I promised my afternoon to Madge and Delly, and I regretted it before we even left school. I hadn't been seeing as much of Madge or Gale as I did before I started working at the bakery, as she kept reminding me, and I couldn't argue with the point, as much as I wanted to. Spending time with Madge and Gale was fine, but somehow Madge and Delly managed to make me feel like a third wheel, though I know they didn't mean to. I sat in the upstairs sitting room in the Mayor's mansion, watching the two of them play some overly complicated board game I never had the patience for.
"So, what are you holding out on us this time?" Madge asked, looking up from the game board.
"What?" I snapped. Delly glanced at me, pressing her lips together to hide a smile.
"Well, the last time I could get anything out of you about you and Peeta, you'd been stripping for him," Madge said, grinning at the quiet giggle the statement drew out of Delly. I frowned at both of them.
"I was not stripping for him," I said.
"Whatever," Madge smirked. "Have you had sex with him yet?"
"No!" I shot her an indignant look. "What is wrong with you?"
"What do you mean 'what's wrong with me'? What's wrong with you?" she laughed.
"We're fifteen," I pointed out, knowing that wasn't much of an argument. Madge had only turned sixteen a few months before, and she and Gale had been having sex longer than that. I could easily point out that the comparison wasn't fair, that she and Gale had very obviously been on track for marriage from the start. Not to mention she was far from his first, and neither of them had ever exactly been modest or shy. Those two things couldn't be applied to me or Peeta, but saying so out loud would just earn me an eyeroll.
"So? Delly is too and she's been nailing Rye for two years," Madge gestured toward Delly before turning back to the game board between them to take her turn.
"I have not!" Delly cried. Madge just raised an eyebrow. "We've been dating for two years. Believe it or not, there was a time when Rye had some self-control."
"Yeah, I don't believe that for a second," Madge laughed. Delly laughed, covering her face and letting out a pained little groan as Madge turned back toward me. "Tell me you've at least given that poor guy a handy?" I clenched my jaw. There's no way I was going to confirm that, though I had no desire to lie to her about it either. Madge's smile grew wider and she turned back to Delly. "No denial. That means she did."
"You're awful," Delly laughed quietly. She studied the game board for a moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I wonder if they look alike."
"Are you seriously thinking about your boyfriend's brother's dick?" Madge asked, barely holding back her laughter. Delly straightened up, her eyes wide, as if she hadn't realized she was speaking out loud.
"Well, um," she stammered, her face flushing red. "I mean. They're built the same. Rye's taller but they still share clothes all the time. From a distance you can barely tell them apart. I just, um—shut up!" Delly cut herself off as Madge started to laugh.
"Well, don't expect Katniss to compare notes," Madge smirked. "You'd have an easier time talking Rye and Peeta into a threesome."
"I don't understand why you're so amused by this," I snapped, folding my arms across my chest. "None of it is anything you two haven't done."
"Yeah, but it's all stuff you haven't done," Madge said. "And you're, well." She exchanged a meaningful look with Delly.
"I'm what?" I asked, looking from one of them to the other. Neither of them offered me an answer. "Tell me!"
"You're a little uptight about it," Delly said with a soft laugh. She pressed her lips together for a moment when I glared at her. "It's funny."
"It's hilarious," Madge corrected.
"You are both bitches," I said. It only made them laugh harder. They certainly didn't mean anything by it, and I knew that, but that didn't make it any easier to sit through. Madge had never been anything but straightforward, and that was part of why she and I became friends in the first place. Of course she would be about sex, too. She more than likely expected me to be the same way. I honestly couldn't imagine sharing that much even after becoming more comfortable with it all.
The idea of having sex with Peeta had occurred to me before, but it still made my heart catch. I wasn't ready, and I couldn't imagine that he was, either, but I knew without a doubt that he would eventually be my first. We'd never discussed it, and I was hesitant to bring it up, but I was fairly certain I would be his as well. I had tried to remember whether or not he'd dated, but couldn't think of anyone. Given how little attention I paid to things, though, it was likely I had missed something. No matter how much I tried to tell myself I didn't bring it up because I didn't want to remind him of anything he'd lost, I knew the real reason was not wanting to find out that he'd done any of it before.
"Have you tried oral?" Madge asked, raising an eyebrow and casting a sideways glance at me.
"No," I said after a moment's hesitation. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, looking away from them.
"You should," Madge said. I narrowed my eyes at her, though that just drew another laugh out of her. I felt like I was being made fun of. "Remember when you asked me how I get Gale to listen to me?"
"That was months ago," I said after a moment of thought. I had still been trying to win Peeta over. He had still been so quiet and closed off. I never imagined he'd open up to me the way he had.
"Well," she smirked. "That would be how." I rolled my eyes. Was sex their answer for everything?
"And I would think it's kind of challenging to say anything with your mouth full," I said. Delly burst into laughter, clapping her hand over her mouth to silence it.
"Touche," Madge laughed. "You should get on that. Because he's going to need a lot of practice if he's going to be any good at reciprocating. The sooner you start the better."
"Um, no," Delly held up her hand, instantly recovering from her laughing fit. "Before you even go there he needs to talk to Rye."
"No," Madge snapped, snapping upright in her seat and turning to me. "Do not let your boyfriend take any weird sex tips from his brother."
"Will you stop saying that? Rye is not weird," Delly laughed, covering her eyes and blushing.
"The finger thing is weird," Madge shot her a look.
"I don't think that's funny," I said, pointing from one of them to the other. "Just so you know."
"You still need to get that boy's dick in your mouth," Madge said. I let out a pained little groan and looked away. "What, are you afraid it's going to be gross?"
"That is kind of gross," I folded my arms over my chest, wishing for a way out of the conversation. In truth, I didn't really think it was that gross, but the entire conversation had me irritated. Who were they to try to steer my relationship with Peeta? Especially since Madge seemed more concerned with taunting me than offering any actual advice.
"It's really not," she retorted. A thoughtful look crossed her face. "It's kind of fun. You'll see what I mean." She waved her hand dismissively.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I sighed.
"Katniss, if this one can spend as much time going down on Rye as she does, I'm pretty sure you'll be fine with Peeta," Madge said.
"I am never telling you anything again," Delly laughed.
Madge was like a dog with a bone, pestering me until I admitted that I'd thought about it. I knew enough to know the mechanics of it, but the practicalities were a mystery to me. Madge completely abandoned any pretense of the game she and Delly were playing in favor of changing that. Even Delly had input, pointing out things she did for Rye that left me with mental images I never, ever wanted. I'd long gotten over that with Madge, as her over-sharing had started as soon as Gale had been adventurous enough to get his hands up her shirt. As much as I appreciated the tips, the entire conversation was only barely more tolerable than I imagined having the same conversation with my mother would have been.
I had every intention of stopping to see Peeta before starting my walk back to the Seam, but by the time I left I had entirely too much information to sort through. Delly walked with me part of the way, offering a quiet apology for Madge's teasing and extending an offer for more advice that I didn't think I'd ever take her up on.
I spent the rest of the night, and most of the next day, turning it all over in my head. I sat beside Peeta at lunch, watching him as he talked with Madge and Delly and wondering if Rye had forced any awkward conversations about me onto him. He shifted in his chair, leaning back and laughing at something I wasn't paying attention to. I watched the shift in his chest and stomach as he took a breath to answer and thought about the way that felt when I was laying on top of him; imagining feeling it under my hands as I moved to kneel between his legs. I let my eyes drop to his lap and immediately jerked my gaze away, taking a breath and crossing my legs, silently hoping the heat I felt wasn't showing in my face. Madge caught my gaze and raised an eyebrow, confirming that was too much to hope for.
Gale and I met on the opposite side of the fence to hike out into the woods together. The weather was steadily getting warmer and the growing season wasn't far off. We hiked out to the lake and sat on the rocks by the edge to share breakfast. I'd asked Twain for the day off, and he had given it without question. Peeta hadn't seemed too pleased with the change in the usual routine. Every year Gale and I cleared out the brush in the wild berry patches to make room for new growth, and the project took at least a day, if not longer.
"Am I uptight?" I asked, dropping my hands into my lap and turning toward Gale.
"Um, why?" Gale chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
"So that's a yes," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Gale just laughed.
"Why?"
"Delly called me uptight," I frowned, shifting where I sat and squinting in the sun reflecting off the lake. "Delly Cartwright called me uptight." Gale laughed even harder.
"You're not uptight," he said. He could barely stop laughing long enough to get the sentence out. I shot him a glare. "Okay, you might be a little... I don't know. High strung? About some things."
"I am not!" I snapped. He raised his eyebrows and I paused, realizing I had just proven his statement right. "Fine, asshole."
"It's not like it's a bad thing," he said after a moment. "It's just you. You're cute."
"Don't be weird. I'm not cute," I huffed.
"You're basically my sister. I'm allowed to call you cute without it being weird," he smirked.
"Whatever," I pushed to my feet, kicking the sole of his boot as I stepped over him to retrieve my game bag from the grass. I slung it over my shoulder. "Come on, asshole."
"Fine," Gale laughed, getting up and hefting his own bag onto his shoulder. The first of the berry patches was another quarter mile around the lake, and both of us kept our eye on the water, on the look out for fish. I knew Gale was weighing the same decision I was; whether catching any before starting back to the District was worth it, given the other patches we had to visit before going home. "So are you going to take her advice?"
"What?" I glanced back at him over my shoulder.
"The advice Madge gave you. You know what I'm talking about," he smirked.
"Gale," I snapped, quickening my pace and turning away from him.
"You should," he said. "She knows what she's doing."
"What was that crap about being your sister? I'm pretty sure that means you shouldn't be saying shit like this to me," I said, redirecting our path uphill toward the woods as we got closer to the patch.
"You're doing that uptight thing," he said. I could hear his grin in the statement; I didn't even need to turn to look.
"I thought I was high strung," I shot back.
"You're not actually offended by any of this, I hope," he said, jogging a couple of steps to catch up with me as we neared the top of the hill.
"Should I be?" I raised an eyebrow, looking over at him.
"No," he shoved my shoulder before digging around in his game bag and producing two pairs of leather gloves. One was the pair I'd been missing since last summer when we'd done this same job in the apple orchard.
"I have torn the damn house apart looking for these," I snatched them out of his hand.
"You're welcome," he said, pulling on his own gloves as we reached the patch. We dropped our bags by the base of a nearby tree and got to work, clearing out the tangled mess of thorny vines and dead leaves that had filled the patch since last summer. I stood after a while, wiping the sweat off of my forehead and watching Gale for a few minutes. "Why are you staring at me?"
"When you say Madge knows what she's doing, you mean, um-"
"That she gives good head? Yes," he said, looking up at me with a grin on his face. I nodded, setting my hands on my hips and chewing my lip. For what felt like the thousandth time since leaving Madge's house the other day, I turned it all over in my mind. At least Gale didn't seem as keen to push me toward doing something I wasn't sure I was ready for. I appreciated the advice, but I didn't need anyone telling me what Peeta and I should have been doing with our relationship. I thought about some of the particulars of what she'd said and frowned, the practicality of the fact that she did that with Gale finally settling in. It took me a moment to realize he was still staring at me.
"What?" I demanded. He just chuckled, shaking his head and getting back to work. "What!"
"You just look so serious," he smirked. "Seriously contemplating sucking your boyfriend's dick."
"Fuck you," I snapped, though it just made him laugh again. I turned away before he could see me lose my fight against laughing along with him.
That was the last I heard of the subject for the rest of our day. We worked our way through the patches back toward the fence, managing to clear all but one before deciding to call it a day. We split up before we reached the fence, moving through together was never a good idea. Gale headed further north to take the back route that cut through a few neighborhoods and ultimately ended in our back yards. It was a longer trip home, but far less risky than where I was cutting through.
Mom greeted me as I walked through the door and stopped to hang my game bag and hunting jacket. Peeta's wheelchair was parked by the wall. It surprised me. He usually didn't see my mother on Saturdays unless she went to the bakery, and he hadn't mentioned anything about coming here today. He was also nowhere to be found.
"Peeta's here?" I asked, looking toward where my mother sat in the living room.
"Yes," she glanced up from the notebook in her lap. "And he's not terribly happy about it. He's out back getting some air with Prim."
"Oh," I walked across the room, looking toward the back windows and stopping when he came into view. He was leaning against the fence around Lady's pen, talking with Prim. "Why is he here? It's Saturday."
"We had some things to talk through, and I didn't think the bakery was the best place for it," Mom answered, sitting back in her chair and watching me for a moment. "Go say hello. He'll be glad to see you."
I nodded, flashing her a brief smile before going outside. Peeta looked over his shoulder toward me as I went down the steps, turning away from the fence and slipping his arm around me the minute I was close enough. I leaned against him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"You smell like d-dirt," he said.
"Hello to you, too," I chuckled.
"It's better than when she smells like dead animals," Prim said, turning away from us to dump Lady's water bucket on the far side of the pen.
"I didn't say it was b-bad," he said with a small smile, reaching toward my hair and pulling a dried up leaf from my it. "D-did you finish?"
"We did," I said. I'd explained the project to him the other day, and he'd quietly wished he could join us. The tone he'd used had made me feel almost guilty for going, and I'd resolved to myself to do what I could to make sure he'd be able to make the trip out to the orchard to help us with the apples when fall rolled around, especially since most of what I brought back every year invariably went to the bakery. I watched him as he watched Prim with Lady, wondering what was on his mind, and how to ask. His tension was obvious, and his smile had faded too quickly. "I'm guessing you're not having a very fun day."
"No," he said, raising his eyebrows briefly. I started to ask why, only to be cut off by Gale's whistle as he came into view at the far end of the yard. Peeta let out an exasperated sigh, letting his arm slide off of me and turning back toward the fence, folding his arms along the top.
"Did you run back here?" Gale asked as he got close.
"I just got back," I said, glancing toward Peeta. He hadn't even acknowledged Gale's presence.
"Hey, buddy," Gale backhanded Peeta's shoulder. "How's everything going?" Peeta sighed, muttering something under his breath as he turned around. "What?"
"I s-said—I'm not your buddy," he snapped. Gale blinked, straightening up and glancing at me before turning back to Peeta.
"Oh. Um, sorry," Gale shot a confused look toward me. "How was your day? I'm surprised to see you here on a Saturday." He spoke much louder and slower than usual. Even a little worse than the way he generally spoke with Peeta.
"Oh, I'm just great," Peeta said, imitating Gale's loud, slow tone. "I really j-just love getting wheeled out t-to my girlfriend's house to talk to her m-mother about every f-fucking thing going wrong with m-me."
"Sorry, man," Gale said, clearly thrown off by the way Peeta was speaking. I looked between the two of them, not sure what to make of it. "You don't have to talk so loud. Or slow."
"Exactly, j-jackass," Peeta snapped.
"Wait—what?" he asked.
"I'm not f-fucking stupid," Peeta said. "You t-talk to me like I am. Just—don't. It's fucking insulting."
"I—um. I'm sorry," Gale said, looking toward me for help. I shrugged, I didn't know where this was coming from either. "I'm just trying to be friendly."
"Yeah, and you're really j-just being a dick," Peeta crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well. I'm sorry," he said, watching Peeta as he shook his head and turned back toward the pen. Prim was watching the three of us, absently scratching Lady's neck. He turned toward me, raising his eyebrows and silently asking me what to make of that. I shrugged again; I had nothing to offer him. "I'm gonna go home. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I nodded, turning back toward Peeta as Gale walked away. "What was that about?"
"I'm s-sorry," Peeta sighed, pulling off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. "I j-just couldn't stand being t-talked down to again. Especially t-today. He's been d-driving me f-fucking crazy for months." He pulled his hat back on.
"He doesn't mean anything by it," I said. "He's a moron, but he's a good friend."
"St-still," Peeta shook his head, looking over his shoulder toward Gale's house.
"Hey," I bumped my shoulder against his. He turned his attention back toward me. "I'm glad you stood up for yourself. Even if you swore at my best friend."
"Th-thanks," Peeta chuckled.
When I arrived at the bakery after school, I found Peeta working with Rye in the kitchen. I stood in the doorway as I took off my sweater, watching him with a faint smile on my face. If it weren't for the obvious frustration in his face, he would have almost looked at home. I wondered what it would have been like to watch him at work before he was hurt. I imagined he would have moved around the kitchen the way Twain does, knowing everything by instinct and working through everything effortlessly.
"Hi," I said, lifting my apron off of the hook on the wall and tying it on as I crossed the kitchen to stand beside him.
"Hey," he said. His voice was tight and low; he barely looked up from the batter he was mixing.
"Are you okay?" I asked. Peeta rolled his jaw, dropping the whisk in his hand and rubbing at his wrist. Rye leaned forward to look at me from Peeta's other side, raising his eyebrows and giving me a purposeful look. That was all the answer I needed. He wasn't.
"We're trying to fill a few cake orders. We got behind and asked Peeta to help out," Rye said, pushing back from the table. He leaned close to me when he walked by and lowered his voice to a hiss. "And it's going so well." I turned to watch him move into the storage room, frowning at the exasperated look he gave me.
"Here, let me," I said, reaching for the bowl.
"It's fine," Peeta snapped, pulling it toward himself and picking up the whisk again. "I've got it."
"Okay," I held my hands up. "Sorry."
"I wish p-people would stop trying to t-take over for me every f-fucking time I have trouble," he muttered. I apologized again, glancing toward Rye as he came back out into the kitchen with a stack of pans in his arms. He just rolled his eyes and shook his head; this had been going on for a while.
I took over for Rye, leaving him to return to the afternoon routine as I prepped the cake pans. Peeta and I split the batter into two smaller bowls, enabling us both to fill the pans and get through the work faster. His grip was shaky, and he faltered a few times, swearing quietly when he did and refusing any offers I made to help. As he moved to fill the last of the pans he dropped his bowl, splattering what little batter he had left across the tabletop.
"Fuck," he banged the heels of his palms against the table, making me jump and nearly drop my own bowl. I set it down and reached out to cover his hand.
"Hey, it's fine," I said. "I still have enough left to finish that off."
"It's not f-f—fine," Peeta squeezed out, jerking his hands away from me and reaching for the bowl to right it.
"It is, Peeta," Twain said, crossing the kitchen to the sinks. He picked up one of the rags hanging across the divide between them and ran it under the tap before wringing it out. "You know we were making an extra. Katniss will just have to take home a single layered cake instead of two." Twain winked at me as he moved to wipe up the mess on the table.
"I think I'll survive," I said, turning a smile toward Peeta. His tension hadn't eased at all. He picked up the bowl, pushing around me toward the sink.
"Peet, you did great," Twain said. "You don't need to be so hard on yourself about it." Peeta threw the bowl into the sink, banging it against the porcelain so hard I was sure he'd broken either the sink, or the bowl, or both. "Hey." Twain dropped the towel, turning around and putting his hand on Peeta's shoulder. "Calm down. It's fine. I know all this has gotten harder since the accident-"
"Shut up," Peeta snapped, slapping his father's hand way. "It w-wasn't a—fucking accident! She d-did this on p-purpose!" He yanked at his apron strings, pulling the apron off and whipping it to the ground. "She's n-not even here anymore. St—stop making f-fucking excuses for her!"
"Peeta," Twain tried, moving toward him again. Peeta jerked back against the counter, his posture sagging protectively as he looked down at Twain's hands, the counter, and the table to either side of them before squeezing his eyes closed. He shook his head before looking up at his father again.
"No!" he shouted. "St-stop trying to—make me feel b-better about my f-fucking life being r-ruined. I d-don't have anything left and you're st-still calling it an a-accident!" I opened my mouth to say something and Rye reached over and grabbed my arm, giving me a look that silenced me immediately. "J-just st-stop trying to make me feel b-better. There's n-nothing to feel b-better about."
"That's not true," Twain started, his voice quiet.
"Shut up," Peeta snapped, cutting Twain off before he could continue. "You're so f-full of shit. You d-don't f-fucking know. You don't know what it's l-like and I w-wish you'd all st-stop fucking p-pretending you d-do!" He shoved Twain out of his way, storming across the room for the stairs. I was right behind him, pulling off my own apron and draping it over the banister. I glanced back from the staircase to see Twain drop down into one of the stools by the worktable, rubbing his hand through his hair.
Peeta didn't pause or even look back. He ran his hand along the wall for balance, moving faster down the hall than I'd seen him move in a while. He kicked his door closed when he got to his room, nearly slamming it in my face. I held my hand out, stopping it to let myself in before gently closing the door behind me. Peeta snapped his attention toward me, startled by my presence. He must not have realized I'd followed him.
"J-just leave me alone," he muttered turning away and dropping heavily on the edge of his bed.
"No," I said, moving to sit next to him. "What the hell was that about? Since when do you yell at people?"
"D-don't," he shook his head, clenching his jaw as he stared down at his hands. I watched him rub his wrist. It looked swollen, and I couldn't tell if it was red from him rubbing it or not.
"No, you don't," I snapped. "Don't brush me off like I don't matter. You've been short and snappy for days. It started with that shit with Gale the other day, and he is legitimately just trying to be nice to you, and now this? What the fuck is going on?"
"You d-don't get it. None of you d-do," he said, barely squeezing the words out through his teeth.
"Well, how the fuck are we supposed to when you don't talk to any of us about it?" I said, dropping my hands into my lap.
"You r-really want to fucking know?" he snapped, turning toward me, his face pinched and angry.
"Yes! Please, tell me," I said.
"I'm n-not the same," he said, pointing at himself. "My f-fcuking life is ruined. And I'm s-sick of everyone t-trying to p-pretend it's not. I c-c-can't—I c-can't—fuck!" He yanked his hat off and whipped it to the floor. "I can't even f-fucking talk. Everything is t-twice as hard and nothing is getting better. I s-see how everyone looks at me. I'm n-not fucking oblivious. I h-hate their fucking p-pity and no m-matter how hard D-Dad tries I st-still hear the sh-shit people say to him in that bakery." He shook his head, pausing for a moment and shaking his head. He got louder as he spoke, his gestures getting wilder, and the look on his face getting more and more contorted as he fought off tears. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to hold back my own. "I hate it. I hate it. I hate those f-fucking p-pills and that wheelch-chair and that st-stupid cane. And the w-worst fucking part, Katniss? The worst part. I d-deserved it. I knew that st-stand was loose and I sh-shouldn't have used it and I d-dropped that f-fucking cake like the c-clumsy piece of sh-shit she always said I was and I proved her right and I f-fucking d-deserved it!"
"Peeta," I said quietly, reaching toward him. He jerked away from my touch, leaning his elbows against his knees and covering his face with his hands. I shifted closer to him, sliding my hands across his shoulders as they shook with sobs he was trying desperately to hide. He flinched under the contact but didn't pull away. I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "You didn't deserve it."
"I d-d-did," he said, his voice muffled against his palms.
"No, Peet," I said, turning my head and pressing a kiss against his hair. "You didn't. You're not a piece of shit. And she's a fucking bitch for ever making you think that about yourself."
"She's my m-mom," he said, his anger completely gone. He sounded broken, and I wiped the tears from under my eyes before he realized I was crying with him. He dropped his head, combing his fingers back through his hair. "My own m-mother d-did this. She almost k-killed me."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. I didn't know what else to say to that. It made me want to go find her, wherever she'd holed up, and drag her back here. I wanted her to look at him like this; I wanted to show her how hard he struggled and make her explain herself. I wanted her to feel, even just for a minute, an ounce of the hurt she'd left behind. I wanted her to see the way Peeta stared at the floor in front of the ovens, or the distant look on Rye's face when he thought no one was watching, or the sadness in Twain's eyes every time Peeta turned away from him in anger. I pulled back as Peeta straightened up and stared at the wall across from us, taking a slow, deliberate breath.
"I j-just really want t-to rest," he said, rubbing his face with both hands.
"Okay," I said. I waited until he dropped his hands into his lap and moved closer to him, setting my hand on his cheek and turning him to face me. I kissed him gently, letting my lips mold to his and meeting his tongue with mine for a moment. "I'll come up before I go home." He nodded, kissing me again before pulling back.
I left Peeta sitting on his bed and closed the door behind me. Twain still sat at the table when I reached the kitchen. The cakes had been put in the oven, and Rye was out front with customers. I picked up my apron, tying it back on as I crossed the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, Katniss," Twain said quietly. I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows. "I'm sorry you had to see that. His temper's been getting away from him since the medication change."
"It's okay," I shrugged.
"It's not," he sighed. "And he shouldn't have yelled at you like that." Twain shook his head, gesturing toward the ceiling. "I couldn't really make out what he was saying, but I heard. I raised him better than that."
"It's really okay," I said, offering a faint smile as I moved back to the work table. The frosting still needed to be mixed, though Rye had started some of it.
"He really is a sweet boy, and he always has been," Twain said, folding his hands on the tabletop and watching me work. "I'm afraid of losing that. I'm so grateful he's still with us, but at the same time I'm so afraid she really did kill part of him."
"He's still sweet," I said, thinking of the way he looked at me; the touch of disbelief and shyness mixed into his expression that literally made my heart flutter. "Although he did snap at Gale the other day."
"What happened?" Twain asked.
"Gale—talks to him weird," I shrugged. "I'm not sure if you've noticed. He calls him 'buddy' all the time and he's kind of condescending. He doesn't mean anything by it; he's just a dumbass."
"I have noticed," Twain chuckled. "Don't think that cat's name slipped by me."
"Well," I smirked. "I think Peeta's made sure Gale knows that they are not buddies."
"It has to be those meds," he said, glancing toward the stairs. "He's had outbursts before but not like this."
"Mom said changing them can be hard to adjust to," I shrugged, looking over the ingredients in front of me and trying to remember the recipe.
"You must think I'm awful," he said. I paused and looked up at him. "For staying with her for so long. She was a good mother once. When she was happy. I always thought I'd find a way to get that back for them. And even if I couldn't, those boys needed a mother in their life. That was such a huge mistake."
"I don't think you're awful," I said. I never really thought that, even before I found that letter and started to understand how someone as good as Twain ended up with someone as awful as Lilith. A grateful smile crossed his face briefly.
"Did I really hear him say that he deserved it?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, glancing toward the stairs. I caught sight of Rye leaning in the doorway and watching us before I turned back to my work. "He said she always called him, um, a clumsy piece of shit. And that she was right." Twain swore quietly under his breath, running a hand through his hair.
"I've lost count of how many times I confronted her over it all," he shook his head. "And how many times I believed it when she said she'd stop."
"She did sometimes," Rye said, crossing the kitchen to stand beside me, never taking his eyes off his father. "I always knew when you'd talked to her. That was when she actually tried to be nice. For a little while, anyway."
"None of the bullshit she ever said to either of you was true," Twain said, holding Rye's gaze. Rye nodded, his jaw tight.
"I know," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Still hurt, though. More than that fucking rolling pin," he said, a humorless smirk on his face. Rye looked over at me. "She was worse to him than to me." I looked up at him, realizing that was directed toward me. Of course Twain would already know that. I had suspected as much, from what I'd put together in my time with the Mellarks.
"That's my fault, too," Twain said quietly, looking over toward the stairs. "He's too much like me." He sighed, turning back toward us. "You'd think that would mean I'd have some idea what to do with him now. You, at least, I know what to do with." He gestured toward Rye. "You might be an asshole, but at least I can keep you in line most of the time."
"Keep telling yourself that," Rye smirked, pushing the bag of powdered sugar towards me before I could even reach for it.
"Either way, I can handle catching you sneaking out with your girlfriend or getting drunk by the train yard with your buddies," Twain said. I pressed my lips together to stop myself from laughing. I hadn't heard about that last one, though I knew Rye had been in trouble for something new.
"I was not drunk," Rye said. "I was just holding it for Jimmie."
"Shut up," Twain shook his head, letting out an exasperated chuckle. "I know how to deal with that. What do I do when he's crying over something I allowed to happen? He needs answers and all I can come up with is half-hearted platitudes that don't help a damn thing."
"It's not your fault," Rye said. The bell by the front door rang and he heaved a sigh as he returned to the storefront to help the customer.
"When Rye was thirteen I came home from a delivery and found him leaning over the sink with a split lip and burns on his hands," Twain said, watching the door to the storefront wistfully. "He and Peeta had been helping in the kitchen. Peeta was just learning for the first time. He'd burnt some bread, and Rye shoved him into the stairwell and closed the door before Lilith could figure out what had happened. He's a good boy." Twain cut himself off and shook his head, taking a deep breath and turning toward me again. "Thank you."
"For what?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Not running away," he said, smiling at me. "Most adults would, let alone someone your age. I've been second guessing every single decision I've made since everything happened except hiring you and your mother. I have no idea what to do for him anymore, but I know spending time with you has been better for him than the medications and therapies could have been on their own. Thank you."
"Don't thank me," I said, looking down as I felt my cheeks flushing. "That's weird." Twain chuckled.
"Just don't quit on me, whatever you do," he said, getting up from the table. "This bakery might fall apart. Even if you don't put enough vanilla in the frosting." I dropped my spoon, looking down at the ingredients in front of me and trying to remember how much I'd mixed in. Twain reached for the spoon, wiping a bit of it off on his finger to taste it. "Another tablespoon."
"Thanks," I muttered, letting out a soft, embarrassed laugh as Twain went back out to the storefront.
By the time closing rolled around Rye and I had only just started to baste the cakes. Twain refused my offers to stay and help, insisting it was his own fault for letting the orders get so backed up. I went upstairs to see Peeta before leaving, though I fully expected him to be sound asleep. I knocked on his door softly before pushing open the door. He was sitting on his bed with his back against the wall and Buddy in his lap, looking out of the open window.
"Kinda late," he said, looking over at me with a small smile. "I, um—figured you'd just b-be going home."
"I said I'd come see you," I crossed the room and sat on the bed beside him. "Are you okay?"
"I g-guess," he said, looking down at his hands. Even in the dark I could tell his eyes were puffy from crying. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
"You weren't yelling at me," I said. "You were just yelling. I happened to be in the room." He chuckled.
"St-still. I'm sorry," he looked over at me.
"It's okay," I smiled. "If I'd known you were up I would have come up sooner. I can't really stay. Your Dad might come up and chase me out any minute. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I'm f-fine," he said, offering me a weak smile. I leaned forward and kissed him, reluctantly sitting back after a moment.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" I said. He nodded. I reached forward and scratched Buddy's head before getting up, wishing I didn't have to leave. Even if I stayed all I wanted to do was sit with him, kiss him, and make sure he was okay. It didn't matter what anyone said we should or shouldn't be doing, we would be ready for the next step on our own terms, not anyone else's. I smiled to myself, climbing back onto the bed to kiss him again. That was all I needed, and it seemed to be what he needed, too. And that's all that mattered. "Goodnight, Peet."
"Goodnight, Kat," he said, smiling at me as I got up and left the room.
Thank you guys for your patience through the past week! We're back. As always, you can find me and my husband on tumblr, I am alonglineofbread, and he is yourpeetaisshowing. Feel free to stop by with questions and comments!