Darla had already laid out the plans. Katniss would stop here, she and I would walk over there, we'd have dinner, spend a little time if I was feeling up to it, and then Katniss would walk me home. Knowing the plan didn't help my anxiety. It took some serious convincing to get me to even go through with it at all.
Rye knew about my reluctance. Knew it better than Dad. He told me that kiss meant something, and that she wasn't making fun of me or trying to shut me up. I had a hard time believing him and an even harder time actually facing her. She noticed that, of course she did, and knowing that only made things worse.
Maybe this dinner thing could fix it. Maybe if I could manage to keep myself together, and not be as painfully awkward and quiet around her as I had been, I could at least get things back to where she wanted to be my friend. The only thing that could make going back to school in a month more nerve wracking was facing it alone.
I pulled on one of the few pairs of pants I owned that was free of holes and stains before searching through the dresser for a shirt. It was more to avoid the looks from Phyl than to impress her. It hadn't taken him long to start turning up his nose at the flour embedded in everything we wore. He acted as if the only thing that had gotten rid of that problem for him wasn't Darla systematically replacing all of his clothes. I found a sweater in one of the bottom drawers that seemed whole and clean, though I honestly wasn't sure whether it was mine or Rye's or something Phyl had left behind. I pulled it on, fixing the collar of the shirt I had on under it. I could hear Katniss' voice downstairs, bickering with Rye, and ran my fingers through my hair before pulling on my hat and steeling myself to head downstairs.
"Will you shut up?" Katniss snapped. I could hear her clearly as soon as I reached the top of the stairs. I braced one hand against the wall as I carefully made my way down. Even coupled with my grip on the banister it didn't keep me steady enough. I couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a time I'd be able to get downstairs without feeling like I'd fall with every step.
"You're the only girl on the planet who would be offended by a compliment," Rye scoffed. "You could stand to show a little more leg, though."
"Dammit, Rye, shut your mouth," Katniss turned away from him as I reached the bottom of the stairs, folding her arms over her chest. She was wearing a light brown dress with her hair pinned up away from her neck. She looked beautiful, but then again she always looked beautiful. This just made it a little more obvious. That had to have been what Rye was commenting on. I watched her snatch her coat from where it sat on one of the stools and shake it out before pulling it on. "Ready to go?" Her voice startled me, making me realize I'd been staring. I nodded, slipping into the mudroom for my own coat. I could hear the two of them continuing their little fight in a harsh whisper before she left the kitchen, huffing and shaking her head.
"Make sure you tell her how pretty she looks!" Rye called after the two of us. Katniss glared back toward the kitchen before slamming the door closed behind us. We followed the path packed down through the snow that led around the side of the building toward the square. Katniss walked close behind me, reaching out and catching my elbow when I faltered as we crossed a snowbank. Once we were clear I shoved my hands into my pockets, glancing over at her.
"He's r-right," I said, dropping my gaze to the ground in front of my feet when she snapped her attention toward me. "You do look—p-pretty."
"Shut up." She backhanded my arm before hugging her arms around herself. I caught her smiling out of the corner of my eye, her cheeks flushing. Was that just from the cold or was that because of what I said? I led us to Phyl and Darla's, hesitating at the sight of the ice coating their steps. Someone had scratched into it for traction, but I knew that wasn't going to be enough to keep me from slipping. Katniss didn't even break stride, just hooked her arm through mine and led me up the steps. She was still holding onto my arm when Darla answered the door, and I wondered if she noticed the expression on Darla's face as we stepped into the house.
"I'm so glad you two came," Darla smiled at us both.
"Thank you for the invitation," Katniss said, slipping her coat off. Darla took it from her, tugging at the collar of mine lightly before turning to the coat rack.
"I'm impressed you actually wore one of those," she said, raising an eyebrow at me as she hung up Katniss' coat. "Overheating or not, you'll catch your death without it this time of year." She held her hand out as I slipped it from my shoulders, exchanging a look with Katniss. "I've been telling him that for weeks."
"She means she's b-been—henpecking," I said to Katniss as Darla snatched my coat from my hands, giving me a light shove toward the living room.
"Very funny. Have a seat, you two," Darla said, following us into the living room and gesturing toward the couch. "Little Twain is keeping his daddy company in the kitchen."
"Phyl is in the k-kitchen?" I asked, lowering myself onto the couch. Katniss sat down beside me, leaving at least a foot of space between us. Darla laughed softly at the look on my face. Cooking had never been one of Phyl's strengths. Baking, yes, but not cooking.
"He's learning," she said, leaning to one side to peer through the kitchen door to look in on him. She raised her voice for him to hear. "And I certainly hope whatever he's preparing in there is a far sight better than his manners tonight."
"I can hear you just fine," Phyl called back. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, wiping his hands with a towel. "Hello, Katniss. And it's good to finally have you over here again, Peet." He smiled at us both for a moment before Little Twain gurgled happily from the kitchen, drawing his attention away from us. Phyl threw himself head over heels into fatherhood from the minute Twain was born, and I was glad to see that hadn't changed a bit. I had been afraid that parenthood would be another area where he'd take after Mom rather than Dad.
Darla kept Katniss talking, turning the conversation toward me enough to keep me from feeling too left out. I was, truthfully, just trying to keep my head together. The only place I had been besides the bakery was the Everdeen's up to that point. Even though the townhouse was familiar, the accident had made it so I only felt comfortable in those two places. It was as if the ghost of the old me haunted everywhere else, reminding me that I'm different, and making me feel unwelcome and ill-at-ease.
The two of them talked about the bakery, with Phyl stepping into the doorway to add a comment now and then, drawing me into the conversation every time. I wondered if he was aware of how patronizing the tone he used with me was, or if those looks he kept giving me were even on purpose. He and Gale would get along great. Katniss seemed to pick up on it. I caught her looking between Phyl and I at one point, an odd expression on her face that I couldn't quite read.
"Are you still hunting?" Darla asked as we sat down to dinner. Phyl let out a disgusted sigh and rolled his eyes. Katniss shot him a look that made me wonder if sitting between the two of them for this entire meal would be safe. "I can't imagine it's very good this time of year."
"It's really not," she conceded, shrugging a bit. "I still go out every morning, though."
"I don't exactly think that's an appropriate conversation," Phyl said, giving Darla a pointed look as she served each of us—pasta, something mercifully easy on me. I still didn't quite have the strength in my grip to handle even a dinner knife.
"Is that so?" Darla raised an eyebrow, not quite clarifying whether she was speaking to Phyl or Katniss. That was on purpose, I knew, and she caught the smile I was trying to hide behind my hand and winked at me.
"I just don't think blatant disregard for the laws we're all required to follow is exactly-"
"Then how do you think I should keep my family fed?" Katniss cut Phyl off, her voice even and calm. Her jaw was clenched, though, and her hands balled into fists in her lap.
"You and your mother both have jobs," Phyl pointed out. "Thanks to my father."
"Phyl," Darla snapped quietly, frowning at him. Katniss closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath before turning to him again.
"We do this year," she said, and I could hear the tension in her tone. I wanted to reach over and touch her hand and try to calm her, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. My hand came to rest on the edge of my chair instead. "This time last year if I came home empty-handed—as I did this morning—we would be left boiling tree bark."
"Which is why tessera is an option," Phyl said. Katniss laughed; a short, mean bark.
"Grain and oil," she said. "Does that sound like a good meal to you?"
"Even your c-cooking is better than—that," I managed, grateful I was able to squeeze out the joke with minimal stuttering. Darla laughed quietly and slapped Phyl's arm lightly.
"Maybe if more of us followed your father's example no one would have to struggle the way the Everdeens have," she said, giving him a look that I knew would shut him up. He sighed as she turned away from her own meal to feed Little Twain, who seemed entirely too preoccupied by the bits of cut up noodle covering his highchair tray to pay any attention to what an asshole his father was being.
Conversation took a lighter turn after that, thankfully. Once we'd finished eating Darla all but threw Little Twain into Katniss' arms before she even had a chance to protest. It only took one toothless, gurgling smile out of him to get her laughing and wipe the fear off her face. I watched her with him, holding out her hand for him to slap as she listened with rapt attention to Darla's stories about his antics. The two of them got along a little too well, leaving Phyl and I to our own devices. I could tell he was skirting the one thing he actually wanted to talk about, and I really didn't want him to. Avoiding it was starting to get even more painful.
Phyl had always been close to Mom. He was old enough to remember how she was before everything went downhill for our parents. He was also mostly spared her anger. I could only remember seeing Phyl take a blow from her once. She hardly even raised her voice with him. That she saved for me and Rye, though I seemed to get a hell of a lot more of it. I still wondered what I did wrong that made her dislike me more than either of them.
"G-go on," I finally said, waving my hand vaguely and slumping back in my chair. Katniss and Darla had cleared the dishes from the table and were standing by the sink. Phyl shifted his son in his lap, frowning at me. "Just—say whatever it is."
"Mom asked about you," he said quietly. Not so quietly Katniss didn't hear. Her head snapped around so fast I swear I heard her neck crack. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, however brief it was.
"Wh-what did you—s-say," I turned back to him, reaching out and grabbing Little Twain's foot. He stopped fidgeting and stared, as if he hadn't realized the appendage even existed until I'd brought his attention to it.
"The truth," he said, his voice sad and serious. I could feel him watching me, and I focused on the baby, trying to hide how uncomfortable everything about the conversation made me. "That she changed you forever. Ruined your life."
I looked up at him, letting go of Twain's foot. My hand shot to the back of my head, my fingers working up under the edge of my hat before I even realized what I was doing. I couldn't believe he'd actually say something like that to her, and I couldn't figure out how I felt about someone else saying that for me. I'd thought it, plenty of times, and that exact phrase—she ruined my life—had come to me in every emotional form it could possibly take. But no one else had ever said that out loud around me. Changed my life, yes. But not ruined. I felt a little indignant, as if he'd decided I would never have anything good again. And there were times I thought I wouldn't. I thought that more often than I thought things would get better, to be honest. But having someone else decide it for me felt wrong.
"Peeta?" I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into Katniss' face. She slid her hand across my upper back. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I said, looking down at my hands, suddenly aware of the tears on my face. I brushed my fingers over my cheeks and fought against the embarrassment threatening to drag a hot blush into my features.
"We can go, if you want," she said softly, sitting down next to me. She wiped her thumb under my eye gently, her palm resting against my cheek for the briefest moment before she snapped her hand away. A faint blush crept into her face and she dropped her eyes to her lap.
"I'm sorry, Peet," Phyl bit down on his lip and looked away. "I shouldn't have... I'm sorry."
"D-don't," I looked at him, wincing softly when that stupid twitch jerked my chin to the side. "It's not like sh-she j-j-just—goes away. I c-can't pretend—that she d-did." I turned my attention to Little Twain, still mesmerized by his foot. He'd yanked his sock off and was curling his fingers around his toes, brow furrowed in concentration.
"She's a bitch," Phyl snapped after a moment. All three of us stared at him, the room filling with a tense silence. He looked over at Darla, taking a hesitant breath before turning back to me. "I know you think I'm... 'wedged up her ass', as Rye has so eloquently phrased it, but this..." He trailed off, shaking his head. I didn't want to speak, afraid breaking the silence would somehow ruin this. Fifteen years and I hadn't so much as heard a whisper of Phyl ever speaking against Mom. "She fucked you up, Peeta. She could have killed you. Or Rye. Or-" He cut himself off, curling his arm around his son and brushing a kiss over Little Twain's wispy blonde hair. It wasn't himself he was going to list next. "Don't really know why I still speak to her," he muttered, pushing up from the table and carrying Twain into the next room. Darla watched him, her knuckles pressed to her mouth, and took a slow, deep breath before turning and flashing us a sad smile.
"You're both welcome to stay," she said, her voice shaking. "But I can pack up some dessert for you to take with you, if you like. For Prim, too." She bit down hard on the inside of her lip, and I looked over at Katniss, hoping she'd make the decision for us. I wasn't sure I could actually make myself form any words if I wanted to, and even if I could, my mind was filled with too many thoughts to choose what we should do.
"Thank you," Katniss said. "I think we should get going." She looked over at me, rubbing her hand over my back. It felt good—reassuring—and that made me resent what Phyl had said about my life being ruined even more. I might not be normal, or whatever kind of normal I was going to be, but I had something good.
Katniss and I waited in the living room as Darla disappeared into the kitchen. She pulled our jackets down, passing mine to me before pulling on her own. She looked me over for a moment, a faint, sad smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. After a moment she stepped closer, straightening out the collar of my coat and letting her hands rest on my shoulders.
"You okay?" she asked. Her voice was gentle and quiet. She brushed a lock of hair away from my forehead, her fingers combing through the hair above my ear. I nodded, trying to ignore the shivers her touch and her voice sent rippling down my back. Katniss smiled at me, her fingers ghosting over my neck and down my arm as she stepped away. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, willing the less than appropriate feelings she'd ignited in me to subside.
Phyl had gone upstairs, and didn't bother coming down to say goodbye. It was just as well. I wasn't sure I could handle trying to talk to him again. I could feel the muscles in my neck and along my jaw tightening, threatening to seize and start twitching again beyond what I could control, and I just wanted to get out of there. Darla saw us to the door, passing Katniss a covered dish full of some sort of cake I didn't have the stomach to even look at. I focused on the walk, eyes trained to the ground, carefully choosing my footing around patches of ice and trying to sort out my thoughts. The cold air relaxed the buildup of tension in my neck.
"So, your nephew is pretty cute," Katniss said, glancing over at me. She was trying to break the silence.
"Yeah," I smirked. My pace was agonizingly slow, and she kept right beside me, hands in her pockets, easily matching my stride.
"Happy little guy, too," she said. My footing grew shaky, and she redirected herself to walk closer to my side. "I don't know how they do it, though."
"What d-do you mean?" I set my hand on her arm for a moment to steady myself.
"Have a baby," she said with a shrug. "On purpose."
"What?" I looked up at her, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, expecting that to be a joke. The look on her face quieted me. Her eyes were down, brow furrowed in concentration. "You—you don't want k-kids?"
"No," she said, her eyes widening briefly.
"Ever?" We reached a stretch of cobblestone free of ice, and I took the opportunity to look over at her. She looked at me like I'd asked the stupidest question she'd ever heard.
"Of course not," she said. She sighed and gestured vaguely. "Why would I bring someone into this?"
"Wh-what do you m-mean?"
"Poor and hungry all the time? Shivering through winters with your neighbors because there isn't enough to burn to keep warm? People dying around you all the time?" Katniss paused, chewing on her lip. "And the Reaping. That... It's Prim's first this year. It's five months away and I'm already having nightmares."
"I th-thought things were—getting better," I said quietly, looking down at the ground. She wasn't as skinny as she had been. Prim had looked healthier in my recent visits than she ever had. How bad was it out there for them that those weren't signs of improvement?
"They are, but that doesn't mean they always will be," she shrugged. "It's pretty bleak in the Seam, Peeta. Even if I had the patience for them, I couldn't force that on my kids."
"I think it's d-different—when they're your own. And is-isn't that the point, t-though?" I asked. "To give them—better? Have some hope instead of g-giving up?"
"Wouldn't stop the Reaping," she said softly, hooking her arm around mine before I even realized my step was faltering. I leaned against her and she paused to give me a moment to regain my balance.
"There's—a lot of n-names in those bowls," I said, matching her tone.
"You'd risk it?" Katniss looked at me in confusion before we started to walk again.
"Yeah," I shrugged. "I always, um, wanted to be like my Dad. Run the b-bakery. Fill it with kids." I bit down hard on the inside of my lip. "Hopefully with a b-better wife. I w-wanted my kids to have a Mom who—loves them. And th-the world might—change. Maybe not in our lifetime b-but don't you w-want a piece of yourself here when it d-does?" Katniss frowned, but didn't say anything. "Phyl only g-got the job he did because the last—g-guy was thrown in j-jail for p-p-publicly questioning funding for t-the orphanage. If he—screws up, he won't g-get fired, he'll be g-gone. But it means D-Darla can be at home. It means L-LT gets wh-what we couldn't. A mother who l-loves him and is always—there."
"Better than what you guys had," she said, her voice quiet and thoughtful. "I never thought of it that way." She would be a good mother. It was all too obvious in how she cared for Prim. She'd be the sort of mother I'd want for my children; protective, warm, and kind. Tough but not cruel. The fact that she'd refuse to even entertain the idea of ever having kids saddened me. I'd never have them, not now. Not with how clear Dr. Lawrence made it in my last visit that more of what I struggled with was permanent than not. And I'd certainly never be able to run the bakery myself. Maybe Mom did ruin my life. She ruined the one that I'd wanted, at least.
My chances at what I'd imagined for my future may have been gone, but I did still have one. Everyone kept reminding me I came very close to losing that as well. My future may not have been what I used to dream, but I still had a present. I glanced over at Katniss. I did have something good right now, something I wouldn't have had before. When would I have ever worked up the courage to talk to her? In ten years of walking through the same halls at school and sitting in the same classrooms I hadn't found it. I didn't find it when she turned up at my own back door to trade, first with her father, then with Gale, sometimes on her own. In a way, Mom had brought her into my life. That was a sick little piece of irony; that the one person she'd never, ever want me near was now the only person I enjoyed any significant time with. The fact that Phyl couldn't see any of that just proved how much like her he really was.
"I was completely prepared to hate Phyl the minute we sat down to eat, you know," Katniss said as we neared the bakery. Her train of thought seemed to be on the same track as mine. "I did, actually, hate him for most of that meal." I glanced over at her. "Until the end, anyway. I think he could have been a little... I don't know. Do you think your life is ruined?" I shrugged, but I could still feel her eyes on me. She was waiting for a real answer.
"S-sometimes I th-think that." I chewed hard on my lip, bracing my hand against the wall as we passed down the alley. I stumbled at the corner and Katniss grabbed my arm, saving me from falling into the snow. "T-times like—now." I frowned, staring down at the packed snow, slick with a layer of ice that had formed as the night chilled. I'd need her help just to get to the porch steps, not ten feet away, and I hated it.
"'Ruined' just seems a little harsh," she said, hooking her arm through mine without hesitation and carefully picking her way toward the stairs. I let her take the lead, wondering if she had any idea how much harder all of this would be if I had to actually ask for help. I couldn't figure out if she was even conscious of what she was doing when she stepped up to help without prompting. When we reached the porch I stopped, taking hold of her arm as she reached for the door. She turned to me with a questioning look on her face. "You okay?"
"Yeah, um-" I hesitated, letting my hand slide down her arm and weaving our fingers together. I did have something good. I closed the space between us and hesitated a moment, squeezing her hand in mine and raising the other to slip around her waist. Before I lost my nerve completely I leaned in to kiss her. In the same moment our lips met the door beside us opened.
"Oh! Um, I'm- uh. I'm sorry," Delly stammered, her eyes going wide. Katniss jumped back, staring at Delly. I bit my lip and looked away. I couldn't stand the smile I could see forming on Delly's lips. She could barely contain herself. "I didn't mean to, um, interrupt anything. Should I just-"
"What did you interrupt?" Rye leaned out of the doorway as Delly awkwardly gestured behind herself. Katniss pulled her hand away from mine and I tried to wish the two of us—or maybe the two of them—off this damn porch. "Oh."
"I'm gonna go," Katniss said, Rye all but leering at the two of us. "I'll stop by in a couple of days." She touched my arm lightly before turning to go, and was around the corner and out of sight before I could even figure out how to ask her to stay. I turned back to the two of them. Delly at least had the decency to look guilty, but Rye was still grinning at me like an idiot. I pushed past them, shoving Rye against the wall with more strength than I realized I still had, and went straight upstairs, pulling myself up by the banister. I could hear Delly chewing him out, trying to be quiet about it and failing miserably. I moved down the hall carefully, realizing once I was in the bedroom I hadn't even bothered to take off my coat. I shrugged it to the floor, sat down to pull off my shoes, and curled up in bed facing the wall.
I heard Rye's heavy footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later and mapped his path down the hall. He stopped in the doorway, sighed heavily, and paused before continuing to his side of the room. The mattress creaked as he sat down on his bed, and the room stayed silent. I wished I had it in me to cuss him out like I would have if that scenario had taken place months ago. If it had, I wouldn't have just let Katniss walk away. I could have persuaded her to stay, or at least walked her home and tried that kiss again.
"I'm sorry Delly fucked that up," he finally said. I stared at the wall. She wasn't the only one who fucked it up. He had a decent hand in it, too. "If I had known you guys were going to be back so early I'd have... I don't know. Kept her inside. At least paid attention so she didn't walk into that. I didn't know you were out there."
"Just—stop," I said, rubbing my hand over my forehead and pulling off my hat. The muscles in my neck seized, jerking my chin to the side painfully. My jaw tensed even further as the twitching worked its way up into my cheek and brow. Sometimes I could rub it away; tonight I couldn't seem to.
"I just don't want to fuck this up for you, Peet," Rye said quietly. I turned onto my back and looked over at him, working my fingers into the muscles down the side of my neck, trying to loosen them. He flicked his eyes up at me before looking back down at his hands. "This is your chance, you know?"
"I d-don't have much of a ch-chance." I dropped my hand to my side, staring up at the crack in the ceiling.
"Peet, she likes you. You're perfect for her, and she fucking knows it," he said. I gave him a look before resuming my staring. "She got all dolled up for your little date. I was expecting her to turn up in her grubby ass hunting clothes. Those beat to hell boots and that disgusting fucking jacket."
"That j-jacket was her d-dad's," I pointed out. She'd hit him if she heard a comment like that.
"See? Who the hell else would know that kind of crap about her?" he said.
"Gale," I squeezed out, my jaw tensing again.
"Hawthorne has been sticking it in the mayor's daughter for a year," Rye half chuckled, and I couldn't tell if he was mocking the fact that I didn't trust that as truth, or if he was just amused by his own phrasing. Silence fell between us, and he shifted, pushing himself to sit with his back to the wall. "You should show her that sketchbook in your desk in the basement."
"No," I frowned, thinking about the book I had down there and the drawing I'd torn from the sketchbook she looked through as soon as I heard her on the stairs. I'd drawn her too, of course. The way she looked when she turned up to trade; her braid loose and wispy, the collar of that too-big coat draped loosely around her shoulders. The smile that softened her features when she brought a particularly good haul to the back door.
"Girls eat that shit up, Peet," Rye raised an eyebrow. "Draw any fucking girl in this District, and you'd be waist deep in pussy if you flashed those around. Even Delly has one framed on her fucking wall."
"D-don't be vile," I lifted my head to scratch at the scar, looking away from him. He went quiet. Something like that used to earn some snide jeer in response. I'd prefer that to the silence. I rolled over again to face the wall.
"Hey," he said, and I turned my head just enough for him to know I was listening. "Do you trust me?"
"No," I scoffed, laying my head back down against the pillow. He snorted and chuckled quietly.
"That was a stupid fucking question, wasn't it?" he said. "Will you just listen, then?"
"What?"
"Try again," Rye said. I heard the mattress springs creak as he shifted and got up. "With Katniss. Kissing her or whatever. Just. Try it again."
"Maybe." I just wanted the conversation to be over. Rye hesitated for a moment before leaving the room. I closed my eyes, hoping that I might be able to get past the tension that had slowly built up in every damn muscle in my body and get some sleep. Nothing that Mrs. Everdeen had tried to teach me worked, and I was still awake when Rye returned. I stayed as still as I could, hoping he'd accept the ruse and just get in bed without saying anything. Before he got in bed he pushed the window open, and a smile twitched across my lips at the gesture.
I spent the next day in bed. Katniss wasn't going to be there, I didn't have to see her mother, and I just wanted to try to sleep. There had been too much going on in my head, too much tension in me, and I laid wide awake through the night, listening to Rye snore. The day didn't do much to change that, though. I drifted here and there, but couldn't manage any real sleep. I got up to pick at a meal Dad put together, mostly to keep him from feeling as though the effort was wasted. My appetite was still shaky at best. I finally nodded off as it got dark, only to be woken by Rye going to bed, and dozed fitfully until sunup.
The snow saved me from trips to the Seam. It was too difficult to get out there. Even if I could walk that far, I wouldn't be able to maintain my balance in the snow. The light bouncing off of it was blinding to me, as well. That just meant Mrs. Everdeen made more trips to the bakery. The work she brought with her for me—she could call them games all she wanted, they were work—seemed to be getting impossibly difficult, and somehow concentrating at home was even harder than at the Everdeen's. My mind wandered, and I spent as much time looking over her shoulder and down the hall toward the bedroom as I did doing anything else. More, sometimes. Especially now.
The exercise she'd picked out of the workbook today was a special kind of torture. Reading aloud. The essay was dry and awkwardly worded. It was full of facts and figures, as well as names and complicated words I'd have struggled to pronounce before the injury. After I finished reading, she gave me a few minutes to look over the page before starting her questions about what I'd read, but the words were swimming. I couldn't get my eyes to focus. I stumbled through everything she asked, taking what felt like random guesses and somehow managing to answer more questions correctly than usual.
"You've come a long way, you know," Mrs. Everdeen said, smiling and tucking the workbook back into her bag. "You probably don't even realize it."
"Because I'm not," I sighed, running my hand through my hair. My mind felt fogged up after that, and I knew she had been planning on doing more. I just didn't have it in me.
"Not a single stutter or pause in that sentence," she pointed out, reaching for her notebook on the table between us and pulling it into her lap. "After something that strenuous? That's impressive."
I pressed my lips together, knowing that if I spoke I'd do both of the things she just pointed out. The sounds from the bakery drifted up the stairs; customers out in the storefront and Katniss and Rye bickering in the back. I hadn't seen her since she stormed off of the porch, and I knew she would be up the stairs as soon as her mother went down. I wasn't prepared for her, and I was pretty sure anything I tried saying to her would be full of fucking stutters and pauses.
"Peeta?" Mrs. Everdeen said quietly, drawing my attention back to her. "What's on your mind?"
"I d-don't know," I looked down at the table and picked at the edge. I certainly wasn't going to tell her it was her daughter.
"Did you enjoy going to dinner at your brother's?" she asked. I wondered if I could manage to talk about it without getting to what happened afterward.
"As- as much as I could," I shifted, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the table. Mrs. Everdeen just raised her eyebrows, and I knew if I didn't elaborate on that a string of questions that would force me to was about to follow. It took me a moment to gather the words together. "They're th-the same. Their house is the same. Their lives are the same—their p-personalities are the s-same. And I'm n-not. That's the f-first place I've gone. D-doesn't really make me want to go—anywhere else."
"Because of this new way you have to learn to interact with what's around you?" She phrased it as a statement as much as a question.
"Yeah." I watched her make notes. Her handwriting was consistent and clean, and if I could have gotten my eyes to cooperate I probably could have read it from where I was sitting. The fact that I couldn't felt a little cruel. What did she write that filled up those pages?
"You can't let things like that keep you at home," she said, setting down her pen and leaning back in her chair. "The longer you keep yourself out of the world the harder it will be to reenter it." I just dropped my eyes to the table, wondering what the point in reentering would be. I was still being shielded from it. Aside from the comment from Phyl, I hadn't heard a word about my mother since Katniss ran into her, and I knew that there had to have been talk. Dad ushered me upstairs before the evening rush to save me from overhearing things. And somehow I was expected to go back to school in a few short weeks.
Mrs. Everdeen sighed softly, turning to a fresh page in her notebook and picking up her pen again. She moved on to the exhaustive list of medical questions. There were different sets of them that she rotated through, and the answers fell out of me automatically. Even some of the things that used to embarrass me barely made me flinch anymore. Some, anyway.
After I'd recovered from the barrage of questioning, I made my way downstairs. Dad and Mrs. Everdeen had left, mercifully keeping Rye out front while Katniss worked in the kitchen. I sat down at the table, my heart hammering every time she passed by me. Our conversation was stilted, and I could barely stop thinking about the other night long enough to really speak to her at all. I want to go back to that moment and fix it, do it over and do it right this time. I wanted the time to actually enjoy how good her lips felt on mine, a chance to put my arms around her, and every time she moved close to me that was all I could think of.
"When d-did you start making those?" I asked as Katniss pulled a tray of danishes from the oven and set it on the table to cool. They're not exactly easy to make, and the delicate folds of the crust looked almost perfect.
"Your dad taught me," she said, a small smile on her face as she brushed a layer of sugared glaze over them while they were still hot enough to melt it. "These are, um, a lot more successful than my first batch."
"Doesn't take much to be more successful than they were," Rye chimed in from the doorway. "I don't think the pigs were particularly grateful for them, either."
"Fuck you," Katniss snapped. That had become her automatic response to just about anything he had to say to her, it seemed. He grinned, pushing himself away from the door frame and crossing the kitchen to examine the trays. I watched Rye closely, wondering why he was so dead set on pissing her off when everything else he had to say about wanting this to work out for me. The sentiment must have shown in my expression. When he glanced toward me before looking down at them his grin faltered.
"These actually look pretty damn good," he said, wiping a stray glob of glaze from the edge of the tray and sucking it off of his fingertip. He was being sincere, and Katniss clearly didn't trust it. She narrowed her eyes at him, pulling a second tray from another oven and setting it down beside the first. He pointed at a cheese danish with a little too much filling in the center of the second tray. "Dibs on that when they cool."
"Who said you could have any of them?" Katniss slapped his hand away before dropping the oven mitts on the counter and moving to stand next to me.
"My name is painted on the front of the building. I'll eat what I want," Rye scoffed. I looked over at Katniss, tuning him out and just watching her. She was just a few inches away, as close as she'd been when I kissed her, though then we were facing each other. I watched the curl in her lip and the shift of her shoulders as she leaned forward to hiss something at Rye, jerking back and crossing her arms over her chest at his response. I looked down at the curve of her hip where it rested against the table and at the sliver of exposed skin above the waist of her paints where the soft cotton of her shirt had ridden up. I wanted to touch her, and had to pull my eyes away from her and smother the impulse. A moment later I felt her hand slide across my shoulders.
"And, by the way," she said, still glaring at Rye. "Your girlfriend is a pain in the ass. Keep her away from me."
"I really am sorry about that," Rye said, the smarmy overtone falling out of his voice. Katniss' hand stopped moving, her face going blank. "Seriously. I didn't think you guys would be back so soon. I was actually kind of trying to make sure she was gone before you got home." He shrugged, sighing and heading back to the storefront before Katniss could respond, the bell ringing as a customer opened the front door. Katniss' jaw tightened for a moment and she glanced down at me, her hand sliding down my back before she pulled away. I wanted the contact back. I wanted to say something, but she seemed as dead set on refusing to acknowledge the kiss as I was. I wish I knew what her reasons were and if they were anything like mine. Fear of ruining whatever could happen. Mostly I wished she would be the one to break that forced silence, because I knew I didn't have it in me to be the one to do it.
As soon as the danishes were cooled Rye snatched the one he'd been eying. Katniss caught my eye and pointed toward the tray, gesturing for me to take one. After I took one from the side she lifted the other tray to bring the rest to the cases out front, leaving Rye and I sitting at the worktable to eat.
"She might be turning out to be useful after all," he said, chuckling when she paused to flip him off before disappearing through the doorway. He returned the gesture a moment too late, she was already gone. "These are actually really good." I took a bite from my own, immediately wondering if he'd lost his damn mind. It was dry to the point that if it weren't for the heavy coating of glaze it would be inedible, and there was an odd taste to it that I couldn't quite place. The apple preserves it was filled with were gelatinous and thick. My sense of taste had been somehow altered by the injury. Nothing quite tasted the same anymore, and I had found things that I used to love that I could barely stomach. These danishes, though, were something I'd had since then, and they hadn't changed much. I tore it apart, frowning to myself and trying to figure out the problem.
"Good?" Katniss came back into the kitchen and set the empty tray into the sink, raising her eyebrows and looking at me, ignoring Rye's enthusiastic nod. I smiled around the mouthful I had, nodding quickly and hoping she couldn't tell I was lying. I forced it down and tore off another piece, finally catching sight of the bottom. Overdone was a polite way to put it; the bottom was nearly black. I glanced down at the empty spot at the corner of the tray where I'd gotten it from and tried to remember which oven she'd pulled the tray from. One had a hot spot, some quirk of whatever had been used to repair a crack in the stone that made a small portion of the bottom far hotter than the rest of it.
"Hang on," I set my hand on the tray as Katniss reached for it, pulling it closer to me. The three pastries that sat around it had the same discoloring at the bottom edges closer to the corner, and I smirked to myself before pulling them from the tray.
"What did I do?" Katniss asked, frowning as she watched. I flipped the four pastries over, showing her the discolored crust on the bottom. Rye laughed, and Katniss jabbed her finger at him. "You lied! I fucked them up again."
"N-no," I laughed, shaking my head and tearing off a piece of one of the pastries that wasn't completely destroyed. "That oven—it has a hot sp-spot. Just these ones are fucked up. And it's n-not your fault." I took a bite of the piece I'd torn off. Rye was right, they were good.
"I am not a liar," Rye pointed at her before sucking the last of the glaze off of his fingers. "Especially when it comes to food."
"You're still a dick," she said, picking up the tray and carrying it out front.
"Never denied that one," he called after her. He watched the doorway for a moment, the smile dropping from his face, then leaned toward me, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "Are you going to make a move or what?"
"What?" I looked at him, pushing the ruined danishes away from me.
"Talk to her, touch her, return the fucking affection she's giving you. Do something," he backhanded my arm. "Shit, Peet, the work is done for a while, take her down to the basement. Show her those drawings. Get in her fucking pants."
"Shut up," I squeezed out through my teeth, looking over my shoulder as I heard the case slide closed out front. Katniss returned a moment later. When she walked past me to the sink my gaze lingered on the doorway to the basement. When Mom was still here, it had been the one place in the house she hardly set foot in and the one place in the house any of the rest of us could truly have any sort of privacy. It was a repository for junk more than anything else, but my desk was down there, along the majority of my art supplies. Rye's workbench and woodworking tools were there as well, which as far as I know hadn't been touched since he started sneaking Delly down there. I'm sure Phyl and Darla had spent their share of time there before he moved out. Even if I could make it down those rickety wooden stairs, and even if I had that kind of privacy with Katniss, what the hell would I do? It would be even more awkward than being up here with Rye as an audience. He got up from his stool, catching my eye to make sure I saw him mime slapping her ass as she leaned over the sink to clean the empty trays. I just glared at him as he snickered and retreated to the storefront.