Chapter 20
The Years
…
Six years. Peeta and I have been married for six years. For six years, Peeta has dealt with me… lived with me… fought with me… worked with me… cooked for me… loved me. It's been interesting six years and today was our anniversary.
…
Smiling even before I open my eyes, I know everything is just right. Perfect. A few short breathes of preparation and then I peek through my squinted eyes. The shades are pushed out the way, allowing light to stream through the room falling on the beige walls and wooden floor, tan area rug and wooden dresser. The windows are cracked open allowing me to feel the soft, ocean breeze, smell the salt in the air, and hear the crashing of waves down in the cove. I smile, closing my eyes and stretching out my arms and legs. Perfect.
Yet when I attempt to escape the comfort of the bed I have to fight the sheets my limbs have tangled themselves in before stepping down on the soft, fuzzy cotton of the rug and then the cold wooden floor. A chill runs through my body, but I ignore it. Instead I grab a pair of leggings, bra, underwear, and one of Peeta's flannels before escaping to the bathroom. There I untangle my hair as the shower begins to fill with steam. Stepping in, the warm water soothes my muscles and warms my core. Yet with no time to waste, I work fast washing my hair and scrubbing my skin clean. By the time I'm done the bathroom mirror is fogged up, revealing the stick figure of a man tossing a pizza in the air from a last week when Peeta left me a note to remind me that we were going to the Capitol for dinner. Unable to help myself I quickly draw a mustache on the man before slipping into my clothes.
Outside the bathroom I make my way through the bedroom, down the hall past the three quest rooms of the house that Peeta and I have not yet in the past four months of owning the place know what to do with. I past the rooms and into our living room connected with our newly redone kitchen Peeta had finishes just weeks ago. I smile at the memory of him cooking in there the first night he had finished it at three in the morning when I came home from the bar, he had made homemade ravioli. Shaking the memory from my head, on the counter that is the only thing that separates the two rooms I find a note from Peeta.
Mornin' babe. I'm sorry I'm not there; I went to run a few errands. I was hoping I'd be back by the time you get up, but if not (by the fact that you're reading this and not talking to me) there is a tray of freshly bakes cheese buns in the oven and a bowl of grapes and watermelon in the frig.
Love ya.
My smile grows; he was too good for me. Setting down the note I walked around the counter to the frig. When opening the door, the strong smell of steak hits me, causing my stomach to curl and gag. Quickly as possible I hold my breath, slamming the door shut. Moments pass before I breathe out and suck in another breath. My stomach, still at uneasy is still curling and growling at me I fight for control. Waiting a little longer for it to simmer, calm I finally open the oven door to the sweet smell of baked bread and cheddar. Smiling at the waited first bite and at the fact that my stomach is behaving, I grab one of the buns off the tray.
Then out of the kitchen, I make my way to the living room. Opening the screen door so the fresh ocean air could come in, Stormie comes bounding into the room form the outside. He jumps up on me, nuzzling his head into my stomach. I laugh scratching behind his ear before motioning him to get down. Then walking over the couch where I lay down so my back is pressed against the couch's back and my head is facing the wall parallel to me where the television sits. Stormie comes over and lays beside me, curling into my stomach. While we lay there, I chew on the cheese bun, rubbing Stormie's stomach as his eyes are fixed on the television screen where zebras are running around in some safari.
Peeta and I adopted Stormie two years ago while Quentin was still alive. God that fish lived to be four, hell of a lot longer than the two weeks I had suspected and month Rye had bet me. Anyway, Chaff's neighbor's German Shepard had a litter of six and couldn't deal with that many dogs. He was able to get rid of five of the dogs with no problem. Then there was Stormie though. He was the misfit of the litter. He was the runt. His fur was a mix of brown and black and his eyes were a hazel color. He didn't bark or yap much unless stranger came up to him, but even then it was rare. He was full of energy, too much at times. I always wanted a dog and after Eric had gotten a retired guide dog, Peeta had gotten attached. So Peeta and I went over to take him out for a walk and ended later on calling Chaff's neighbor that we had took him home. Since then he was ours.
So I laid there on the couch, Stormie curled next to me. I pulled a blanket from off the back of the couch over me and Stormie snuggles underneath. Then resting my head against the armrest, I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.
…
Feeling Stormie shift beside me, the couch cushion popped up when he jumped off the couch. Letting out a groan of protest, something slipped behind my back and under my knees. Then I was lifted up off the couch, blanket still wrapped around me. I fell against a strong and firm, warm and comforting stature. Curling in, I smiled. I was moved away from the couch, through the house till I was placed down on something made of clouds, my, our bed.
Then feeling myself being release, I mutter protested that came out as incoherent murmurs on nonsense. Yet the stubborn shit I am, I reached out and to my luck I grasped onto something soft and thick, cotton. I held it tight, pulling it to me. That's when I smelt it, vanilla and cinnamon. The firm comfort, warmth, soft cotton, sweet smell. It was everything. It was my everything. It was Peeta. And with all the effort I had, I whispered, "Stay."
…
The smell of roasted beef, baked cheese, and fresh vegetables filled the air. It was bittersweet, more bitter than sweet thought. Then it hit. It hit me like a wrecking ball, all at once and at full force. And it was like that, that everything went wrong. My stomach curled and knotted. My lungs filled with air. I could feel myself gagging, bile burning my throat. Rolling over and out of the bed and scrambled blankets, I pushed past Peeta, slamming the door, falling down beside the bowl, and feeling the cold tile against my skin. Then it came. It was a rush and then nothing. When it was done, my skin was pale, hair plastered to the sides of my face, and spine trembling from the flash. It was death and worse and it was everything in between that I hated and was learning to hate.
"Katniss." I heard a panicked voice through the door, "You okay?"
No, I want to tell him, I'm not okay, nothings right and I need to tell you, but afraid. I'm not okay. But instead I shook my headed as I shut the toilet seat, leaning against the porcelain and flushing its contents.
"Babe?" The voice is still panicked and concerned, not knowing what to do. "Can I come in?"
Shutting my eyes, feeling the tears slip out I nod my head forgetting about the door that stands between us. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours pass before I hear the door creek open and a bare foot step onto the cold tile.
He pads across the tile and sits across from me. I feel his eyes on me, his feet stretched out by my hip, his hand around my ankle. He's there, Peeta is there. "Babe what's going on?"
The tears begin to cascade even more so. Yet I remain silent. My stomach twist and the fear builds within me. Tell him, you have to. I squeeze my eyes even more so shut and take in a sharp breath. Then-
"I'm pregnant."
My eyes snap open in surprise of my own words. The snap open and connect with his. I hug myself tight, not knowing what is to happen expect to watch and wait and hope for the best. And as I watch as what I had said hits Peeta his face becomes a blank slate, unreadable. I wait. Wait. And wait. And then after a long moment he cracks a smile, jumping forward and pulling me against his chest. He holds me tight against him with joy and I cry, smiling against his chest.
"You're pregnant," he smiles, "This is great. You're pregnant. Pregnant. That means… that means we're going to have a baby. We're going to have a baby. A baby." He laughs, kissing my forehead, "Oh babe."
He smiles, looking down at me. "You're okay with this?"
I nod. I am okay with this. I am okay with being pregnant. I'm okay with being married to Peeta. I am okay with loving Peeta. Eleven years ago I may not have been so okay with marriage and kids and love and Peeta, but now I am. I love Peeta. I love him so much I married him. I love him so much I married him and now carrying his baby, our baby.
Laughing and smiling and crying, we hug each other on the tile floor of our bathroom. We share short, fulfilling kisses and long, wanting ones. We sit there together wrapped within one another we don't even know that time is passing. Yet time passes and slowly we make our way from the bathroom to the bedroom. Clothes are removed and kisses and longings are shared. And that moment I'd have to say we had the best sex in our lives, so much that it is completely indescribable.
Then when we're done, we're huddled within one another, holding on like there's no tomorrow. We're happy.
And as we lay there, Peeta playing my ribs like piano keys he ask, "How far are you?"
"Fifteen weeks," I mumble against the pillow smiling, "I found out four days ago when I said I was going to have lunch with Haymitch. I went to the doctors thinking I had a bug, ended up being morning sickness."
He smiles against my shoulder, pressing a kiss against my skin. "Wow." He pauses. "We're having a baby, akid."
I nod, turning to face him. "This okay?"
He laughs. "Is this okay? This is more than okay Katniss," then he looks at me in all seriousness, "Is this okay with you?"
"Yes."
He laughs again. "We're having a baby."
I laugh to, my head falling against his chest. "Yes, I am having an eight pound and a thousand ounce Mellark growing inside me."
We lay there in silence staring at one another for what could seem like a lifetime. Yet only seconds past. Peeta wraps his arms around my frame, bringing me close and I press my forehead against his.
"Happy Anniversary." I smile.
He cracks a smile, continuing to laugh. "I love you."
"I love you too," I say looking up at him.
And then in unison we say…
"Always."