Part Three

Chapter Five

Since the majority of our stay has been planned around visits, dinners and Prim's graduation, we decide to spend the day hitting up some of our favorite places in town. I want to walk out to Picnic Point and Peeta wants to have lunch at Bunky's2. We comment on how much the campus continues to change with new buildings going up and old ones either being expanded or taken down.

Everything changes.

Soon enough we're heading back to the hotel to dress for dinner and the nerves are back full-force. Peeta's changed shirts three times and I keep messing with my hair, insisting that this one piece is acting out. We're stalling. We know it.

"I suppose we should go. We don't want to be late." He nods and we walk to the car.

The drive is painfully quiet and before we're ready the car is parked in front of the Mellark house. Both of us glance out of the passenger side window, taking in the front of Peeta's childhood home. It's neither small nor overly impressive, nestled in a firmly middle-class neighborhood. He opens his door and the overhead light illuminates the car. I smile at him and move my hand to let myself out.

"Katniss, wait." I look over at Peeta. My fiancée. I look at him, expecting him to tell me that he loves me or that he's changed his mind and wants to leave. Both are expected. But instead he says, "Whatever happens in there, I want you to know that I choose you. I would choose you a million times over. Please don't forget that."

I'm sure that his speech was meant to be encouraging, but it makes me queasy. I push my insecurities away and put on a brave face. "I won't forget. And if for some reason I do, remind me, okay? Promise?"

He smiles and leans in to kiss me before we finally leave the car and walk to the front door. We stand there awkwardly, trying to decide if we should just let ourselves in—it is his family's house after all—or ring the doorbell. Neither is necessary as the door is pulled open, Rye standing there with a neutral face.

Peeta extends his hand. "Hey, Rye." His brother looks quickly at the offering before pulling him in for a hug and clapping him on the back, uttering "hello" a few times as both of them pull back. I stand slightly behind Peeta and look at his brother, putting on what I hope is some semblance of a smile and whisper, "Hi."

I'm floored when he reaches for me, too, not saying anything at first but holding me in a genuine hug. One that lasts. "Thank you for keeping your promise." I look at him quizzically and he shrugs, "My texts."

"What is he talking about?"

I fish around in my purse and find my phone, locating the old text conversation between us and show it to Peeta. Anger quickly flashes across his face and he mutters, "Was that really necessary, Rye?" He looks at me and asks, "And why in the hell would you keep that?"

Running interference, I shrug and calmly say, "He was right. This isn't mean, it's real. And I keep it as a personal reminder. It's fine, honest."

He slowly smiles and nods, giving in. "Okay." Looking up again at his brother he asks, "So what are we in for?"

"Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. We might as well go in and get this show on the road."

Together—as a group of three—we walk through the family room and past the dining room into the spacious kitchen. The house may be pretty common but the kitchen is anything but—credit the family business. Peeta's mother is at the stove and has her back to us but his dad looks up from the island and clears his throat, putting his paper down.

"Hi Dad." Peeta moves from my side and offers his hand, which his father accepts. Mrs. Mellark straightens and turns toward us before walking to Peeta and hugging him briefly. I can see his jaw clench. "Mom."

They both look at him like he's part prodigal son and part disappointment, flooding my heart with sadness. Mr. Mellark clears his throat again and says, "It's good to see you, son. You look well."

She's wringing her hands but juts her chin out, "You seem alright."

I stand there, feeling like a fool before Rye puts his hand on my shoulder, a gesture of comfort. Mr. Mellark catches the movement and says, "Hello, Katniss. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Uh, yes. Just water please." I look at Peeta, my shoes, the refrigerator and finally her. "Mrs. Mellark, it's nice to see you." She looks straight through me, making her point without a word.

"So Peeta," she starts. "How is your leg? I certainly hope that changing physical therapists so—abruptly—hasn't impeded your recovery."

"No, it's fine, Mom. I'm finished with PT anyway. I just go in as needed to have the prosthesis checked."

"Interesting." She moves back to the stove, stirring whatever is on the burner. Peeta heads to the fridge and pulls out a Coke, pulling the tab and taking a sip. "Oh for goodness sake, get a glass, Peeta." He opens the cabinet and retrieves a glass, pouring his drink without a word. I make eye contact and offer him a smile.

Rye tries to save us all and asks me about my job. "So where are you working, Katniss? Peeta mentioned something about coffee?"

Mrs. Mellark barks out a laugh and says, "A diner? With your education?"

I feel the heat creeping up my neck so I take a sip of water and calmly say, "I work for a local coffee distributor. We work with farmers around the world on blends and fair trade, plus we do roasting in-house. I travel—."

"Do you sell coffee? The drink?"

"Yes, but the business itself—."

"Peeta, bring me the salt." I'm stunned into silence but take a deep breath. Do this for Peeta.

He brings over the shaker and tries to interject, "Katniss actually does a lot of—."

"And what's this I hear about you working at a bakery? You had to chase her halfway across the country to roll baguettes when you could be helping your father right here? Helping with the family business?"

I look at Peeta and swear I see the seven-year old boy he once was: gangly, shy, unsure and desperate to please. I want nothing more than to rush over, hug him and simultaneously berate her for being so condescending toward her own son.

"Well, I needed a job." I know that he's making a convenient excuse. He loves Henion—it wasn't about finding a job, it was about finding himself in something he loves. He has friends there. He's a big deal there. He's happy there.

She waves a spoon in his face. "Are you telling me that your family means so little to you that you would leave us high and dry like that, without a suitable replacement?"

Mr. Mellark shifts at the island and simply says, "Molly, that's enough."

We return to an awkward silence. Peeta walks over to me and I slip my arm around his waist, hoping to offer a tiny bit of warmth in the midst of this absolute crap situation. He just stares ahead, a little boy.

I try again. "Can I help set the table?" Silence. I turn and move to the dining room anyway, taking Peeta's hand and bringing him with me. Once we're out of the view of the kitchen I hug him to me but don't say anything. He's stiff at first but eventually returns to the present and winds his arms my waist, squeezing tight. I whisper, "Okay?"

He nods and asks me the same. I nod as we break apart and begin to distribute the plates and silverware.

…

We sit around the table eating in silence. The food tastes off and I almost smile as I recall Peeta's theory that you can taste a cook's emotions in their food. Right about now I taste bitterness and misery. Between the sounds of forks and knives grazing the plates, there's not much else to be heard.

Until Round Two, that is.

"Well, Katniss, I hear that little Prim is graduating. Is that right?" God bless Mr. Mellark's attempt at conversation.

"Yes, she graduates on Saturday afternoon. She and Rory will be heading to the University of Minnesota together."

"Is that right? And what does she plan on studying?"

"Right now she's leaning toward communications, but—"

"Now why would she go to Minnesota, which is such a big school and so far away, when she is technically undecided?" Mrs. Mellark forks a piece of ham and pops it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

I put my fork down and explain, "Well, she loved the campus—"

"What is it with teenagers and 'loving the campus'? As though the campus has anything to do with a quality education? Really, I'm shocked that your mother allows it. And she is going there with her boyfriend?" She pointedly looks at Peeta, then her husband. "My, my. You Everdeen girls are so alike."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, didn't you know? Peeta had a wonderful opportunity to attend Loyola-Chicago, my alma mater, but chose instead to follow the likes of you two miles down the road. A complete waste of an opportunity if you ask me."

I glance at Peeta but he's simply looking at his plate. I need him to look at me. I'm willing him to look at me but he's frozen in place.

Please help me. Please remind me.

"I wasn't aware, but—"

"Well, that's the thing, Katniss: you never were aware of anything or anyone other than yourself." Mr. Mellark slams his fork on the table in protest but she beats him to the punch. "No, Graham. This is the truth and you know it. From the day that you stepped into our bakery, you have been nothing but a burden on my son and this family. We have watched Peeta follow you like a lost puppy, blindly putting his unshakeable faith in the fact that, on occasion, you might throw him a bone. He had everything—everything—at his disposal and wasted it on such a snippy little thing who took advantage of his good, loving nature. You whored around with him throughout his schooling, distracting him from his true potential. You left him when he was crippled and you jerked him back on a leash when you realized what a failure you actually were. How you can bear to show your face around here is beyond me."

Now it is silent. I bow my head, defeated.

Please help me. Please remind me.

But Peeta says nothing. And I can't do this alone.

"I fucked up," I whisper.

"Don't you dare use that language in my home!"

But I do, because I can't help but burst at the seams. It might waver, but I raise my voice. "I know I've fucked up. I know I'm not perfect. But I'm trying every single day to be better. And it is hard. It is so damned hard! I don't need my sins hung over my head as a reminder of how I made a mess of things. I look in the mirror and see my mistakes every fucking day! I made my amends, or at least I was told I had." I desperately look in Peeta's direction, but he's still staring at the plate in front of him. "When is it going to be enough?"

"I'll tell you when it will be enough: when you leave this family alone once and for all!"

"I love him!" I yell. "I love your son more than I ever learned to love myself. And you're right: he has amazing potential and an unfailing faith in people. He is so much more than you will ever know. He is good. He is so good. But he is who he is not because of you, but in spite of you."

Her mouth is open in shock.

Please help me. Please remind me.

Please look at me. Please hold my hand.

Why aren't you looking at me?

It comes out as a whisper. "I will always love your son. I can't help it." I hurriedly wipe my cheeks with my hands. "I don't want to help it."

I put my napkin on my plate and excuse myself, heading down the hall to Peeta's old room. I close the door and squat down, wrapping my arms around my middle and gasping with the pain. I can hear the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Mellark rising and falling with Rye interjecting; I make my way to his old twin size bed and lay on top of the comforter.

Please help me. Please remind me.

Unlike the ones at home, these pillows don't smell like Peeta anymore.

Chapter Five Notes:

2. Bunky's. If you're in Madison and want amazing Mediterranean food and/or the best hummus ever, this is your place.