It's been three weeks since a handful of nightlock berries brought Katniss and Peeta a first ever dual victory in Hunger Games history. I'm sitting across from Mrs. Everdeen, teacups balanced on our knees discussing things we would rather not. She doesn't strike you on first impression as being particularly strong, but the truth is that she's survived the loss of her husband, the reaping of her youngest, and the recent Games, and she's still functioning - something I'm not so sure I - or my own mother - would be able to do in her place.
"Ms. Trinket," she begins, placing her cup on the coffee table.
"Effie, please," I said, but she doesn't acknowledge that. Not that I really expect her to. She strikes me, too, as a no-nonsense woman, not one with a lot of patience for false friendship. Not that I wouldn't like to be her friend, but we both know that's impossible.
"...I'd like to thank you for all the help you've given my daughter. I know it's your job, but I'm sure at least some of your efforts helped Katniss survive."
This is flattering, but I'm not at all sure it's true. Although since the Games ended, I've heard more than one similar suggestion. I expect Haymitch selects something from his arsenal of rude remarks, but I just blush and fumble around for a suitably modest (and honest) reply.
"Well, she's a remarkable young woman in her own right. Both Haymitch and I were impressed from the start with her. She's so..." I trail off, fishing for an appropriate word. Assertive? Headstrong? Infuriating? None quite fit. So I settle for, "I can see where she got her strength from. I can't imagine what that must have been like, especially after what (almost) happened to Prim."
She nods, picks the cup back up and stares inside like she's reading my fortune. "Well, I'll be honest with you - if you won't repeat this?" I shake my head in assent. "I'm still in shock that my daughter has managed to survive. I'll be able to see her soon, after the Capitol finishes performing its medical magic." She grimaces, and I remember that she, too, is a physician of sorts, a skilled herbalist and healer who is well-known in District 12 as a miracle worker. But what must she think of the Capitol doctors who can restore her daughter's hearing, smooth and polish her skin until it's again scar-free, and even provide Peeta with a new leg (though he's elected for an artificial one)? What kind of healer would she have been with their training?
Realizing my attention is drifting, I yank it back into place and make sure I'm watching Mrs. Everdeen with the appropriate amount of sympathy. Which I do feel, it's just that I'm still fatigued from my trip to her district. I've already visited the Mellarks. One down, and one to go. Not that means I don't care about what she's going to tell me.
At first, I think she's not going to speak after all, but then she does.
"Tell me the truth. Do you think Katniss is really in love with that boy?"
Her question drops like a stone in a well, sending splashes flying up. I struggle to keep my composure while my mind races. Should I tell her what I (and Haymitch) think is the truth? Will that put her at risk with President Snow? I can't possibly be responsible for an ounce more of pain this family has suffered. But somehow, I find myself telling her what I believe.
"Frankly, I don't. I think she cares a great deal for him, but as a friend. Of course, they've now got an unbreakable bond, but as for true love, I don't think so." There. I took a risk, but I think, after all the games that have been played, a little honesty is in order.
Mrs. Everlark nods. "That's what I thought. I know my daughter, and I would know if she were truly in love with someone. However, she's now got to pretend that she is, and that's not something that comes to Katniss easily. Pretense, I mean. She's like her father in that regard."
I gulp. "I know she's not good at acting. But Haymitch is going to have a talk with her - as am I, when she's better - about the importance of coming off convincingly as boyfriend and girlfriend." That's a clumsy way to put it, but using the word "lovers," feels inappropriate even risqué.
"Good. That's settled then." Mrs. Everlark smiles at me, but I can tell she's faking it. "Though, let's hope as the mother, I have at least some say." I can't tell whether or not she's joking. "More tea?"
"No thanks, I'm fine." I grit my teeth and jump ahead to more business. "It's not for awhile yet, but the Victory Tour is going to be what I would imagine an ordeal for Katniss - and Peeta. But both Haymitch and I are here anytime if she needs us." I reach into my handbag and extract two pieces of paper, both of which I've had since I began my job as mentor but have never actually used. "This is an official congratulatory letter from President Snow. And this is the key to your new home in the Victors' Village."
She takes both like they're rotten banana peels, which I suppose in a way, they are. "Well, thank you. I'm sure it's all just lovely. Not that we'll have many neighbors."
"No," I say. "Just Haymitch." Who may be worse than having no neighbors at all.' What a lonely place it must be to live.
Sensing that she'd rather this visit was over, I rise and pull on my coat. "Well, I must be off, Mrs. Everdeen. Thank you very much for meeting with me. I'm sure your schedule is as busy as mine. If you have any questions or concerns. please don't hesitate to call me. My number's written at the top of the letter," I add lamely. "Any time, feel free, it's not a problem at all." Now I'm babbling. Some situations, Mother, cannot be navigated effortlessly, regardless of all the etiquette in the world.
Closing the door behind me, the air is sharp, and the forecast, I remember, is for snow. Hurrying to meet the train back to the Capitol, I feel as if I've emerged from a dark tunnel. My fellow Mentors have told me that meeting with the Victors' parents is hard the first time, but you soon get used to it. The Victory Tour, they say, is quite a lark, getting to see all the districts. Well, Haymitch is the only one of us who knows for sure - and if I know him, I suspect he has a different view.
I see the steam curling into the air and hear the whistle, as the train lurches to a halt, and dash over to the platform. No one is there except a porter, who gives me a polite but disinterested nod. "Your baggage, Miss?"
I hoist the single bag. "Just this. Don't worry, I can get it." Usually, I don't travel light, but since this wasn't an overnight visit, I took only what I needed. The porter nods again, as I step into the warm train car. "Have a good trip home, then," he says, as the door closes, and I hurry to my seat. As I settle in, I sigh in relief. Compared to Katniss's mother, Peeta's parents were much easier, more gracious. Despite the fact that thanks to our President's barbaric games, their son now has an artificial leg and doubtless will suffer what most Victors do: anxiety, nightmares, even memory problems. At least, I can't see either Katniss or Peeta taking to drink the way Haymitch did. As far as I know, too, the President has not done what he sometimes does and "disposed" of certain loved ones - as a warning that no one is safe from his reach - not even in victory.
I expect that the Tour will be hard for Katniss and Peeta, as well as settling back into their old routines. I expect it won't be easy on either of them to come face-to-face with the families of the Tributes that they killed.
I'm so busy expecting things for other people that the last thing I expect is what happens the next day.
End