"Peeta, what are your plans now that Katniss is truly yours and you're both safe at home?"
"She's not going be hurt here in Twelve and that brings me all the comfort I need."
The Capitol has made good on their promise to provide the food for our district holiday. Rolls and big platters of sliced meat. Cheeses with fancy little knives. Big pots of soup sprinkled with seeds. Large, plump fruits with juice that dribbles down your hands. I've never seen so many delicacies in one place, which is saying something because I work in a bakery. Come to think of it, I've never been among so many people before either. It seems everyone in the district is here. The party seems to go on endlessly in each direction, even though we all know it's an illusion. It's satisfying to see that every bit of our frenzied preparation was worth it.
Even though he's been home for half a day and an entire night, I haven't seen Peeta at all. After the initial greetings on the platform, he was dragged away to be prepped for the evening's banquet. He spent the whole night at the fancy dinner. Regular residents weren't invited, so we all just went home for a bit. Mingled outside. None of us really knew what do when the initial excitement of their homecoming had deflated.
Another reason for his absence is the reporters. They come in like swarms and block off anyone who tries to come in contact with their prey. They hunt down our victors to photograph them, video them, interview them. Peeta's being a good sport, smiling and nodding, but I can see all he wants to do is sleep. There are large bags under his eyes and he keeps blinking rapidly. He's gone from prep to banquet to prep to party. He must be exhausted.
"Peeta, Peeta!" another reporter cries. "Tonight, you get to sleep in your new house in the Victor's Village for the first time! You'll be closer to Katniss than ever before! What are your thoughts on that? "
"Well," my son pauses for a moment. "It doesn't matter to me where she's living as long as she's not in any danger, has a warm bed to crawl into, and people around her who love her."
The reporters sigh and scribble the quote down into little notebooks. Probably that will end up on some tote bag in the Capitol.
Katniss, who's been eyeing some of the dishes hungrily and trying to dodge the cameras herself, is now brought over by a fresh mob of journalists.
Peeta smiles wearily at her approach, but even this small gesture seems restrained. The dark circles under his eyes have become more apparent suddenly. My parental instincts click into a higher gear and I want to pull him away from the crowd and order they leave him alone.
Katniss stands awkwardly next to him for a moment, then takes his arm and leans on his shoulder protectively. Her mother, who's also been hovering around, concerned, stands a little bit away. Yesterday, at the station, she told the reporters that, while Peeta was a model young man, her daughter wasn't old enough to have a boyfriend. Since then, the two victors have been a little more modest, and at times, a little awkward. Like now, Katniss doesn't seem to know how to step into the conversation.
Finally she just asks, "Peeta, have you tried the pies on that table? They're delicious."
"No, I haven't," he looks at her with polite interest. "Would you like to show them to me?"
She must have noticed his fatigue because now, she's steering him away from the reporters and towards the tables. The cameras trail them, of course, but at least the questions have stopped. I feel a sense of security because, no matter what happens, Katniss is seems to be looking out for him.
The celebrations begin to dwindle as the night grows deeper. People begin to withdraw into their houses and the music gradually lessens until there's a lone fiddler. I spot Haymitch drinking some Capitol-made liquor all alone by the corner of the road.
I don't know who gave the final authorization for our children to go home, but whoever did has my gratification. They are each handed keys and told to follow to two Peacekeepers to the Victor's Village. Katniss' family accompanies her, so I hang back. I don't know what her mother thought about Peeta's announcement of my crush on her when we were young.
The Victor's Village is about half a mile from town where the bakery is, but it feels much longer. There's an invisible border between the cinder streets of Twelve and the lonely expanse of green grass and flowers that set the stage for the grand houses. Until now, only one has been occupied. But while our victors attended their homecoming celebrations, two additional houses were dusted, cleaned, and prepared for them to move into.
As we walk under the arch, the trilling of the crickets and our heavy footsteps are the only sounds of the night. The two Peacekeepers who've been escorting our straggling party now point out the two houses.
"Right up there," one motions to Peeta. He nods his thanks, then looks sideways at Katniss. The moon is the only light we have, but it's enough to see the uncertainty in his eyes.
"Goodnight," she says, a little haltingly. Then she releases him as she heads toward the identical house across from his. Taking Primrose's hand, she guides her little sister up the steps, their mother following, and the door closes behind them. In a few moments, a light flickers on and illuminates a square patch on the road.
My son stands frozen where Katniss left him. We all just stare at each other for awhile until his brother breaks the silence.
"Hey, Peeta."
Peeta smiles. "Hey."
"So, is this where we live now?" his brother asks, eyeing the large front door.
My wife shakes her head. "It's too far from the bakery."
"But," my older son protests. "This is where Peeta's designated to live. I don't think -"
"No, he'll still live here," my wife says.
Peeta frowns slowly, his face re-adopting the weary look he'd worn earlier. I don't like the idea myself. Surely, there's some way to make it work? I could wake early and go down the the bakery, couldn't I? My mind retraces our steps. The walk to town is very long, but -
"Can't we just walk?"
"It's much too far for the amount of time we spend in that kitchen. It's just not practical." My wife shrugs. "It's not ideal, but we can come visit him and he'll still be needed at the bakery. Think of it this way, in a few years, he'd be moving out anyway."
"So we're just going to leave him here?" my son asks angrily. I look around as his voice gets louder, but then I remember that there's no one to overhear us. "We barely get him back and now he's going to just stay here, all alone."
"He won't be alone! His girlfriend will be right next door. At the rate things are going, they'll probably be living in the same house before the winter comes."
"He's only sixteen!"
"Practically an adult," my wife scoffs. "You also need to be thinking about your future. In a few months, you'll probably be assigned a new house too!"
Peeta's still standing off to the side, his shoulders slightly hunched, watching the argument. To him, nothing has changed. My wife yelling. His brothers arguing with her. Our tumultuous family life has never suited him.
"Peeta," I whisper. "I'm sorry, there's just - I have to be near the bakery."
"No," he speaks now. "It's right. I'd feel selfish keeping you guys here when your life is there. I'll only be a little bit away."
His brothers each put a hand on his shoulder, just like they did in the Justice Building the day of the reaping. "This isn't like before. We can still see you whenever."
"Yeah," Peeta says quietly. "I'll see you for dinner tomorrow."
"Do you want me to walk you inside?" I ask him.
"No, it's okay."
He trudges up the steps to his new house. The light in Katniss' house goes out and I know her household is going to sleep. Peeta fiddles with the lock, then pushes open the door. In that split second, I see the Justice Building doors about to slam. About to separate me and my son.
"Wait, Peeta!" I call out. He turns, waiting for me to say more. "You go on home," I tell my wife and sons. "I'll be just a moment." Then, I climb to steps to the Victor's Village house.
"What are you doing, Dad?"
I can't put it into words. What am I doing? I really don't know. But Peeta shouldn't be forced to enter this house alone.
"Dad, really, I'm fine," Peeta tells me, starting to go inside.
"I know," I sigh. "I just… we missed you, Peeta. I need you to know that."
His eyebrows knit together, as if trying to work out what I've said.
"Go on inside," I tell him.
The unlit house has a grim feel to it. The elaborate furniture hidden in shadow haunts the corners. I almost crash into a vase of flowers as I grope about for the light switch.
"I've got it," Peeta says quietly. He flicks on the switch which immediately warms the space. But there's still something missing. It doesn't feel like home, yet. Even though the weather's still warm, the house has a drafty feel to it.
"You go up to bed," I tell Peeta. "I'll make a fire."
I hear him creak up the stairs as I kneel before the hearth. There's a neat, uniform stack of wood beside the fire already and on the mantel, I spot a box of matches. The Capitol attendants did a very thorough job getting this place ready. I've just coaxed the flames from the kindling to wood when I hear a noise behind me.
Peeta stands huddled behind me, his face washed clean of makeup and his fancy clothes swapped for pajamas. He settles himself on the couch, rearranging the pillows so that he can lie down.
"Why are you sleeping down here?" I ask him softly.
He shrugs. "It's cold upstairs."
I'm not sure that's the entire truth, and more than ever, I wish the bakery weren't so far away.
"Well, this should last you until the morning," I tell him, gesturing to the crackling fireplace. As he stretches out on the couch, his pant leg pulls back to reveal the plastic and metal prosthetic. In the orange light from the fire, the device is almost eery. My eyes can't seem to look anywhere else. My staring must make him uncomfortable because he quickly pulls the fabric back down.
"It's fine," Peeta says. "Doesn't hurt much." He stares into the flames for a long time, his eyes slowly drifting shut. I know I should be getting home, but something about the way my son clenches the blanket tightly in his fist while he sleeps keeps me sitting there.
The house is almost dead quiet except for the sputtering and occasionally hiss of a log collapsing in the fireplace. Somewhere, a clock ticks. It feels almost surreal to have Peeta on the couch just a few feet away when for so long he's been trapped in the arena.
Sometime later, he shifts a little. I've been staring off into space, leaning against the wall, but suddenly I'm alert. Peeta's eyes are moving behind their lids and his chest rises and falls more rapidly now. Abruptly, his eyes fly open, searching around frantically.
"Katniss?" he whispers. "Katniss!"
"Peeta?" I touch his forehead, brushing the sweaty curls away. "Peeta, it's me."
He looks terrorized as his wild eyes focus on my face. "I'm okay," he says automatically. "You should go home."
"I will," I promise. Glancing out the window, I see that the darkness is starting to lift. The loaves will need to be put in the oven now.
My son struggles to a sitting position. "Go, it's okay."
Sighing, I straighten up. "Come down to the bakery if you feel up to it."
He nods, but I have a feeling he won't come. Because there's something scarier than an amputated leg that's come out of these Games. He's haunted.