a/n: So sorry this took so long to post! I think that is the longest stretch between chapters EVER for this story! The school year has just started for me so that has been my focus since the last chapter went up (silly real life getting in the way of writing fanfic!). Also, this was arguably the hardest chapter so far for me to write because a lot of really strong emotions get thrown around here. (ask ct522 who had the awesome pleasure of crying into her morning coffee while beta-ing for me!) I'm excited to hear what you all think of it so please feel free to review, PM, sky write, send smoke signals, Morse Code, etc. to let me know how you liked it and come say hi on my tumblr madambeth is my penname on there as well!
Also, this story is nominated for a couple of Everlark Smut Awards so head over there and check out the categories! Lots of fabulous stories nominated! Red X is nominated in the Best Shower Smut category (for the shower scene in Chapter 3) and the Best Caught in the Act category (For Effie walking in on them in the hot tub)!
Enjoy!
Interlude 9
I'm still floating in the space between sleep and awake when I hear the sweet, soft sound of my babies laughing somewhere in the cabin, beckoning me to rise. I can also hear the deep but quiet rumble of their father's voice coming from the same direction and I stretch lazily and enjoy a rare moment where I'm completely content in the morning. Nights are still difficult sometimes for both Peeta and myself and we've come to accept that this might always be the case, but we have each other to get through them and that's all that matters in the end.
I'm sure my restful sleep from last night has something to do with having my family back together under one roof and also probably a little to do with the (mostly) quiet love making Peeta and I had shared after Bow and Finnick were down for the night.
After a languorous stretch that leaves my toes reaching just off the bottom edge of the bed, I sit up and look across the cabin where I spot my husband and our two children cuddled up together on Bow's bed. Their gentle giggles remind me of the tinkling wind chime the three of them made together which now hangs on our front porch. After a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand I find it's still extremely early, only 5:15, but Peeta will need to leave soon if he's going to be at the bakery in time to help Vera with the morning prep. She said she was happy to open for him again when Peeta called to let her know we'd be going to the cabin and likely staying for the night, but I know he wants to get in as soon as he can.
Most of Peeta's and my clothes are still strewn around the bed on the floor so I grab the closest thing I can find, which is Peeta's plaid summer robe, and pull it on as I climb from the bed. I'm tying the sash around my waist when Finn calls my name out happily, breaking the stillness of the lazy summer morning and both children sit up on either side of their father smiling at me. Peeta is back in his boxers and t-shirt and Bow is still wearing the nightgown she put on for bed but it is my son's attire that gives me pause and I look down at his smiling face first as I approach them.
"Good morning!" I grin and sit down on the end of the bed by Peeta's feet, chuckling when Finn crawls over in just his underwear and climbs into my lap.
"Momma, momma! Finn peed in a toy-i-lit!" he says holding my face between his pudgy hands so that he can be sure he's got my complete attention.
I know he's hoping for an enthusiastic response so I gasp and slap my hands over his at my cheeks, which makes Bow laugh when my eyes go big.
"He did!?" I say with just the right amount of breathless excitement and my son beams proudly and nods. I just can't stand how cute he is or how much he looks like Peeta so I lean forward and smack a kiss on one round cheek just below his eye.
"Sure did." Peeta chuckles. "Even woke up all by himself this morning and got me up to let him into the bathroom so he could go. Stayed dry all night too." he says raising his eyebrows and we share a look of genuine delight that he's finally getting the idea after we've spent so much time and energy this summer trying to get him out of diapers.
Bow was extremely easy to toilet train and I guess we assumed Finn would be the same but he's been stubbornly defiant up until just this last week or so. Haymitch, of course, has enjoyed watching our daily struggles and about a month ago declared my own difficult nature to be responsible for Finn's resistance to using the toilet. What I hated most was that I couldn't even be mad at the old coot because he was probably right.
"Wow! I think that calls for a special breakfast treat." I whisper conspiratorily to Finn and he glances over at his sister and father who are cuddled up together again.
"Chippies!" Finn cheers and looks to Peeta for confirmation. Finn's absolute favorite breakfast item at the bakery is a sort of square croissant filled with chocolate chips and it is what he always asks for on special occasions (which, if Finn had his way, would occur every other day of the week).
"Sure, I think I can pull that off before I need to leave for work." Peeta nods and both Finn and Bow's faces fall when they realize they won't be spending the day in the lake with their father like they'd expected.
"Hey, no tears…" Peeta warns and tugs Finn back over into his side and kisses the top of both children's heads. "You're going to see Maw-maw today and then we'll all have dinner at her house together." He explains and I move to lay down with them in the cramped confines of Bow's bed.
I can feel my children's disappointment cover us like a blanket and steel myself for the fight I'm sure is to come. If Peeta being 'somewhere we can't be with him' in the house while he's having an episode is devastating to our kids, having him leave either of their sides for even a moment once he is back with us is torture.
"No work! Daddy stays here!" Finn grunts and moves to wrap his arms tightly around Peeta's neck. I can see my husband's resolve slip for only a moment but he shakes his head and rubs Finn's tan little back.
"No, Daddy goes to work, just like always buddy." He says smiling sadly and brushes his lips over the boy's head again. "I'll see you at dinner time and we'll play together all night until bedtime, okay?" he promises and Finn shakes his head until Bow climbs up onto her knees and leans over to whisper in his ear.
"We have to talk about what Daddy's birthday cake will be and work on his presents, Finn. You want them to be a surprise for him don't you?" She asks and once more, I'm confronted with the reality of my daughter's emerging maturity.
Peeta smiles appreciatively at her and strokes a hand over the curtain of hair falling down her back as Finn looks between Bow and me, trying to decide whether it's worth his time to freak out over this or not.
I nod excitedly and raise a finger to my lips to remind him of the 'secrets' we have planned for Peeta's birthday in a few days. Finn seems torn briefly between buying into this little act Bow and I are putting on, and doing what he wants which is probably to drop to the floor and scream his brains out until every fish in the lake is jumping onto dry land to try and end the misery of having to listen to him.
"Chippies?" Finn asks and pulls back from where his face has been buried in Peeta's neck and points towards the kitchen as we all sigh quietly in relief.
If there's one thing I can count on to trump my moody toddler's enjoyment of a good tantrum, it's his even greater enjoyment of all things edible.
"Sure." Peeta smiles and pecks Finn on the lips, standing quickly from the bed to go start the fire in the oven before our temperamental son can change his mind. I'm left on the bed with both children and they immediately move into my arms for a good morning snuggle. We catch up on our own whispers and giggles while listening to the comfortingly familiar sounds of Peeta making our breakfast.
It seems like no time at all before we are finishing up the croissants and Peeta is emerging from the bathroom showered and in the kind of clothing the children know means 'work'.
Finn looks up at him from the confines of his high chair with sad gray eyes and a ring of chocolate around his mouth and holds his arms up to his daddy for a hug.
"Bye, bye Daddy." He says quietly and Peeta crouches down in front of the chair. He places a small plum on Finnick's tray with a quick look my way and I know he is doing so for my benefit to balance out the chocolate intake.
"Bye, bye Finnick." Peeta winks and musses the boy's hair, pretending for a moment to try and find a spot on Finn's face where he can kiss him that isn't covered in choclate.
Before he can stand completely, Bow is on him like a leech, squeezing one arm around the back of his neck and petting the back of his head with her free hand as she holds him tight.
"Bye, Daddy. Bake good stuff at work." She says trying for cheery and falling just a little short.
From my seat beside Finn, I smile sadly at Peeta and he winks back at me before scooping Bow up with the crook of one arm and giving her a big squeeze.
"Mmm…that felt like a key lime pie hug…" he whispers, playing a common game with Bow that he uses when he wants to know what he should bring home for our dessert. Bow giggles like we both knew she would and shakes her head when she pulls back to look into her father's face.
"No!?" Peeta exclaims and looks at the ceiling, biting his bottom lip as he tries to think of another of her favorites. "apple pie?" he asks and Bow giggles and shakes her head again as her feet begin to swing contentedly back and forth around his hips.
"No!? Not apple pie either?" he says pretending to be exasperated and Bow shakes her head and hunches up her shoulders as if she can barely contain her glee at their little game.
"Blueberry?" Peeta asks after a long moment of thinking and Bow finally nods after making him sweat it out a few extra seconds. "Ahh! I knew it! Blueberry!" He says and Bow scolds him, saying he got it wrong twice before he guessed the right one which is also part of this game.
"Alright, blueberry pie it is." Peeta nods and kisses Bow quickly before letting her slide back to the floor with a giggle. Bow climbs back into her chair with a plum that has somehow materialized in her hand as well. I mouth a 'thank you' to Peeta as both kids bite into their fruit.
"Be good for Mommy and Maw-maw today." He says and moves around the table while the kids are busy with their plums and bends down to kiss me soundly. As he cups the back of my head and his tongue sweeps once tenderly along my bottom lip as we kiss, I thank my lucky stars that after everything we've been through, this man is still mine.
We ignore the soft giggles coming from Bow's side of the table as a result of our display of affection and I reach up to stroke Peeta's clean shaven cheek and look into his soft but searching sky-blue eyes. This is Peeta's way of making sure that I am really okay following one of his episodes. If I look away, he will know how much that hatred for me that was implanted so deep and so well in his psyche still affects me. Luckily, after all these years, I am stronger than the sadness that threatens to crush me each time he's behind that door and I am able to hold his gaze without my eyes wavering like my heart already has been for these past few sad days.
"Have a good day, I'll pick you up around 5:30?" I ask and Peeta nods as he grabs a plum from the bowl on the end of the counter and takes a bite as he heads for the front door with one more little wave to the three of us at the table.
"Love you." He says around a mouthful of plum and we all shout it back to him with the best smiles we can manage while watching him leave us again, even if it is just for his usual day of work at the bakery.
As soon as the door closes behind Peeta, Bow jumps up from the table and runs over to the front window to watch him head down the path through the woods that will lead him to town.
Finn whines and holds his arms up to me until I lift him from his high chair and set him down on the floor and then he charges off after his sister, pulling himself up on tiptoes until he can just see out the window with her.
"Bye Dada!" He bellows and I smile for the knowledge of how much my children truly adore their father.
By the time I have the kids dressed, clean up the cabin, and put them to work helping me pick fruit for the coming week, it's nearly noon when we reach our home in what had once been the VictorsVillage. The large ugly gate and sign announcing its name are now gone, and the houses are all inhabited by families who returned to District 12 after the war , but we adults all know what it once was used for.
Bow and Finnick run right for the car leaving me to put the crate of fruit inside myself.
As soon as I enter the house, Buttercup Two ( we never really came up with a proper name for him but my children call him buttercuptwo as if it is one word) winds his way between my feet and hops onto the kitchen counter when I set the crate of fruit there.
"None for you." I warn when he starts sniffing the assortment of fruit." "Come on we're going for a ride." I say and open the back door just in time for the cat to fly out like he's on fire at the word 'ride'. Buttercup Two fancies himself more like a dog than a cat and loves to take rides in the car to my mother's house.
I suspect it has something to do with the constantly refilled bowl of milk and the supply of catnip my mother keeps handy for when he visits with us. By the time I have closed the door and found my way to the car, the cat is curled up between the children in the back seat.
"Everyone comfy?" I ask with a grin and peek in the back as I climb in the driver's seat to make sure both kids are buckled in.
"Uh huh." They reply in unison and I chuckle as I turn on the car and pull out onto the road.
The drive to my mother's is a fairly short one, during which the children tell me everything they are going to do at their Maw-maw's house for the rest of the day. I make sure to slip the word 'naps' into the conversation as they, along with the cat, are piling out of the car once we're parked outside her house. They each throw a 'yes, Mommy' over their shoulder as they run up to the front door and head inside.
Later, my mother and I are watching the children play in the backyard with the cat after lunch while I tell her about Peeta's episode.
"Two days behind the door? Oh dear, that's a longer episode than he's had in some time isn't it?" My mother asks still watching the kids.
I nod but don't take my eyes off of Bow and Finnick either. "It was hard on them." I say by way of an answer and sense my mother's head turn towards me.
"And on you, I can see." She says softly and I finally pull my eyes away from the kids to look at her.
She's aged well over time. Her once blonde hair has slowly turned a whiteish yellow over the years. Her face not only carries, but flaunts the kind of wrinkles born out of years of smiles and laughter. Each line, every crinkle at the corners of her eyes belonging to the two children running through the grass in front of us.
"I'll be alright." I say with a shrug and she fights a smile before turning back to watch her grandchildren play.
"I'm sure you will be." My mom says and stands slowly, her body not responding quite as quickly as it had in her younger years. As she's just begun to creep into her early 60's, this isn't surprising but it's both comforting to have a mother that has lived to see her 'golden years' when my father and both of Peeta's parents did not, and also a little bit sad to know she won't be with us forever either.
"Mom." I blurt out before I can catch myself and she turns to me with an expectant look on her face from where she is on her way over to check on Bow and Finnick.
I open and close my mouth a few times, even all these years later still finding it difficult sometimes to share my emotions with those closest to me. "Thanks." I say finally and look down at the ground and shrug. "You know, for…for asking about me anyway." I mumble and she smiles and winks at me as Bow rushes up to her babbling excitedly about a grasshopper Finn is tracking.
Later, while Bow and Finnick are napping, my mother and I sip iced tea and share a plate of leftover cookies Peeta brought with him for dessert the week before and I fill her in on the events of the last few days.
"Finn hasn't been present in your lives for too many multi-day episodes has he?" She asks after I told her about my son's flip outs over wanting his father when he was upset and the tantrums escalating when he realized he couldn't have him.
"No, not too many, but we went through this with Bow when she was his age and we got through it so I guess we'll just…get through this too." I sigh and gently turn one of the cookies in front of me in a full circle before she answers.
"Bow's gotten better with them over time, Finnick will as well I'm sure." She says carefully and I huff a short laugh and roll my eyes slightly.
"Bow's gotten used to the episodes, I wouldn't necessarily say she's gotten better with them." I argue half-heartedly but then think about how my daughter had been the one to tell me about the X hanging on the door in the first place. The way she'd guided her brother outside to play to get his mind off of Peeta's absence. How she had probably been still dealing with what she has begun to understand is something bad that relates to her father and maybe even to connect to what she has heard of the parts we played in the Hunger Games.
Thinking of the way my 5 ½ year-old daughter is already losing some of the innocence I so desperately wanted to preserve in her life makes me angry enough to say something to my mother that I almost immediately regret.
"I certainly hope you didn't see my going into the woods and hunting at twelve-years-old to make sure we didn't all starve to death as having 'gotten better' with Dad's death or over your breakdown in any way. Did you?" I ask with a humorless laugh as if I can hardly believe she might have been so stupid.
I know, of course, that my mother wasn't being stupid but was what Dr. Aurelius explained to me once was actually clinically depressed, but I fear there will always be a part of me that resents the neglect my little sister and I were treated to when my father died in the mines.
She isn't looking at me but instead down into her glass of iced tea when I say this. Evenso, I can still see the pain my words have inflicted on her in the crinkle that forms between her brows and the tight, sad smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, Mom…I'm…" Before I can get out the word 'sorry' she raises a stern hand to me, palm out in a gesture that clearly says 'stop'.
"No, Katniss, don't apologize." She says with a defeated sigh as if a confrontation she has always been expecting is finally about to begin. I'll admit I'm a little surprised when I hear a touch of relief in her words as well, as if she hopes this will help to ease the strain in our relationship that has always been there, just under the surface even in the happiest of times.
She confirms my suspicion a moment later when she continues speaking.
"When you and Peeta were married, and then a few years ago when you started your family, I knew that there would come a day when I'd have to look into your eyes as both my daughter and a wife and mother yourself and answer for my actions after…after your father died." She says and even decades later, I can still see the pain in her eyes at the mention of my long-gone father as fresh as if his death had happened last week.
After Peeta and I had been together for years and years, a small part of me began to accept how devastating it must have been for her to lose the man she loved. I became less guarded with her and she seemed thrilled to have salvaged a part of our relationship that we had enjoyed in my formative years.
All of the compassion that had blossomed for my widowed mother after falling so completely in love with Peeta felt as if it had been plucked empty from the garden of my heart when I fell in love a second time with the bald, squealing, red-faced infant that was placed on my chest the night I gave birth to Bow.
Even for as much as I cherished Peeta and would do anything to protect him, I knew instantly that I'd do more for the shivering little bundle in my arms blinking up at me as if I were the very center of her universe.
I knew in that moment as I looked at my baby girl for the first time that what my mother had done was inexcusable.
We may have been among the better cared for and certainly better fed of the children living in the Seam thanks to my father's hunting skills, but we still were aware that we lived in a scary place with a lot of rules and the very real possibility of death and danger every day. To just mentally check out like she did, effectively orphaning the two of us and leaving me, as the oldest, to figure out a way to keep the three remaining members of our family alive was just…it was selfish.
"Well, here we are then I guess." I say trying to sound a little less bitter even as I fold my arms protectively over my chest as if the gesture alone can protect my aching heart from what I am about to hear.
"I'm a wife and a mother now so that finally puts us on even ground." I start and shake my head when my mother's eyes finally rise from her drink to meet mine. "I am a wife and mother now, Mom, and I still can't for the life of me understand how you could just drift away on your big, fluffy carefree cloud and forget to take care of us." I say and clear my throat when my voice catches on the last word.
"It was less carefree and more a…a… thundercloud of endless nightmares, Katniss." She explains and I huff a humorless laugh and shake my head.
"Yeah? I wonder if they were anything like the nightmares I had every night for months after he died." I say finding it harder to keep the venom out of my words now that the proverbial floodgates have been opened on this anger I've bottled up for so long.
"I still have them from time to time when the nightmares from the two Hunger Games and the war I lived through get bored with me and move on to haunt Peeta for a while…" I spit out and my mother reaches over and takes my hand on top of the table.
"I'm so sorry, Katniss." She whispers and looks beseechingly into my eyes as I see hers filling up with tears. "I realize that what I did, leaving you to take care of us like that…it was…well, it was unforgivable." She says and brushes the fingertips of one hand underneath each eye quickly, trying to erase the few tears that have fallen.
The way she does it is not like that of someone embarrassed by her tears, but ashamed that she has allowed them to fall because she thinks she doesn't deserve to be sad. Not about this.
My heart clenches because I know she truly does feel awful for the wrongs committed during what was, up to that point, the darkest time in any of our lives. A time before a reaping ball that delivered my little sister's name against unlikely odds. Before the Games, the handful of berries and a threat to quiet the masses or see everything I held dear destroyed. Before fake engagements, fake babies and 'real or not real?'.
Before finding my true feelings for Peeta.
Before losing my little sister.
"You're right. It was unforgivable…at the time." I say trying to demonstrate some maturity since I am firmly in my late 30's now. "I just wish I understood…why is all." I shrug helplessly and feel my own tears welling in my eyes at merely the thought of ignoring even my children's most basic needs in order to wallow in self-pity over the loss of my husband.
I love Peeta more than I ever thought it would be possible to love someone I wasn't related to, but I carried each of those children in my womb for nearly a year. I felt every kick, every hiccup.
I felt the first little flutterings that I likened to butterfly wings. There were the nights I could lie in bed and watch Peeta tickle a tiny foot or rear end that was pressing against my belly from inside. I can't ever imagine emotionally abandoning them the way my mother did Prim and I.
She sighs again and shakes her head, ashamed all over again because now I am seeing what she did to us through the eyes of a mother and somehow that's made it seem even worse to both of us.
"I was deeply, deeply in love with your father, Katniss." She begins as a way of explanation and looks just past me out her kitchen window as a small smile plays on her lips. I can tell she's been transported back in time to when they were first together.
"He was my first and only love." She whispers and looks back into my face as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I've never talked to my mother like this before, about romantic love. When we saw each other at the first anniversary of the rebel victory in the Capitol, she had tried to talk to me about the physical aspects of my relationship with Peeta but she never brought up my emotional feelings for him.
I wondered if maybe it was just too hard for her to revisit those types of feelings, even if it was just to help me understand my own.
"Didn't you…date Peeta's father or something before you were with Dad?" I ask feeling slightly strange to be talking about my deceased father-in-law who claimed to have been in love with my mother when they were young.
She smiles slightly and shakes her head. "Peeta's father and I grew up together in the Town and we were always good friends, but I never saw it as anything more than that." She stops a moment and gives me a wider smile. "Actually, he never really shared his true feelings with me. I suppose Peeta took after him that way." She smirks and I allow myself a small smile.
"Anyway, I knew your father in passing from school but I was Town and he was Seam and even then we mostly kept with our own." She explains and I feel myself leaning in toward her, waiting to hear more about how my parents came to be, well, my parents. I nod even though in my experience with school-yard politics, there was Town and there was Seam and then there was me who skirted the edges of both those worlds, keeping pretty much to myself while occasionally associating with the mayor's daughter, Madge.
"So how did you end up getting to know him well enough to fall in love with… and marry him?" I ask, genuinely curious to know because I have never heard this story of how my parents met before. I'm actually a little ashamed to think of what little interest I've taken in how our family came to be when I've spent so many years now writing my own love story with Peeta and creating a family of our own together.
My mother looks at me again with obvious anxiety in her eyes, and takes a deep breath that tells me whatever she is about to say is probably rooted in sadness just like almost everything else in our world was for so long.
I almost tell her she doesn't need to tell me because the thought of hearing that even one more important event in my life has been tainted by the Capitol's rule makes me want to run for the security of my woods and spend the rest of the day there calming down. I don't though because I truly do want to know how my parents first met, even if it means inviting just the slightest bit more hatred for the Capitol into my heart.
"Did you know how you got your name, Katniss?" She asks by way of opening the conversation up.
I straighten in my chair slightly, surprised by her posing a question to me to begin rather than just recounting the events like I'd expected. I nod and tell her about seeing the edible plant in the woods with my father when I was young and how he told me as long as I could find myself, I'd never starve.
"Yes, I suppose that would be what he'd tell a child of your age at the time…" she says shaking her head slightly with a smile that tells me she appreciates that he held back on providing me with the whole truth, whatever it may be. "There's a little more to it than that though, baby." She says and reaches over to place her hand over mine on top of the table, patting it lightly.
"What do you mean? I saw the plant…wasn't the plant I was named for what he showed me that day?" I ask now completely confused and she nods slowly.
"Yes, I'm sure the plant he showed you was katniss which is an edible plant that grows wild, but you weren't actually named for the plant…." She says and trails off, chewing on her bottom lip as she tries to decide whether to go with full disclosure or come up with something off the cuff that will be less painful than whatever truth she could provide me.
"…Mom, what is it?" I ask and lean forward in my seat some more, turning my hand over beneath hers so that I am holding it supportively though I don't know if I am offering or seeking support. This seems to give her just enough confidence to continue and she takes a deep breath just as I feel myself doing the same.
"Katniss, you were named after…after your father's little sister."
I can't hide the look of shock on my face. I never grew up with any aunts or uncles. I had assumed that both my parents were only children and I only vaguely remember my grandparents since people rarely lived to very old age, particularly in District 12 where lack of good nutrition and proper health care was the norm.
"Dad had a sister? W…well why didn't we ever meet her?" I ask feeling a little annoyed that I may have another piece of my family out there who I have never gotten to know.
"Had being the operative word, Katniss." She whispers back and her eyes drop to our joined hands as she gives mine a little squeeze. "The first time I officially met your father it was when he showed up on my doorstep with that poor little scarecrow of a child in his arms." She says and I feel a shiver run through her and her hands become clammy. I can only imagine what she's seeing in her mind's eye, but the look on her face is enough to make my own blood run cold as well.
"His parents were there too, but I could tell just by the way they all interacted that he was the child's main caregiver. He was 19 at the time, same as me, and his sister was about 7 I think. She was so tiny and underfed though that she was the size of a 4 or 5 year old." The sadness and underlying detachment in my mother's voice makes me sad all over again as I think of how typical being so underdeveloped was at one time.
"She was already pretty well gone but my mother and I spent the night trying to save her all the same." She says getting the far away look on her face again and I have to lean forward a bit more to hear what she's saying because she's speaking so quietly by this point.
"Your father, he never left her side or stopped holding her little limp hand all night long." She says and I hear a catch in her throat and new tears spring to her eyes. "That alone might have been enough to make me fall for him, but then just as her heart was finally beginning to give out…he started to sing." She whispers and shakes her head slowly from side to side.
"I'd never in my life heard anything quite so beautiful as your father's voice." She sighs and despite the tears, the corners of her mouth tug up in a loving smile when she focuses on me again. "That was, of course, until I heard you sing for the first time when you were 3 or 4…" she says and I squeeze her hand and duck my head slightly in embarrassment.
"He sang her off to her final sleep just as lovingly as you did for that little District 11 girl you were allies with in your first Games." She says and I can tell from the shake of her head that the parallel I've just drawn between myself and my father isn't lost on her either.
"Rue. Her name was Rue." I say softly as my own tears begin to fall and my mother reaches up to brush them away from my cheeks.
Mom sighs heavily, reaching up to wipe her own eyes again. "I stood in the bedroom doorway, watching him sing up until that sweet little girl took her last breath." She sniffles quietly. "And just like that, I was in love with him." She rolls her eyes and snorts softly, shaking her head as if she can't believe the circumstances herself. "Over his little sister's dead body no less." She admits and I sniffle too.
"I guess that's something we have in common then." I say, needing to clear my throat first before I can continue. "Falling in love during the most absurd of circumstances." I say with a short laugh and Mom can't help but roll her eyes and give her own little laugh of agreement.
She nods and shrugs her shoulders helplessly and I need no further explanation because I know exactly what she is saying in that shrug. We can't control who we fall in love with or when it happens anymore than we can control the rising or setting of the sun.
"So what happened…after his sister…" I don't finish the sentence because my mother is already staring back out the kitchen window remembering that day again and she picks up right where she left off.
"I was still standing there in the doorway when I heard the soft gasp that signaled her last breath and as many times as I had seen the same thing happen to other children, that time it felt somehow more personal to me and I let out a tiny gasp myself and brought my hand to my mouth. Not in enough time to smother the sound though and your father's head whipped around in surprise because he hadn't known I was standing there as he sang." She says softly.
"What did he do when he saw you there?" I ask only because I know I took after my father in so very many ways and I can tell you, my first inclination would have been to scream at her for such an invasion of privacy.
"He looked quite angry as you can probably imagine, what with me interrupting him as he grieved for his little sister, but when he saw the look on my face and the tears in my eyes….he just….he broke down with his face buried in the covers beside her still little body." She explains and I swallow hard thinking of my father who I never saw cry in my entire life and who I always thought was the bravest man in the whole world.
"I didn't know what else to do so I just went and sat on the end of the bed and gathered him up in my arms while he cried." She whispers and reaches up to brush away a few more of those tears trailing down her face. "We barely knew each other except to say we'd had a few classes together over the years when we were in school, but he didn't pull away. In fact, he wrapped his arms around my waist and cried into the folds of my dress so loud that it brought his parents in from the living room where they'd been resting")
"I held him while his parents grieved, as my mother entered the room to close the child's eyes, and even as the family stayed well into the next day making arrangements to bury her." She says and strokes my hand in such a way that I think she is mimicking the strokes of her hand over my father's head while she comforted him.
"When they were finally getting ready to leave before the undertaker could arrive and pick up the body, your father insisted on staying and traveling with his sister's body. Neither of his parents protested this demand, only nodded and headed slowly back down the road to their home in the Seam." She smiles again and tells me how she waited with him in the bedroom where he sat looking at his sister and how he told her story after story about the adventurous child from the time she was born all the way up to even two weeks before she died.
I can't help but smile thinking of how their love for each other had grown from my mother offering comfort in a time of need for my father, much like how Peeta and I had grown together based on a similar need for emotional survival. Paired with my being named for the little sister my father lost to starvation and the loss of my own little sister to the war that ended that starvation in our country, I think how odd it is the way history repeats itself.
"The next morning, before the funeral, he showed up on my doorstep desperate and obviously hung over." Mom sighs and shakes her head, the sadness in her eyes so deep and genuine that I have to look away and my eyes fall to the plate of cookies instead.
"My parents were out making their weekly house calls, checking on patients they had sent home to finish their recovery so I was the only one home at the time." She says and I shift uncomfortably in my seat when her cheeks pink slightly, indicating she is already embarrassed by what she hasn't even said yet.
"I stood in the doorway, this time of my front door, and my memories of his despair the night before just all came flooding back to me. The way he'd held her frail little hand all night, the beautiful song he'd sung to her as she died, the way he'd held me so tightly as I comforted him." She clears her throat and places a hand gently over her heart before she continues. "How the toned muscles of his back had rippled under my fingertips as I patted his back and tried to soothe his pain. How his warm body cradled in my arms molded perfectly to mine like pieces of a half-finished puzzle. I wondered, rather fleetingly of course, if we might fit together in…other ways as well….and…and I just felt so ashamed for thinking like that when he'd just lost the most important person in his life." She admits and I feel a flush rising on my own face as I consider, for probably the first time in my life, that before I came along my parents too were a young couple in love who enjoyed a sex life just like I did with Peeta.
"I knew my parents wouldn't be back for hours and before I knew it, I was pulling him inside the house and….and leading him back to my bedroom." She says and I glance at her face, my eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise. "I assume I don't need to explain what happened once we arrived there and closed the door behind us?" She asks and I feel the flush on my face deepening even as I shake my head no.
With a small nod, Mom goes on to share how she accompanied him to the funeral later and held his hand until the final shovelful of dirt was placed on top of the tiny grave. How the neighbors in the Seam had cast curious glances their way as it was quite unusual to see a Town girl on the arm of a Seam boy, but even still, she never let go of his hand.
After the funeral, she took him for a walk along the fence that bordered District 12 and he told her how he was going to talk to a man, someone known to many in both The Seam and in Town as hunter who traded wild game, fruits, and edible plants at the Hob that could only have come from the other side of that fence. He told her how the man approached him the week before when he heard how angry my father was about his little sister falling ill due to her malnutrition and told him he was the head of a secret group of men who were teaching strong, angry young men from the Seam like my father to live off of the land. He told her how the man invited him to join this group and that it would allow him to trade with the people in the Town in order to help keep those they loved in the Seam alive.
She asked him if he was going to take the man up on his offer and my father stopped walking suddenly and gripped her wrists as he looked down into my mother's eyes. He told her that of course he was going to join the man. How else was he to ensure that his new wife and the children they'd have would never go hungry like his own sister did if he didn't learn to hunt.
Mom was shocked by his bluntness, but she couldn't think of one reason not to leave her home in the Town for the comfort and safety she'd felt in the arms of this boy who'd she really only formally met a few days before. She was young and in love and had never felt so strongly about anything as she did about the boy who she'd passionately given the last petal on the blossom of her youth to just that morning.
"New wife?" She says she'd asked him meekly. "But…but we've only just met and..."he'd cut her off, reminding her that they'd known each other forever, they just hadn't had anything important to say to each other up until that week.
"I know you love me, and I love you…" he said vehemently and then looked frantically around at the brush lining the fence and plucked an orange and yellow primrose (the flower my sister would eventually be named for) from the ground. He quickly tied its stem into a circle and slipped it on my mother's finger.
"See? I even got you a ring…" he'd whispered shyly and she says at 19, she couldn't resist his charm or easy good looks a moment longer.
"So how long after that did you get married?" I ask and she smiles timidly and rubs the back of her neck.
"Just…two days." She admits and my eyes widen before she holds her hands out, palms up and smiles. "When you know, you know. Isn't that the same for you and Peeta? It might have taken you a bit longer to get there, but once you knew you wanted to marry him, it was just as simple wasn't it?" She asks and I cock my head to the side and think.
"Yes, it was that easy when the time finally came that I felt ready to marry him..." I admit but then mumble, "…wasn't within the same week that we first met and first slept together though…" I say and my mother chooses to ignore my comment as she goes on to tell me how her parents were shocked and displeased that she would leave her family and the place she grew up in to be the wife of a miner from the Seam.
She assured them that she had no doubts about his love for her or his ability to take care of her and her mother had seethed, blurting out sarcastically in her anger that he'd done such a wonderful job taking care of that little girl who died in their home a few days ago.
That had been the last time my mother spoke to her parents. She'd see them occasionally over the years, during trips to town for food and supplies, but even when Prim and I came along, she remained loyal to her love and respect for my father and never spoke to them again. Not even when he'd pressed her to try and make amends when he heard they were in failing health a few years after I started school.
A sort of uncomfortable quiet settles over the kitchen when my mother finishes telling this story that is meant to convince me of how her grief at my father's death could have been so deep that she was able to abandon the children they shared to wallow in her own self pity.
I want to understand, but as a mother myself and also as one of those children she deserted, I still can't quite reconcile her behavior just yet.
I know she can see it in my eyes when we both hear Bow cough quietly down the hall where my children are napping and our eyes meet across the table once more.
"You know once, when I was just a child myself, I overheard my parents in the living room talking with their friends one night after a dinner party for my mother's birthday." She begins and I can almost feel a change in the air, a crackling like static electricity that tells me what she is about to says is immensely important.
I don't know if it is her tone or the fact that all children know what juicy secrets can be learned when sitting at the top of the steps while grown ups talk on the floor below, but I listen attentively to everything she says next.
"They were talking about the state of things in the District which were deplorable even then, and one of my mother's friends mentioned the out of control population growth that seemed to be happening in the slums of the Seam. She was lamenting the conditions under which children there were being brought into the world and remarked, rather sadly, that they'd almost be better off dead than living in a place with such little hope for a brighter future."
I remember overhearing people in the Hob having similar discussions, talking in hushed whispers for fear that a peacekeeper or higher ranking citizen might hear and bring down some sort of punishment on them.
"I didn't remember all of that conversation between the adults at my mother's birthday dinner until all those years later when your father died and I slipped into that horrible depression." Mom is looking at me with that heartbreaking sadness again and it is all I can do to hold her gaze as she goes on.
"I was sitting up in bed during one of those awful days after your father died when I was…lost within myself…when I suddenly remembered the rest of that conversation and the story of a time long ago in the history of another part of the world." She says and I find myself leaning forward again so as not to miss a word.
"They each had bits and pieces of the story to add, none of them really aware of how accurate or inaccurate their facts were because the story hadn't been written in the history books used at school. Instead, it had been passed down secretly through generations and generations of District residents so that we would all know that we were not alone in our suffering. That for hundreds, even thousands of years, human beings had shown time and again that there was no limit to the cruelty with which they could treat their fellow man. If their cause could be justified with fear and mistrust of a particular group, nearly anyone could spread that fear to the masses and then rationalize such atrocities being carried out on that group. Like say, punishing the Districts of Panem for rebelling by instituting The Hunger Games."
I'm rather surprised to hear such venom in my mother's words, having always seen her as rather wishy-washy when it came to the oppression we'd faced under the Capitol. My father was the revolutionary, teaching me songs my mother didn't want me to know or sneaking me off into the woods to learn how to hunt like him. Looking at her now though, I wonder if perhaps my father's rebellious nature managed to rub off some on my mother over the years they spent as husband and wife.
"They spoke about a time, long ago, when just looking different or having different beliefs made groups of people targets for the hatred of the ruling class. They spoke of men, women and even children being tattooed with numbers, like cattle, and loaded onto trains that took them away from their homes and families without explanation. They spoke of the places they were sent. Camps where they were told they were being detained and ordered to carry out manual labor, at the end of which, they would be killed. Shot, poisoned with gas, starved to death, it didn't matter how. The rulers of this country where these horrors took place wanted to see this particular population of citizens completely exterminated from the Earth."
She pauses for a moment and I swallow a lump in my throat as the full impact of what she is saying hits me.
Extermination. Of a people who were seen like rats that the ruling class felt was tainting their image of what society should have been. I shouldn't be surprised after all I've been through at the hands of the Capitol but this story of entire families being marched off to their death chills me to the bone.
Will we never learn from the mistakes of our past? I'm pulled out of a daydream about a place like the world we live in now where maybe, just maybe, we are finally getting things right for the first time in history as my mother continues her tale.
"As I lay in bed that day I remembered a piece of their conversation. One of the women spoke quietly of mothers who...who after hearing that they would soon be stamped with numbers of their own and taken to these camps…put their children to bed, tucked them in safe and warm…and then quietly smothered them in their sleep to save them from ever having to face a cold and lonely death in the camps." She says this last part so quietly that I barely hear her but I understand immediately what she is trying to tell me.
"So…so as I lay there, wasting away to nothing myself and watching you and Prim not far behind…I wondered if maybe that would be best." The shame has crept back into her voice and the tears begun anew. "That just like those mothers who…took their children's lives to spare them a worse death in those camps, the best I could hope for was that you both might slip quietly away in your sleep one night. What sort of life did we have to look forward to anyway? If we all were…were dead then there would be no more suffering, no more starving, no more reaping days, or signing up for tessarae, or worrying that you both might end up in the Games one day where I would lose you anyway."
It is in this moment now, when I see the desperation in her eyes that I finally can understand what my mother was thinking. How dire she must have viewed our situation if seeing us all dead was an acceptable alternative to continuing to live in a world of so much sorrow and uncertainty.
That just as those mothers had seen no other choice than to be the vessel through which their children left the world just as they had been the one that brought them into it, my mother too had seen death by neglect at her hands as more favorable than one at the hands of the Capitol.
Hadn't I entertained the very same thoughts? On the hovercraft after I'd been taken from the Quarter Quell arena when I stalked the hallways with a syringe I planned on using to end Peeta's life and therefore, any suffering he might face in the Capitol's hands as well.
Suddenly I understand exactly what my mother was thinking and it feels as though the final chain that has held me back from fully accepting my mother's love since childhood has been cast aside.
"Oh…Mom…" I gasp as tears rush down my own cheeks and I move around the table to throw myself into her arms.
We hold each other like never before, the salt in our tears washing clean the slate in my heart that bears every last ill thought I've had about her in my thirty plus years.
She pets my head and we whisper 'I'm sorry' to each other over and over again, one 'I'm sorry' for each trespass on the other's soul we've committed in our time as mother and daughter.
It is in the middle of this mutual begging of each others forgiveness that I hear the sad and confused voice of my daughter coming from the hallway behind me and pull back from my mother to look at Bow.
"Mommy?" she asks in a tone I know means she is frightened and looks between the two of us bewildered.
She is standing stock still in the doorway, her eyes wide and teary as she takes in a sight she has never seen before; her mother and grandmother holding each other lovingly and crying.
"Oh, baby…it's okay." I say holding one arm out to her and keeping the other tightly around my mother's waist.
Bow looks between us once more and when she sees that both her Maw-maw and I are smiling amidst our tears, rushes forward into our arms crying too, though she can't possibly know why except that it seems to be the thing to do right now.
We all hold each other, three generations of strong Everdeen women who have survived despite the best efforts of the world around us and the sorrows we have faced.
My mother, the loss of her husband, me the trips to the Games and the certain death that almost followed, and my daughter, bearing the responsibility of being born the child of the emotionally and physically scarred star-crossed lovers of District 12...
We hold each other and cry, whispering 'I love yous back and forth to one another and allow the healing to begin.
Because we are stronger than the hardships we have faced.
We have endured each pound of misery placed on our shoulders to thrive in this world free of hunger, fear and sadness.
We are Mockingjays, all three of us, after all.