Seasons of Wither, Chapter 17

I'm wrapped in his arms as we both attempt to catch our breath, myself more so than him. The physical exertion has taken a lot out of my already tired body. Gale smiles with closed eyes as I nuzzle into his neck, and we take full advantage of our first time alone—really alone—together in a long time.

"I'm getting to big for this," I mumble against his shoulder, and I can feel his chest vibrate with laughter.

"Never."

I push away, shaking my head at him. "No, really. I'm getting too large to comfortably do anything anymore."

"Really? You didn't seem uncomfortable," he says with a simper.

I smile, choosing to ignore his cocky retort. "We're in your room, Gale," I hiss. "You're little brothers sleep in a bed five feet from here."

Gale grins as he presses his forehead against my own. "Yes, Catnip. But no one is here right now. The boys are off doing whatever, and my mother and Posy are collecting laundry. And, well, were together. We have nothing to be ashamed of."

I guess that's the ironic part of his statement. Maybe we aren't ashamed, but everyone else in the district seems to think that we should be. So maybe this baby that I'm carrying makes the obvious statement that he and I have been doing a lot more in the woods than hunting over the past seven months, but we're not even certain where we stand right now, even if we are together. We'd skipped over the usual process of dating and marriage, getting right to the task of starting a family. My mother had asked me just last week what my child's last name will be. It seemed like a ridiculous question until I realized that once I give him Gale's surname, I won't even share a family name with my own child.

And then there's the living situation. I'm spending more nights with Gale now, but things won't be the same once I have a baby. I'll have to choose between living with my mother or with Gale's family, who don't seem to have enough room to spare as it is. I can't go crating a crib back and forth across the Seam after all. We're close enough that maybe it won't matter, but is this the way I want my child growing up?

"You alright?" Gale asks when I finally pull away from him. "Hungry?"

"I'm okay."

Our relationship seems like such a silly thing to be occupying my mind right now, considering what just happened two weeks ago. Our Sundays have become much too lazy now that there's nothing to be hunted. We can still forage, but I think both Gale and I are a little too nervous to venture beyond the fence after witnessing what we saw out there by the lake that day. There's no doubt that the Capitol is aware of poachers on their land. That's why they had torched the little house along with everything in it—our homemade seine, hunting knives, and Gale's father's old fishing pole. We'd been left with nothing but the old bows my own father had made years ago, which are still stored in the hollow log outside the opening in the fence. But it's doubtful that we'll ever get use out of them again. Poaching is punishable by death, and though we're beginning to struggle, it's just not worth the risk.

Gale places a quick kiss onto my forehead before sitting up to dress himself. I search through the tangle of blankets on the bed for my clothing before pulling my mother's old maternity dress over my head. My stomach growls, but I try hard not to think too much about it. I'd eaten the same amount as everyone else this morning, but my appetite is veracious now that I'm in my last trimester. I can already feel the toll that the last few days of rationing food has begun to take to me. I always feel shaky and break out into a cold sweat when there isn't enough, which has been too often as of late.

Gale is still shirtless, fiddling with the buckle of his belt when the front door is thrown open and Posy comes bolting into the room, flinging herself into his arms. He lets out a slight chuckle as Hazelle follows her through the door just as I'm smoothing out my stockings, coming to a sudden stop when she realizes how we've been spending our afternoon together.

But sweet little Posy most certainly doesn't make the connection. "Look what the baker gave me," she chirps happily, opening her hand to reveal a slightly crumbled sugar cookie, brilliantly decorated as a poppy with brightly-colored red frosting and even little black sprinkles that serve as the seeds.

"Well, look at that. What'd you have to trade?" Gale asks her, and she beams.

"A smile."

"Then you got off easy," he tells his baby sister. "I have to shoot three squirrels just to get a loaf of bread. My smile never gets me anything."

"That's because you hardly ever use it," I pipe up.

Gale settles Posy back down the the floor, and the little girl runs out of the house with her treasured confection in hand. Hazelle is still standing cross-armed, giving Gale a pointed look as he tugs his shirt on over his head. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon," he remarks casually. There's no lying to his mother, she already knows why Gale is dressing himself in the middle of the afternoon and why my clothing and hair are so messy.

"That's apparent," Hazelle tells him, leaning down to pick up a dirty pile of Rory and Vick's clothing from the floor. "Why don't you see Katniss to the door, I need to talk to you before dinner."

Gale scratches the back of his head, slightly embarrassed. "I figured maybe Katniss could stay over again for dinner. I went to the butcher's today and-"

"Gale," his mother warns.

"Alright. Catnip, let me send you home with something," he says to me, digging into the icebox which stands in his kitchen but has long been void of any ice. They stopped delivering it to the Seam long ago—much too costly for us.

"Is she angry with me?" I finally whisper once he halves a chunk of horse meat and wraps it for me. "Because I didn-"

"No, no," he assures me, placing the palms of his hands on my shoulders. "It's nothing, Catnip. She understands our...arrangement. I mean, we're together now and everything, but..."

"But she doesn't really want us to be together?"

"Not in that way, no. Not right now, anyways. Look, it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them," he assures me, implying the example we've been setting for his younger brothers and sister. "She's very...traditional. Married her first boyfriend at 18 and figured that we'd become something more before the baby was born."

"Oh."

So Hazelle doesn't approve of her future grandchild's illegitimacy? Not that I can blame her. I haven't exactly made the best choices considering where I come from; nor had I set the best example for my own little sister.

Gale places his knife down on the table as I stare down at my belly.

"Hey," he tells me, cupping my chin so that I meet his eyes. "Don't think too much of it, okay? My mother likes you, she really does, Catnip. Don't think any less of yourself, it's me she's got a problem with. Understand?"

I nod, but I still don't feel very good about any of this. The one person who's support I thought we had throughout this isn't very happy with what we'd done after all.

Gale hands me the small package of meat. "I'm sorry that it isn't much. Butcher meat cost about three or four times what we usually get for anything we kill. Make a stew with it or something to spread it out." He lets out a deep sigh. "I'll get you more next week. Take on more hours at work if I have to."

"There's only 24 hours in a day, Gale," I remind him with a sad grin. If he works any more than he does right now, he won't be coming home to sleep. But Gale just shrugs before leaning forward to place a quick kiss onto my lips.

"I'll come by to check on you tomorrow after work, okay?"

I nod, slipping on my jacket and taking my meager cut of meat with me as I turn to leave.

…

"Katniss?"

"Hm?"

"Do you love Gale?"

The pot I'm filling with water from the hand pump in our kitchen drops from my fingertips at my little sister's inquiry as she stares up at me curiously with her light blue eyes. I'm not sure why it feels as if the question came out of nowhere, because it's an entirely feasible one to be directed towards a girl who's not only in an intimate relationship her childhood best friend, but also having his baby.

Prim quickly grabs a towel to mop up the water that has spilled on the floor as I pace about the kitchen, grabbing the the root vegetables and dried herbs—the only things we now have left in terms of produce since the whether has started to turn cold.

"Katniss?" she asks me again, unhappy that I've ignored her question.

"I-I don't know, Prim," I answer honestly. I guess I could just tell her that we're in love as to set a good example of how you shouldn't really be with a boy unless you love him, but I've never been one to lie to my sister when she's seeking an honest answer.

"How can you not know?" Prim asks. "I know that I love you and Mother. If I loved a boy, I'm pretty certain I'd know it."

"I-It's not that simple," my voice wavers.

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't," I reply a little too loudly and irritably. I sigh as my little sister jumps back at my sudden outburst. "We're talking about a different kind of love, Prim. I love you and Mother, too. I even love Gale in that same way. But, the kind that you're asking about—it's something special. It's the type you can only have for one person. And, well, I just don't know."

"Are there other boys that you think of?"

I wince. She's just not going to let this go, and it seems like the harder I attempt to answer her questions truthfully, the deeper I've dug this hole.

"No. There's no one else, Prim."

Prim shrugs, moving to crush the dried herbs. I feel relieved when I think she's given up on this conversation until she says, "But you're having his baby. You don't do that with someone unless you love them."

"I suppose that should be true..." I mutter as I begin to chop the vegetables.

"Well, Gale loves you," she states with certainty, and I'm so surprised at how casual she says it that I almost succeed at cutting off my fingertip.

"What makes you say that?" I ask her, trying to contain the blush that has spread over my cheeks.

"Lots of things," she answers. "The way he looks at you when you're not paying attention. How he comes by almost every night after work just to see how you're feeling. The fact that he always ladles more stew into your bowl than his own," she adds with a giggle.

"I am eating for two," I point out.

"Yes, but he's always done that."

I shake my head at my sister, smiling. "Yes, because serving your girl up extra stew is a sure sign of true love."

Prim smiles back up at me sheepishly. "It's the little things that count, Katniss."

…

Things at school haven't gotten any better, and I don't expect them to. Not only am I the one person who can't abide by the school's dress code with my outdated large-print floral maternity dresses, but as of a couple weeks ago, I am no longer able to fit into the desks either. The math teacher even had to pull a special table and chair out of storage for me when she saw how uncomfortable I've grown being squeezed into a confining desk for 45 minutes.

And as if I didn't already feel humiliated enough standing out like the sore thumb that I am, today in class, Burritt Price, the grocer's son and school prankster, pulled my chair out from beneath me when I went to sit down. I tumbled to the hard floor with an oof, practically breaking my tailbone in the process. Half of my classmates erupted in laughter, my inability to get myself up off the floor making them chuckle even more uncontrollably. But Peeta was rushing to my side in an instant, helping me up and taking away what little was left of my dignity.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" he'd asked me, but I couldn't even look at him. Instead, I buried my face into my math book for the rest of the period, attempting to ignore the snickering and hushed whispers that surrounded me.

I try not to think about the entire incident or the pain which now radiates throughout my spine during lunch. Instead, I ease my sore self down at my usual table empty-handed. I'd sent what little food there was left over from dinner last night to school with Prim. I remember how it feels to be her age, and the shame that comes with not having anything to bring to lunch—a shame that seems to be so much worse when you're in middle school and everyone makes a big deal out of what you do—or don't—have to eat. The whole thing is ridiculous now that I think about it, but I'd rather her not have to deal with the teasing and feeling of inadequacy that I've had to today.

My stomach growls loudly as I slouch in my seat and rest my face in the palms of my hands, trying to keep my emotions from getting the best of me. I'm not going to think about the lack of food or all of the kids who find my unfortunate situation so humorous. But it's hard not to focus on the bad when all of the good seems to have gone away.

I feel like I need to cry, but I won't. The only thing bursting into sobs will accomplish right now is drawing more attention and ridicule towards myself. I am already a weakling to my peers, a joke of a girl. Stupid for not being able to control myself enough to keep from getting pregnant so young, and a disgrace to everyone in the Seam. Slut and trollop have often been used to describe the mining class women, even though the merchant class aren't any better. There's plenty of girls who don't wait until marriage, but there's only a handful of us who carry physical proof of it—whether in our bellies or our arms—around for everyone to see.

It's difficult to ignore the taunting aroma of food that wafts over from the merchant kids' table. I am shaky and weak and the only thing I feel like doing is going home and taking a nap so I don't have to think about how hungry I am.

A hand clasping on my forearm finally causes me to unbury my face from the palms of my hands to see that Madge has taken her usual spot next to me.

"No lunch again?"

I shake my head, almost angry that she's made me admit to it. Without a second word, Madge opens her pretty tin lunch box and places a sandwich before me. I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head incessantly at me.

"Please, Katniss," she mutters under her breath so that no one else can hear. "You look sick. Just take it."

Hunger is not a foreign feeling to me, and it's still hard to accept handouts from people without feeling like I'm in debt to them. I don't want to be in debt to Peeta or Madge or anyone else. I want to be able to go out into the woods and provide for myself and my family, but the Capitol has taken that privilege away. It shouldn't be a privilege, but it is. The only thing keeping us alive right now is my mother's apothecary business and Gale's job in the mines. But his meager paycheck is being spread out over eight people—too many mouths to feed and not enough money. Not enough to purchase our produce and meat in town anyway.

I eat my sandwich slowly, and it seems to make Madge happy. I want to tell her about what's going on in the woods, about the lake and the dying animals. But even though her father is the mayor, chances are he's not even aware of what's happening beyond the fence. And, even if he was, there's probably not a damn thing he could do about it.

…

"We shouldn't be doing this again," I say breathlessly as Gale moves beneath the large blanket spread across his bed, bending down to place a quick peck on the tip of my nose before drawing me against his chest.

"My mother's gone for the day."

"That's what you said last time."

We really do have too much time on our hands these days, I think to myself as I bring the palm of my hand up to smooth over the rough stubble of his jawline. I may be getting large and disgusting, but Gale is just as beautiful as ever. He smiles at me, taking my hand into his own and placing a tender kiss on my knuckles.

"Your mother got mad at you last week, didn't she?"

With a slight smile, he nods. "We had a talk."

"About?"

Gale doesn't answer me right away, just lies on his side staring into my eyes. "Things."

I look at him with question as he finally moves from his place beside me and begins to redress himself.

"Well," I reply. "That's vague."

"She wants to know how things are going to be between us afterwards," he tells me over his shoulder as he pulls his pants back on. "I mean, it's fine the way it is now, but we're going to be parents, you know? I guess she just needs to know that I'm going to be around for this kid."

I watch as he grabs his shirt up from the bed.

"You already said you were," I begin cautiously, and Gale's eyes widen when he hears the uncertainty in my voice.

"No, no! Of course I am, Catnip. It's just," he begins, running his fingers through his dark hair. "We're practically living different lives right now on separate sides of the Seam. I try to be there as much as I can for you, but hours at work are long and we don't even live together. You and the baby will be under one roof, and myself under another. It's not...ideal."

"I'll bring him over to see you, Gale. Whenever you want to."

"I know, I know," he says with a sigh. "But I don't want to be a distant father. We both know what it's like to grow up without a father in the house." Gale pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. "I want to be there. Not just a couple of times a week, but every morning when she wakes up and every evening when she goes to bed. Read her bedtime stories and be able to check on her in the middle of the night. That's the way it's supposed to be."

I sit up on my elbows, nodding slightly in agreement. "Maybe we can work something out?" I ask him. "I could move in here, or maybe you could move in with my family."

"We both know that it won't work, Katniss," he says earnestly. "Not enough room here, and I'm pretty certain your mother wouldn't approve of us all under her roof. She can barely look me straight in the eye right now the way it is."

"I can talk to her," I offer.

"We'd be stepping on toes, you know that. You," Gale says, bending down to pass the palm of his hand over my bare stomach before placing a kiss there, "are my family now. We need to start our own life together. Alone."

I stare back at him, still not quite understanding what he's telling me. He's already ruled out every option available—living apart, living together. For a second I think that he's gone back to the idea of running away. But the next words that leave his mouth come as just as big of a shock as his last idea.

"Which has got me thinking..." he goes on, a hint of nervousness in his voice as he looks away. "Well, thinking that we should probably get married."

I'm too shocked to even reply.

I never see these things coming. Why don't I ever see these things coming?