The smell of freshly baked bread rouses me. The spot beside me has gone cold but I can still see the dent in the pillow made by Peeta's head. I can still hear his question echoing in my heart. "You love me? Real or not real?"
"Real," I had answered and it was only when I had said it that I started to realize the nature of that love. It was more than a survivor's bond, more than the sharing of nightmares, more than the desire to keep him alive. It was a need to live. Peeta had become as necessary to me as breath. And it wasn't as Gale had said that I needed Peeta in order to survive. It was that I needed Peeta in order to love. And what was the point in living without love? Did I love Gale? Certainly! But never in the way he demanded. No, maybe that isn't fair. Never in the way that he wanted. Each touch of our lips felt familial in a way, as if we actually were cousins. I felt safe with Gale. I've never felt safe with Peeta because he disarms me in a way no one else ever has and I don't know what to do without my weapon.
"The train brought in half a dozen more folks." Greasy Sae's voice carries up the stairs from the kitchen below..
"Haymitch will be in a good mood for the next couple weeks," I hear Peeta say.
"Got the chickens I asked for but ain't turnin' em loose without an enclosure. Don't trust that one." I don't have to be in the kitchen to know that she's talking about Buttercup.
"Can you take this up to Katniss? I'll go and greet our new neighbors." Peeta asks
A few minutes later, I hear the front door shut followed by a knock on my bedroom door.
"It's open," I call.
"Rise and shine," Greasy says as she crosses the room with a tray in her hands. She sets it on the table and pulls open the curtains. "Beautiful day and we got coffee in the shipment."
I wrinkle my nose never having come to love the stuff. "Sugar?" I ask.
"Only a pound."
I sigh knowing that it'll have to last the five of us a month. Oh well, exile is exile after all. But I've never needed the luxuries of the Capitol.
"I got the chickens. Well, they sent three anyway. Half of what I asked for. Still no goat. Gotta make due with that powdered milk. Well, eat up. Peeta's orders."
When Greasy has left, I swing my legs out of bed and place my bare feet on the hardwood floor. I glance back at Peeta's pillow and wish for a minute he was here instead of the tray Greasy brought up.
Peeta has worked miracles with our meager end of month provisions. The bowl of oats is topped with wild blueberries, a dollop of honey, and a bright green leaf adds another splash of color. There is no butter for the slice of sourdough but there's a tiny cup of mulberry jam. And next to the cup of elderberry tea is a perfect orange primrose bursting with yellow accents.
He's an artist, doesn't matter the medium. He can make anything beautiful. Even me.
I pick up the oatmeal and dig in as I move to the window. Sunlight glints off of Peeta's golden hair as he talks to the newcomers out on the avenue.
Not newcomers really. I recognize them from before. I don't know the names of the younger couple with the two kids but the father I remember from the mines. I think he was in Gale's crew. The children are young, too young to have been reaped. The realization that they'll never know that horror causes my throat to tighten and I have to wait a few minutes before I can resume eating the porridge. The older couple I know from town. Dugan Shane the tanner and his wife Sally. Dugan used to buy hides from me. Dugan can turn a rabbit into the softest, most delicate gloves you've ever seen. I only know this because Madge once let me wear a pair of hers. I wonder why the Shanes have come back to District 12. There's not much of a market here to buy his wares. And with the train going out only once a month until more repairs are made, he will have limited access to the other districts and to the Capitol. I think, as he hobbles alongside Peeta, home is home.
As Peeta directs the couples to the empty victor houses across the way, Haymitch comes up the street carefully balancing two big boxes. One, I know, contains his monthly rations and the other is undoubtedly, a box of booze. Not that any of our lives had been easy post-Arena but the one thing we had going for us before the Quarter Quell were our bountiful victor stipends. With the new government struggling to rebuild and the districts in complete disarray, our rations now feel a lot like living in District 13. It's a good thing I can hunt and Peeta can bake. We won't go hungry. But 12 is a long way from being able to support more than a handful of people. There are the mines, of course, but they won't really be needed now that the country has access to District 13's nuclear energy. They'll be hard pressed to find anyone willing to sink money into the mines. The risks far outweigh the rewards where private industry is concerned. And that looks like where we are headed once stability is returned, or at least that's what they are saying in the Capital. Not that I pay much attention to the news but Peeta watches every evening, faithfully and he relays the more interesting tidbits to me on the nights that he visits. Last night was the first night he stayed over. I hope it will continue. But I know he still doesn't fully trust himself around me. I was surprised he agreed to stay, unguarded. And I wonder how early he got up and went into the kitchen. I wonder if he left the bed to distract himself, to sort out what was real and not real.
Buttercup is sunning in a patch of light that streams through the kitchen window. When I sit my tray down on the counter, he rolls onto his back as if he wants me to scratch his belly. "Not a chance," I scowl at him as Greasy Sae comes in through the back door carrying in a load of kitchen towels. I've told her that the dryer in the laundry room works just fine but she's used to hanging hers out on a line and so that's what she's continued to do since she took over my kitchen. I point to the laundry room.
"Sunshine gets 'em cleaner," she says as she starts folding them, snapping each one in the air before going through her folding pattern. Funny, I never really thought much about Greasy's hygienic practices but she keeps a tight ship in this kitchen. Maybe it was just the Hob that was grimy and not Greasy herself. I start rinsing my plates and Greasy waves me off. She's probably right, I hardly know where anything is and I'd just make a mess of her well organized machine. I don't argue and instead make my way out into the backyard where I see Greasy's three chickens still cooped up in their travel cages. Greasy's granddaughter sits next to them dropping earthworms one by one into the cage.
Walking through the Seam is still difficult but we need fencing and I happen to know where some is laying around unused. When I reach the barrier, I instinctively listen for the hum even though I know there's no juice running to the wires. The only electricity in all of District 12 is what powers the Victor's Village. It was the only area undamaged by the bombs. The government was kind enough to make sure utilities were restored to my place of exile. Although it took a couple of weeks for them to repair the lines between here and District 6. Peeta says we will be getting a new system once the whole country is brought online with 13s nuclear electricity. Even though Coin is gone, I'm sometimes still fearful of the power 13 holds. Who's to stop them from turning it against us all? In terms of resources, they came out of the war in a far better shape than the rest of the districts and they are militarized. I try not to spend too much time thinking about it but after two stents in the arena and the march on the Capitol it's hard not to see the bogeyman around every corner.
The fence that used to mark the boundary between District 12 and the woods lies in disarray. Parts of it are still standing bare as ever, other sections are covered with fast-growing vines and weeds. And some panels lay strewn across the ground where the Meadow meets the woods. But the woods are beginning to encroach making the terrain barrier less obvious than before. Already I see pine saplings dotting the Meadow.. If left untended, the Meadow will become another casualty of the war. I hear a twig snap and my head pops up instinctively, my eyes start scanning the treeline, my hand moves to my quiver. The white spots of a fawn stand out against the rich green foliage. I watch its tail wag happily as it roots around its mother's underbelly and latches onto her teat. I release the arrow from my fingers and turn my attention back to the task at hand.
I have to clear the weeds but I manage to find four good sturdy panels of fencing and stack them on top of one another. I strip another section of standing fence of its vines and tie the stack together to make pulling them back to the village easier. I gather more vines then sit to braid them into a rope for pulling the load. But I can't braid. I start but then the tears start falling from my eyes. Instead of the dark green vine all I can see are the golden strands of Prim's hair. Knowing that I'll never braid her hair again sets me to sobbing. I wipe the snot from my nose with the back of my hand. I want to scream. I want to wail. But I won't. I don't. I just sit there crying and sniffing as silently as possible. I don't know why, there's no one to hear. The deer ran off when I started pulling up the fences. The village is clear on the other side of town. If the Capitol had surveillance cameras posted out here, they are now out of disuse. But I still feel like I'm under a microscope. If Gale were here, he'd pull me into his shoulder. The smell of woodfire on his shirt would comfort me. He would let me sit in my pain for a minute then he'd crack a joke to lighten my mood. He understood my pain. He had his own pain. We shared the pain of our lost fathers. That's who we were. I encircle my arms around my middle, crying for all that is lost. As I hug and rock myself, the words of the lullabye begin to fall from my lips.
Deep in the meadow. Under the willow.
A bed of grass. A soft green pillow.
I wipe tears from my eyes and look out across the meadow and I see them. A patch of dandelions, two golden buds have entwined around each other as they vie for their place in the sun. I sit up straight and compose myself. I realize that I don't need Gale anymore. Gale shared my pain but Peeta shares my hope.