mind for being so surprisingly dirty. So what if Peeta and that girl, whoever she is, are already sleeping together, while Gale and I are still at the kissing stage? If his decision to go to practice while he still has this cough is none of my business, then his sex life definitely isn't. But it makes me feel funny to think about it, and not in a good way.
After a few minutes I notice Peeta coming back into the room. While he's on his way to our table one of his friends stops him and tells him something. Whatever it is, I can tell that Peeta isn't happy to hear it. He seems to discuss it with his friend for a minute, then he continues on his way to our table. I pretend to be working when he approaches and sits back down, and I wait for him to stop coughing before I look up at him, hoping he will tell me what that was all about. It seems too nosy for me to ask, but I'm curious to know.
"I have great news for you, Katniss," he eventually says, his voice a mixture between sarcasm and annoyance.
"Your tone makes me nervous," I admit.
"Turns out you get your wish!"
"What do you mean?"
"Coach just went home. Stomach flu, apparently. Or something he ate that disagreed with him. Practice is cancelled."
He sounds so upset by this that I feel bad, despite everything.
"I'm sorry," I say genuinely. The look on his face, and his raised eyebrow, tells me he thinks I'm not even a little bit sincere. "I am," I insist. "I'm a bit relieved, but I'm sorry nonetheless. But hey, at least nobody gets to go to practice today, right?"
"Whoop-de-doo," he sighs with rolling eyes.
By the time we are done for the day our spirits have picked up. It's a little odd that Peeta doesn't have to rush off to practice, and I catch him looking at the clock with a wistful sigh, but it is what it is, and I'm mostly happy about this turn of events. His lungs could use a few more days to recuperate, even though I'm no idiot and I know that he will be at practice again in a few days. But at least for today he doesn't have to go. Instead we end up going along with one another to our lockers, and agree to converge by Peeta's locker, the one closer to the entrance, when we're both ready so we can walk together until our paths home take us in opposite directions.
We walk out into the bright afternoon, both of us squinting in the sunlight. It feels almost hot in comparison to the long months of below-freezing temperatures, and even though neither of us has a sufficiently warm coat for the coldest winter months I can tell when Peeta's eyes meet mine that he feels as hot in his outerwear as I do in mine. There's a fresh breeze, and if it doesn't abate the snow is going to be melting fast. The only troublesome bit is that the temperature is likely to dip below freezing during the night, and the melted snow will turn into ice.
"Looks like spring is here," I say.
"Thank goodness! I'm just surprised it came so suddenly. A week ago we were still in the dead of winter. Now it must be several degrees above freezing in the sunlight. My poor grandmother's going to be feeling her arthritis to the nth degree with the weather shifting this way."
We begin to walk, but don't make it more than fifty meters or so before we stop and remove our gloves and hats. Peeta sets his bag down on the ground for a moment while he removes his coat, tying it around his waist. I keep mine on, but open it to let the fresh breeze in. Behind us we hear the sound of melted water running down from the roof of the school building and down on the ground below. It's one of my favourite sounds, I think to myself. A sure-fire sign that the days of winter are numbered and more food will be available to us soon.
"I love spring," I say with a pleased sigh. "It's probably my favourite time of year."
"Yeah, mine too," says Peeta. "I love the smells, I love the sound of dripping water… Most of all I love the colours. You know, that especially bright shade of green when the grass is new, and the leaves are new… And all the flowers when they begin to bloom."
"When I was a kid my father used to bring me spring flowers for my birthday," I tell him, smiling faintly at the memory. It's not something I allow myself to think about very often.
"Oh yeah? When is your birthday?"
"Early May."
I'm not interested in talking about my birthday, so instead I tell him the story of the time I shot a deer just in time for Prim's, how Gale and I lugged it all the way back to town and how I ended up buying her a goat for a present.
"Yeah?" he says with a chuckle once I've finished telling the story, then coughing twice into his closed fist. "I've got to tell you, I've got two older siblings and I've never gotten anything as fancy as a goat for my birthday."
"Don't make fun," I scowl, to which he immediately shakes his head and waves his hand.
"No, no, no, no. I'm not making fun. I'm being honest, here. I would have loved a goat for a present. They're useful animals and they probably smell better and are less messy than the pigs we keep. Plus they're not exactly cheap, so it's a valuable gift in more ways than one." He gives me a crooked grin. "Best thing I ever got for my birthday was when my oldest brother had finished school and gave me all his pencils and a few sheets of white paper so that I could draw. It was a great gift, one I've used many times – pencils, that is. Not nearly as valuable as a goat though."
My expression has turned from a scowl to something far friendlier, even if I'm not smiling. I imagine Scotti Mellark handing his younger brother a set of worn, used pencils and I picture Peeta's happiness in getting them. I agree with him that it's not a valuable gift. Scotti had them in his possession anyway and you can't contribute to your household through them. Perhaps if Peeta lived in the Capitol and could sell his work for money but that's far from the case here. But all the same, there was thought behind the present – a big brother knowing his little brother loves to draw and giving him something to that end. It's sweet.
Peeta gets a look of nostalgia on his face.
"Actually, when I was very little, and Scotti finished first grade… he gave me his crayons and the last five pages of a notebook, so that I could draw. Our parents were furious, felt it was a waste of expensive school paraphernalia. They were right, of course. I mean, I was not even two years old, so talk about throwing pearls for swine. So they took them back. I don't remember any of this, naturally, but I've been told about it." I'm surprised to hear this story, and even more surprised that he tells it in such an afterthought-like manner. It must be because he was too little to remember any of it, otherwise I'm sure it would have been a memory that stood out for him. The practical side of me has to agree with his parents, but the older sibling-side of me understands Scotti completely. "I suppose I could draw a picture of a goat and give to one of my brothers…" muses Peeta, setting aside this second story and returning to the topic of birthday presents. He squints as we turn a corner and step out into a patch of sunlight coming from between two of the houses. "It's the thought that counts, am I right?"
"I'll let you borrow Lady, if you like," I offer. "To model for you."
He grins and begins to say something, but my name suddenly spoken in Gale's voice cuts him off and catches us both off guard. We stop and look ahead to find Gale perched on a meter-high brick wall separating a private garden from the street. He's dressed in all new miner's overalls, so vibrant in their colour compared to the old, worn ones, and the sight catches me off guard even further. It's the first time in probably twenty years that the miners have been allowed work clothes fresh from the manufacturer's but it's at least five years later than it ought to have been. Some men and women have been going down in the mines with overalls full of holes in them and the worn status of the garments has made even the Capitol-born overseer decide it's time for an upgrade. I suspect even people like that realize that there's only so much mileage you can get from a garment, especially one subjected to the harsh, damp conditions down in the mines. Not wanting to let an opportunity go to waste there is a camera crew in town to get pictures and footage of the momentarily pristine looking workers to showcase for those two or three souls in the Capitol who might worry that some poor fellow is toiling under difficult conditions to bring them electricity and heat. Gale has been selected as part of the group they are photographing out in the sunlight – in itself a ridiculous backdrop for showcasing miner's overalls. It's not difficult to see why he was chosen, what with his handsome face and strong physique. I bet the women in the Capitol find it a very appealing picture indeed. He told me about this yesterday, but I wasn't expecting to run into him.
"Gale…" I say, not able to hide my surprise at his appearance. "Gosh, look at you… You look…"
"Handsome? Sexy?" He waggles an eyebrow at me suggestively and then shakes his head with a chuckle. "Those seem to be two of the very few adjectives this Capitol crew is familiar with. There's also… manly." He says the word with a lot of zest and in a good impression of a Capitol accent. I bet he's heard it over and over and over today.
From the corner of my eye I see Peeta glancing at me and then towards Gale before turning his eyes somewhere else. I feel a bit awkward, truth be told, standing here with the two of them like this. Lately I don't like to think about both of them in the same context if I can avoid it. It doesn't seem to mash very well in my mind.
Gale hops down from the wall and walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a hug though refraining from kissing me hello, for which I'm thankful since we're in public. Peeta takes a step to the side to give us room and I swallow, not sure how to behave. We were in the middle of a conversation and I should say something to him before we part ways but I'm not quite sure what. Should I introduce him to Gale? They already know each other, or know of each other at least. Would they find it strange to speak to one another outside of the few times they've exchanged words during our trading with the baker? One is my boyfriend and the other my school husband. One wants to build a future with me and the other spends an hour a week pretending that he's already doing exactly that. I feel like I'm in the middle of a very odd and ill-defined triangular equation, which isn't helped one iota by the boyfriend harbouring some level of jealousy towards the pretend-husband, believing him to have feelings for me. Said pretend-husband is very special to me, albeit for reasons not related to romantic relationships, but the boyfriend has no idea about any of the events that transpired that day in the rain, when I was on the brink of giving up and fading away.
Gale pulls back from the hug and rests his forehead to mine for a second before he pulls away a little bit further.
"Done with school for the day, I take it?"
"Yeah, we were… we were heading home actually."
"I wish I could say the same," sighs Gale. "We're on a thirty-minute break while the camera crew enjoys a sit down with coffee and some pastries. Apparently they can't work for more than three hours without a meal break of some form. Not that I'm complaining about my allotted work assignment for the day, mind you. I'm without question one of the luckiest men in the entire Seam today."
At the mention of pastries he casts a look at Peeta. No doubt the pastries came from the Mellark bakery; I have a hard time believing they would cart that sort of thing with them all the way across Panem when there's a perfectly good bakery here in the district. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence, as if neither one of us knows what to say or do next. Then Peeta steps closer and extends his right hand to Gale.
"We've never been formally introduced, though we've met when you've come to trade with my father," he says, displaying one of his friendly smiles. "I'm Peeta Mellark. Katniss' friend from school. Well, her project partner."
"Pleased to meet you," says Gale, a touch reserved but he sometimes can be with strangers. He doesn't sound unkind or anything like that and shakes Peeta's hand with a nod while his other hand comes to wrap around my waist. "Gale Hawthorne. Katniss' boyfriend."
"Right." Their hands part and Peeta shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Katniss has told me so much about you."
I have? I don't recall talking much about Gale to Peeta. Perhaps it's just a polite phrase he thinks he should utter, maybe even a reflex. Or maybe he figures since I talk very little to begin with I've proportionally talked a lot about Gale. I look down at my feet, studying the toe of my boot as it draws patterns on the slushy snow, wondering to myself what all those things I've apparently told Peeta about Gale might be.
"So how is the project going?" asks Gale casually.
"It's going good," says Peeta lightly. "Only a few weeks left now."
"That must be a relief. It sounds ridiculous to me that they're dragging it out for so long this year. When I did it, it was only a couple of weeks. What's the point of this marathon version? I know Katniss can't wait to be done with it and I'm sure you feel the same way."
I look up at him and then over at Peeta, feeling like that was an unnecessary remark. I'm sure he meant nothing by it, but he made it sound like I'm longing for the day when I don't have to be partnered with Peeta anymore and that's plain rude, not to mention untrue. I just barely resist the urge to elbow Gale in the side and instead I try to catch Peeta's eye, but he gives another smile, less genuine this time, and looks in the direction of the bakery.
"Well it was great meeting you," he says, looking back at Gale. "I need to be going. Visitors from the Capitol feasting on pastries more than once a day? There's got to be a lot of work to be done at home, so I can't linger."
"It was good meeting you too," says Gale. "Don't waste your best ingredients on these clowns." He then turns and kisses the top of my head. "What about you, Catnip, you want to stay and keep me company until their little pastry break is over? We can talk about our plans for this evening."
I didn't know we had plans for this evening but that's probably just me not having paid attention again. All the same I can't fight the feeling that he dropped that line for Peeta's benefit, not mine. I keep my eyes on Peeta, wanting to meet his before he goes but he only gives me a brief glace as he bids me goodbye.
"Thanks for today, Katniss. I'll see you at school."
"Bye," I say, feeling disgruntled as I watch him walking away. The moment he's gone around a corner and disappeared from sight I turn to Gale, ready to snarl at him for being rude. Peeta looked put down when he left, and he doesn't deserve that. But the smile on Gale's face is bright and I can't seem to bring myself to say anything to take that smile away. Especially since we're out in public. Instead I focus on something else he said. "We had plans for tonight?"
He shrugs, wrapping his other arm around me as well, making me scowl and pull away from him. I still don't like it when he does that in broad daylight out among people. If my protest bothers him he doesn't let it show.
"No…" he says. "Nothing we've specifically talked about. I thought I would stop by, though. We could go for a walk…" His hand finds mine, his fingers playing with the tips of my own. "Perhaps sit at the Meadow for a while… Enjoy the fact that spring – the season of love – is here…Stay until the stars come out…"
"I have an exam on Wednesday," I say. "I don't think I can spend the entire evening waiting around for the stars to appear."
"Katniss I wasn't thinking we would just be sitting around staring at the sky," smiles Gale. "There were other, more fun activities I had in mind – unless we decide it's a good time to have that talk. But if you have a test coming up I understand why you don't want to be out for long. Spare me an hour or two? I know you would rather study my mouth than study for a test."
I can't very well say no to devoting an hour or two to him. I force myself to smile slightly as I nod and wrap my arms around his neck for a hug. I hate to admit it even to myself but I'm not all that excited about the prospect of spending a couple of hours this evening sitting at the Meadow with Gale. I'm worried that it won't just be about spending time together, especially with what he implied a minute ago. And spring being the season of love – what is all that about? It sounded quite ridiculous coming out of his mouth. As my graduation and my final Reaping draw nearer Gale's plans and hopes for our future together seem to surface and grow, even though I won't be nineteen until May of next year, meaning that even if I couldn't wait to have a toasting with Gale I'd still be forced to wait until I got old enough. Isn't it enough that I spend so much of my school time thinking about the troubles of marriage? Do I really have to waste my spare time on it too?
Gale picks me up fifteen minutes after I finished my meagre dinner and we walk together towards the Meadow. The mood is far from what he was hoping for, yesterday's bright spirits blown away. Having had some time to think back on the events earlier in the day I've become quite irritated with him for the way he behaved around Peeta. I don't understand it. Why did he have to be rude? What has Peeta ever done to him? Must this be an issue all the time? Is being born a merchant really such a crime? It's not like Peeta had any choice in the matter, and quite frankly I believe he would have preferred being born to a nice and caring Seam woman instead of the merchant witch who hits him and whose ridiculous expectations he can probably never live up to. It's not like being a townie is even that fortunate a lot in life. I can understand Gale hating Capitol citizens based merely on their social standing – those are the people who make the Hunger Games a huge success year after year, seemingly unable to comprehend that there's something wrong about the murder of 23 children on a yearly basis. But merchants? They live under the Capitol's thumb as much as we do, have their slips in the reaping bowls same as us, and as I have come to learn they don't have that much more to eat or all that great living standards either. They may be safe from the mines but that isn't their choice or creed anyway. And they depend on other people frequenting their businesses to have money coming in, whereas coalminers at the very least always have a steady – if meagre – income.
As soon as I stepped outside my front door I crossed my arms under my chest, sending a clear signal that I don't want to walk arm in arm or hand in hand or anything like that. Not that I normally agree to that in public, but I want a bit of distance between us. My sullen mood is not lost on Gale, though he seems utterly clueless as to what brought it on. He tries to make pleasant conversation, telling numerous supposedly funny stories of his day as a model and the wacky hijinks the Capitol crew were up to. I know he's exaggerating the stories, attempting to give them a funnier edge to improve my mood but all it accomplishes is to aggravate me. His voice becomes strained after a while, the false mirth more difficult to uphold. I wait until he takes a few seconds to breathe in-between funny stories, and then I give him an icy stare.
"What was with you earlier today?"
"What do you mean?" he asks, a frown appearing on his face as the cheerful façade immediately falls to the wayside.
"You were rude. You were rude to Peeta, for no good reason."
His eyes darken and so does his whole expression. I can see his hands clenching into fists and that he momentarily clenches his jaw. This only irritates me further. The reaction seems extremely out of proportion.
"I don't get you, Catnip," he says through gritted teeth. "Why do you care the slightest bit about that guy and his feelings? He ought to be nothing to you."
"Why?" I challenge. "Because he's a merchant? That doesn't make him evil or an enemy. You do realize he's a person, too, and that it's possible to offend him or hurt him? Don't you realize his life can be pretty rough at times, too?"
"Oh I'm sure it's ghastly being sent to bed without supper when he misbehaves," says Gale, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have nothing in common with him. He's not like us. He doesn't know what it's like to be from the Seam."
"I don't care," I shrug. "I've been friends with Madge for years and that doesn't bother you. But because I don't ignore my project partner the moment school is done for that day you lose the ability to behave like a civilized adult?"
"I wasn't that rude," scoffs Gale. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at me defiantly. "In fact, how was I rude at all? And I don't like that you're friends with Madge – I think she's stuck-up and spoiled."
"Wow," I say, exhaling in a huff. "Listen to you. You know neither of those things are true. What is with you today?"
"I don't like that you are friends with him," says Gale matter-of-factly.
"Well, tough," I shoot back. "I have no intention of choosing my friends based on your approval."
"I didn't say you ought to," argues Gale with frustration. "Have I told you not to be friends with him? I'm just telling you I don't like it and that I don't get why you care about him at all."
"Because he wasn't born in the Seam that immediately disqualifies him from being a decent person?" I challenge.
Gale bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath, exhaling in a sigh. His features soften a bit and his hands unclench.
"Okay, I know I'm being a bit… unreasonable," he admits. "But forgive me, I spent the day with stuck-up, obnoxious Capitol people who have never had a real problem in their entire lives."
"And that is somehow Peeta's fault?" All these years I've been friends with Madge and Gale has never been this out of sorts about it but a few short months of getting to know Peeta and he gets all bent out of shape? If this is about jealousy it angers me on several fronts. Not only do I find jealousy petty and highly unattractive, I am insulted that he might think I would cheat on him. What was it Peeta said just a few months ago? It shouldn't matter to you if someone else is interested in your partner; what matters is who your partner is interested in. And if the answer isn't you then I'm not sure a third party is to blame.
"Many guys would have a problem with their girlfriend getting a new best friend who happens to be a guy," says Gale, confirming my suspicions. His hand lands on the small of my back as he directs me into a back alley, leading us to a less trafficked route to the Meadow. "Especially when that guy is pretending to be her husband."
"For a school project," I sigh. "It's not like he goes around pretending we're married when we're not working on the damn thing. And best friend? Gale, you are my best friend. Or at least you're supposed to be, not that you act like it."
"I'm pretty sure he likes you. And not just as a friend."
"So what, Gale?" By this point I'm practically seething and Gale has to shush me since we're still out amongst other people, even though hardly anyone is within sight. People might still hear us through open windows, I suppose. I lower my voice but speak through gritted teeth. "You think if he asked me to I'd fall into his arms and make out with him? Thanks for having faith in me."
"I do have faith in you," he backtracks. "I'm not saying I'm being totally rational here, but love isn't rational." He quiets for a moment, biting his lip again. "I don't like it when you side with him over me, or chew me out for maybe being a little bit rude to him. Oughtn't you to be on my side – as my girlfriend and my best friend? I won't apologise for feeling that way. I think I'm entitled to feel that way, actually."
"Maybe? A little bit? He's done nothing to deserve that treatment, and being your friend – and girlfriend – doesn't mean never calling you out when I feel you're wrong."
"Yeah but why do you care?"
"Common decency?" I suggest, but the look on Gale's face tells me that won't be enough. I suppose he asks a good question. When did I come to care that much about whether or not someone is rude to Peeta? But I already know the answer. My anger washes away as I revisit old memories and a chill runs through me, making me wrap my arms tighter around myself. "He saved my life."
"What?" Under different circumstances the shocked – and disbelieving – tone in his voice would be funny, I suppose.
I feel my bottom lip tremble as I revisit the memories of that time in my life, at once the worst but also setting me down a path that I'm very glad I took. To be a huntress and a gatherer and to support my family to the best of my ability, those are all things I am very proud of. And all of it because of an eleven-year-old boy who took a beating for my sake without even knowing me as a person.
"It was a long time ago," I say. "But still… too near for me to be able to talk about it. We were just kids, but he… Well he did something that, without which, I wouldn't be here today." I swallow hard. "Even worse – neither would Prim." I look up at Gale, praying that he won't demand more details. I haven't been able to breach the subject with Peeta yet, and I cannot speak to anyone else about it before I speak with him. "I owe him so much. Prim…"
There is worry in his grey eyes, and no trace of disbelief or questioning of my words.
"Katniss, what happened to you, that you can't even talk about it now, what I assume must be years later?" His voice is gentle, caring. "I never had any idea."
My bottom lip begins to tremble even worse, as if I were about to start to cry, and I steel myself to prevent that from happening, closing my eyes. I feel Gale's arms around me and his lips press a kiss to my brow. It's a chaste gesture, one that feels like something he might have done even before we started dating. He pulls me closer and I wrap my arms around him in return, pressing myself against his broad chest, inhaling his scent of wood smoke. I don't remember the last time I felt this good in his arms.
We end up making it to the Meadow mere minutes before the sun has set. We climb onto the one large rock in the field, allowing us to get away from the snows that still cover the ground. Snows which began to melt during the day and are wholly unpleasant to sit amongst now that it's evening. The rock may be hard and cold, but at least it's less cold, and it's dry.
I lean back on my elbows, gazing up at the darkening sky above. I'm not all that used to sunsets. I've seen countless sunrises in my days, oftentimes with Gale at my side out in our glade in the woods, but when the sun is going down I'm mostly busy either at school or at home, depending on the time of year. The sun seemed to set fast tonight with no beautiful spectrum of colours. It's become cloudy and we won't be able to see the stars if the overcast lingers. I wonder if Peeta is looking out the window, hoping to catch the setting sun before it's all the way below the horizon. I wonder if he's disappointed that the sky didn't become painted in orange and pink and purple tonight.
Gale lies down beside me, head resting on his hands. He comments on what a relief it is that spring is upon us, and although I've felt exactly that since yesterday, the feeling has suddenly left and been replaced by dread. Ever since the age of twelve I've longed for this year, praying I could hold out and that I would be fortunate enough not to have my name drawn by Effie Trinket. If I could only survive my seventh and final reaping I would be home free, and life could actually begin. Now that the year has arrived things look so different.
I still have one final reaping looming over me, as well as the four more years Prim has got left, years I try my best not to think about. Even if I survive this year too it no longer seems like the world is opening up to me. Adulthood comes with far too many responsibilities and chores and obligations. Getting a job. Bringing home income without the aid of tesserae. And a whole long lifetime to live, a prospect that seems strangely empty to me now even though achieving that has been the goal of surviving the reapings. Year in and year out of what? Living with my mother, watching my sister grow up and get married and move out of the house? Or do I do what Gale wants me to do, what I've come to realize people around me expect me to do, and get married? That would open up a whole new world of worry and possible heartbreak via the children that would inevitably come. I cannot imagine Gale would be willing to have a sexless marriage with me. I doubt any man would agree to something like that. Nor any woman, for that matter. Truthfully I'm not even sure I would want something like that, if it weren't for those children I cannot bear to have.
Next to me Gale turns to lie on his side, his arm moving around my waist and grapping my hip gently. He nudges me to lie on my side as well, facing him. He then wastes no time claiming my mouth, moaning softly as his tongue parts my lips and his hand nestles in my hair. While his tongue slowly tangles with my own I keep thinking about what life is going to entail once I'm free from the Hunger Games and no longer have to go to school ten months out of the year. Is this something that's going to be a normal part of my life? Kissing? It can be kind of nice, but I don't find it to be the most incredible thing there is. I much prefer just talking, sharing our thoughts, or even going hunting together. We seem to be doing an awful lot of kissing these days and an awful little of everything we used to do before. Again I think of what Gale might expect from me if I were to agree to have a toasting. I will not bend on the subject of children, not for anything or anyone. Would that really be acceptable to Gale? I come to think of something Peeta said a long while ago, about couples who get married and purposely stay childless. Can you do that even in the Seam? Could that be an option for us? Would I want that – marriage under such circumstance?
After a few minutes Gale pulls away. I look into his eyes and am surprised to not see the hooded, intense gaze I most often find in them after we've kissed. Instead he looks focused in an entirely different way, studying me with the hint of a scowl.
"Where are you?" he asks.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"In your mind. You may physically be right here with me, but I feel a bit like I'm kissing someone who's drunk. You don't seem to be aware at all that I am kissing you."
"Well you're not, right now" I say, sitting up and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I can't seem to get used to the saliva part of kissing. It's so slobbery.
"You know what I mean, Catnip." His tone is gentle, if somewhat frustrated, and he sits up too and wraps his arms around his knees. "I'm just trying to understand. Won't you tell me? You used to be able to tell me things." His hand finds mine and gives it a little squeeze. I begin to feel very guilty though I'm not entirely sure why. "I want us to be able to talk to each other. Like we always have in the past."
"I really want us to talk to each other too. We don't do that very often these days."
"So what, then?" he asks. "Where were you just now?"
"I'm just… thinking about summer," I say with a sigh. "About what I will do if I don't land a job."
"Same as you've done every other summer since we first met. Hunt and gather and provide for your family. You won't need to have employment until the fall."
"At which point there won't be a lot of jobs left, all the good ones having gone to my former classmates who snapped them up the day after graduation."
"I see your point," he nods. "Do you have any ideas about where you might work?"
My smile becomes a little bit more genuine and I squeeze his hand in mine. This is exactly the Gale I want to be out here with. The supportive Gale I can bounce ideas off of. The one who might help me find a solution to my predicament.
"I've considered asking for a job at the butcher shop," I say. "Only…"
"Only what? They're not hiring?"
"They might be," I shrug. "It's just, I'm not so sure that's where I want to work. When we began the project in the fall I thought it would be a great position for me but now I don't feel that way. I want to hunt. The thrill of the chase, the excitement in being rewarded for my skills, the fresh outdoors. Spending all day indoors cutting up animal carcasses, the vast majority of which I'll neither get to eat nor trade, doesn't entice me."
"So what other jobs have you considered? How many places in town would even be willing to hire a Seam girl?"
"I don't think that would be an issue."
"I do. People in town, they think us Seam folks belong in the mines. Where they don't have to see us."
"Gale that's not fair," I object gently. "If that were the case I don't think they would have allowed me to get a town job for the project, given how madly in love with realism our teachers have been."
"Betting my income on the realism of a school project seems a bit naïve," says Gale dryly, making me scowl.
"It's not your income we're talking about," I point out. "Besides, you're being narrow-minded. Not everyone in town is stuck-up. Also I have merchant blood in me."
"Yeah but you look Seam."
"I'm well aware of that. I don't think that would be a deal-breaker. Not for every shopkeeper and tradesman in District 12."
"Maybe not per se but when you're competing against blonde-haired, blue-eyed townsfolks who are part of their own group it will be a hindrance to you. I guarantee you that, Catnip."
"So you're against the idea of me even trying to get a job outside the mines?" I ask with indignation.
"I just don't want to see you get hurt, honey. I know you're an independent person but that doesn't mean I don't want to protect you from hurt if I can."
"I've got thick enough skin to handle it," I assure him.
"You do," he acknowledges with a smile. He leans in, brushing his nose against mine. "Have I told you that your determination, your fire and refusal to be held back is one of the reasons why I'm in love with you?"
"You…" I begin, not sure what to say. That he's infatuated with me I already knew. That his feelings had deepened to being in love is something I did not know. I don't know what to say in return, and my state of mind must be written on my face. He gives me a soft peck on the lips.
"Yes, I am in love with you. You don't have to be in love with me back – not yet. Just tell me that you care about me as more than just a friend. That's all I need."
"Of course I do."
It's true. He is far more than just a friend and I do love him, but how far I've come on the path of romantic love I can't quite say. It seems we're bickering too much these days for me to be able to ascertain any such feelings. I wish we could have a period of some peace and quiet and just exist together, putting all pressure and plans for the future and such to the wayside for a bit.
There is a voice inside my head, growing stronger every week, that tells me that the trial period our relationship has been thus far must soon come to an end. I need to make my decision soon – do I commit myself to being Gale's girlfriend, having begun to fall for him, or am I simply not capable of allowing myself to feel that way about anyone? He deserves to know for sure as soon as possible, especially if he really is in love with me. One important question still lingers though, and that is if he can accept that I don't want marriage and a family, even if we were to fall madly in love with one another. We can't go all our lives arguing over it over and over. Even if I realize that I have fallen in love with him too, will he actually want me if he knows that marriage and sex is off the table?
Thanks to all of you for your support in 2017! I hope to see you all again next year. =)