Chapter Text
I knocked on the door rapidly, stamping my feet in a futile effort to warm them. The winter had been an especially bitter one, and game was scarce, and stringy when I managed to catch it. I only had two scraggly squirrels to trade to the baker. I only hoped he was his usual generous self in this lean winter.
The door swung open, immediately flooding me with light, warmth, and the mouth-watering yeasty smell of fresh bread.
But it was not the baker who stood there.
“Katniss, come in,” said the baker’s youngest son.
Blinking in surprise, I wasn’t about to refuse the offer to step out of the waning, cold day. I stiffly stepped into the backroom, expecting to see Peeta’s father, or maybe even one of his older brothers; but it was completely empty.
“I didn’t know you knew my name, “ I muttered, trying to fill the emptiness.
Peeta shut the door behind me, and with his back still to me, quietly said, “I know your name.”
He turned around, and I was surprised to see a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks.
I shuffled my foot back and forth, not sure how to proceed. For so many years, a thank you had been on the tip of my tongue whenever I looked at this boy, but now that I had the chance to express my gratitude, I found it impossible to voice. He had never— not even once— made any indication that he was aware of my existence after that one incident. While I was struggling behind a barrier of pride and shyness and trying to think of a way to pay him back somehow, I thought he had been floating along in a happy oblivion, unaware of the skinny girl he had once saved. I was wrong, it would seem. Could it be that just as I had never forgotten the boy with the bread, he had never forgotten the girl almost drowning in the pouring rain and her own starvation?
I forced myself to make eye contact with him when I asked, “Is your dad here?”
Without looking away, he said, “No, it’s just me here today.”
I sighed impatiently, my embarrassment making me eager to get away. “I have two squirrels for him. “
“Oh,” he looked almost relieved, “I can take them. How many loaves does he usually give you?”
I eyed him speculatively. Was he not going to haggle with me? “One loaf,” I finally said.
He smiled, and went to the front to go fetch the loaf of bread. I looked around the kitchen as I waited. The room, despite probably being bigger than my whole house, had a slightly cluttered feel. Perhaps it was because there were so many things. A table and chairs, for the family, a large sink, many bowls and utensils, and— my mouth watered slightly— jars of ingredients for the baking. I saw nuts, dried apples, and raisins all there for the taking. Bags of flour and sugar lay tucked away. It was a very homey room, and I would have guessed, had I not known that the mother that dominated here, that a very happy and content family dwelled and worked here.
But I did know better. I could never forget the sight of her hitting him, just for burning one loaf of bread.
Peeta bustled back into the kitchen, holding a bundle in his arms.
“Here we go,” he said, as he handed it to me. “You know, my dad says you’re the best shot— clean through the eye every time.”
I ignored his last comment as I looked down at the bundle, and saw, to my dismay, that he had given me more than I asked for. One golden brown loaf of crisp white bread, but also a loaf of something with red stuff in it. It smelled like heaven, and I guessed it was expensive.
I looked up, glaring. “Your dad gives me one loaf of regular bread and that’s it. I don’t need this stuff, your— your charity!”
He looked shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief as he gaped at me.
“It’s not charity, Katniss,” he sputtered. “That cranberry and orange loaf hasn’t sold and we made it yesterday morning. It’s stale, and no one will buy it now. I don’t consider stale bread charity; I’m just paying you for the squirrels.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but thought better of it. If he was stupid enough to give away perfectly good bread, a day old or no, in exchange for some skinny squirrels, I wasn’t going to stop him.
I shoved the bread in my bag and handed him the squirrels. I turned around to go back out the door, but his voice arrested me.
“It’s so cold out there,” he said in a rush. “Would you like some tea to warm up before you leave?”
I turned around and gave him a disbelieving look. As if this whole encounter hadn’t been awkward enough.
“Tea?”
He winced a little at my sarcastic tone, but nodded his head.
“No, thank you,” I said flatly, and without a backward glance at him I opened the door, and rushed out, slamming it behind me.
I had to stifle a gasp as the shock of the cold air hit me. I curled my arms tightly around myself in an attempt to warm up, but even still, I knew it would be a long walk home.
____________________
That night, when I bit into the cranberry bread Peeta had given me, I couldn’t stifle a small moan. It tasted even better than it smelled. The tartness of the cranberries combined with the fragrant citrus of the orange was delectable. I had offered no explanation to Prim and my mother regarding the extra bread, and they knew better than to ask. We just sat around savoring every delicious bite.
As I lay in bed that night, shivering from the coldness of the room, I replayed again and again my encounter with Peeta. So many times during school his eyes would just briefly flick in my direction before darting away again, as though he was looking right through me. And yet earlier he offered me tea, as though he wanted me to linger in the kitchen. I couldn’t explain his behavior, and I couldn’t explain why that encounter lingered in my mind, why my thoughts drifted unerringly to how he looked in that kitchen, asking me to stay.
____________________
For the next week, life went on as usual. I went into the woods every day to hunt, and came back shaking with cold every night. Even the squirrels were hard to find these days, and hunger gnawed at my belly constantly. I knew Prim and my mother felt the same, and it worried me that Prim’s blonde hair was losing some of its luster and I could easily count her ribs when she undressed. I knew that I needed to think of a solution, and fast, or else we wouldn’t last the winter. We still had two months of snowy weather left, and if things continued as they were, our prospects looked grim.
With a shudder, I realized I might have to finally yield to every child of the Seam’s fate and start working in the mines. I had avoided it in the year since finishing school, and I had just been starting to think that maybe I could scratch out a living without it. If I did work in the mines, I could still hunt on Sundays, like Gale. That hadn’t changed. Gale and I still met in the woods every Sunday morning, where we worked in silent harmony to snare and hunt game to last us.
In the past, the camaraderie between us had always been easy and uncomplicated. Lately, there had been a subtle tension about him. His words often sounded constrained, and there were moments when his reticence matched my own. Not that he had been chatty before, of course.
Despite Gale’s newfound uncommunicativeness, we worked as proficiently together as we always had. Though when we traded in town, for some reason that I didn’t bother exploring or explaining to him, I asked Gale to do all the trades at the bakery while I went to other merchants. He had shot me a shrewd look the first time I asked, but I made sure to keep my face expressionless.
I didn’t want to see Peeta again so soon. I could still taste the cranberry and orange bread on my tongue. We had made the loaf last several days, and even stale, its flavor was strong and fragrant.
____________________
One day as I was walking through town, I saw him chatting and laughing with Delly Cartwright. I wondered if they were going to have a toasting, these two golden-haired townies. I sped up my pace.
____________________
Otho Mellark, the baker, died. It was very sudden— his heart, people said. It was obvious the whole of the Merchant Quarter mourned, but since the Seam residents couldn’t afford fancy bakery bread, there wasn’t much of a stir. My mother, when she heard the news, seemed more subdued than usual, more prone to stare off into space. I realized that she must have known Mr. Mellark as a child. She had been the daughter of the town’s apothecaries, and probably knew the Mellark family quite well.
It was rumored that Mrs. Mellark was moving in with her oldest son and his wife in the tailor shop. It seemed that Peeta would be living by himself and running the bakery single-handed. I wondered if he and Delly Cartwright would marry soon, or if he was too grief-stricken.
Out of a morbid curiosity, I wandered into town. I made a pretense of going into the cobbler’s shop and looking at some boots I could never afford, all the while glancing out the window at the bakery across the street. Though the lights were on, I couldn’t see any sign of Peeta. I chided myself, wondering what exactly I was expecting to see. It’s not as if Peeta would be out in the street, prostrate with grief. But I wondered and thought about him more than I cared to admit to myself.
____________________
“Katniss, why can’t we stop and look at the cakes? They’re so beautiful,” Prim crooned, as I hurried her past the bakery one afternoon.
I stopped abruptly, and said, “We don’t have time, Prim. We have to get home.”
“No, we don’t. You just don’t like being anywhere near the bakery.”
Her perceptiveness was surprising. I often forgot that my sweet little sister was fifteen years old, and forming a strong will of her own. I thought that though she was mostly a replica of our mother, hints of our father’s strong personality sometimes came out in her usually malleable and peacemaking personality.
I looked back at the window display, showing several beautifully decorated cakes with icing flowers and candied fruits on top. My mouth watered as I stared at one crisply white cake decorated with candied lemons. I remembered the time my father had bought a lemon at the Hob, and how my mother had made lemonade with it. I remembered the tartness of the fruit and the sweetness of the sugar.
As I stared at the lemon cake, large hands plucked the cake next to it from the window display, and I found myself staring into Peeta Mellark’s wide-eyed gaze. His mouth opened slightly, as though he wanted to say something, and I felt myself flushing deeply. An embarrassed heat spread through my body, making my scarf feel as if it was trying to suffocate me.
He had caught me staring hungrily at that cake. He had seen, once again, that despite my best efforts, I was worthy of pity, since unlike his merchant friends, I could never afford such a luxury. Without a word to Prim, I started stalking away from the bakery, the only thought in my head to get away from that place as soon as possible.
It was only halfway to our house that I realized I had abandoned Prim, and making to turn back, found her a few paces behind me, a puzzled expression on her face.
She caught up with me, and gave me a sidelong glance.
“Is it because of Peeta?” she asked me quietly.
I whipped my head in her direction, and barked, “Is what because of Peeta?”
“Is Peeta the reason you avoid the bakery?”
“No, of course not. I just don’t want to be caught staring by his mother and chewed out for loitering. That’s all, Little Duck.”
I knew she didn’t believe me, especially because Mrs. Mellark was no longer working at the bakery, but she had the good grace not to say anything.
____________________
When I woke up that morning, I hadn’t expected it to be anything but an ordinary day.
I marched double time to the Mellark bakery, boiling anger warding off the chill of the morning. I was tired of being his charity case. I don’t know what kind of game he was playing, but I was ready to be done with it. I would tell him once and for all to leave me alone.
I hovered by the apple tree in the back of their house, the one I had stood under so many years before, and contemplated a plan of action. I couldn’t march up to the house and knock, because any member of the household might answer, and without squirrels to trade, I didn’t have an excuse to be there. Perhaps Peeta had some chores that required him to be outside for a period of time. If I waited just a little, I might be able to catch him.
Time passed, and he didn’t come out. I kept craning my neck to try to see through the windows if he was alone in the kitchen or not, but I saw nothing.
“Katniss?”
I whipped around, surprised I hadn’t heard him walk up behind me; he wasn’t exactly subtle.
Peeta stood there, bundled in coat, scarf, and cap. He was holding an empty burlap sack.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” he stammered.
I huffed a breath out, trying my best to look formidable despite my red nose and ears and shivering body.
“Peeta,” I said, holding up the box containing the lemon and vanilla cake, “What’s this?”
He blushed bright scarlet, “I noticed you looking at it yesterday. I thought you— and your mother and sister, of course— might enjoy it.”
I scowled, “I thought I told you I don’t want charity. I don’t want your stupid lemon cake. We’re doing just fine without the leavings of some spoiled merchant boy!”
For the first time since I’d known him, I saw a glint of anger in his eye. I wondered if he would shout at me. But he didn’t, just walked slightly closer. So close I noticed a couple freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his incredibly long eyelashes.
“If you don’t want my charity, how about becoming my partner in the bakery?” Despite the hint of anger I had seen in his eyes, his voice was as soft-spoken as ever.
I gaped at him, quite literally. My mouth opened, and I didn’t even know how to begin to comprehend what he had just asked.
“What does that mean,” I gasped, “like…run errands for you or something?”
“No,” his voice was even softer, “I mean becoming my wife.”
When I woke up that morning, I hadn’t expected to accept a proposal of marriage that day.
____________________
Before heading home to break the news to Mom and Prim about the wedding, I had a couple stops to make.
First, I stopped by the mayor’s house. I knocked on the back door– trying desperately not to think about another back door I had knocked on recently– and it was only a few moments before it opened to reveal Madge.
“Oh, hi, Katniss,” she said, surprised to see me in the dead of winter. I had only ever shown up at her door in the summer holding a bucket of strawberries.
She shivered against the cold and instructed me to come in. I did so, and we stood together just inside the spotless kitchen.
I looked down at the ground, not sure how to start.
“Madge,” I said, mentally girding my loins, “I’m getting married tomorrow and I would like you to be there.”
Her mouth literally dropped open in surprise.
“Oh,” she stuttered, “um, I- that’s great. Who’s the groom?” The last bit came out a bit quavering, and I wondered at that.
“Well, it’s Peeta Mellark,” I responded quietly.
She caught her breath a little, and I looked up at her to see her smiling.
“Congratulations,” she said, and there was more warmth in her voice, “I’m happy for you, Katniss.”
I mumbled a thanks and readied myself to leave, not really sure how to make small talk after inviting her to my upcoming nuptials.
Just as I went to open the door, her voice followed me. “Wait, what time should I be there?”
“Two o’clock,” I replied, and stepped back out into the bitter cold.
I headed back in the direction of the Seam, dreading the next stop. I had to tell Gale, and I had no idea how he was going to react. Sometimes he seemed like he wanted our relationship to be different, but then he would pull back and be all distant and cold. He was unpredictable and temperamental, but he was still my closest friend and hunting partner. I had to invite him and his family.
After knocking on the door, Rory answered. He called Gale’s name as I waited on the stoop. Rory almost impatiently told me to come inside, but I said I would wait there. Gale came out, looking puzzled at my presence on a weekday. He still had a smudge of coal dust on his cheek after his shift at the mines, but I didn’t say anything.
Deciding the best course of action was to plunge right in, just as I had with Madge, I spared no small talk and instead said, “I’m getting married tomorrow, Gale, and I would like for you to be there.”
He scoffed a little, “Getting married? Who are you marrying?”
“Peeta Mellark,” I responded quietly.
“Ah, baker boy finally plucked up some courage, huh?” His tone was utterly dismissive.
I bristled a little. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I muttered, a little thrown by his reaction.
He shrugged, “Yeah, you’re right. I have no idea why you would marry the kid when you’ve shown absolutely no interest in anyone before. Who can say, Katniss?”
I drew back a little, stung that he called me Katniss instead of Catnip. I straightened my shoulders, refusing to be embarrassed by my decision.
“Well,” I asked, “are you coming or not? It’s at two.”
He drew a deep breath and responded, “We’ll be there if we can.”
Not wanting to leave with such resentment hanging between us I said, “I just made the best decision I could for Prim, Gale. You can’t begrudge me that.”
He looked at me closely, and then shrugged again, stiffly and tensely.
“Maybe not,” he resentfully admitted. “I just don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded, feeling a little prickle of unease.
A twisted little smile that looked more like a grimace crossed his face, as he said, “I mean that maybe you and your fiance might have different ideas of what your relationship is going to be.”
“Look, Gale, I’m in no mood for your riddles and insinuations. I’ll see you at two tomorrow or not.”
I turned to go, and heard the door close behind me.
As I left the Hawthornes’ house, I felt a weight had lifted off my shoulders. Even though Gale had been trying to needle me with his cryptic words, I felt he did truly understand the reasons behind my decision. He was willing to do anything for his family, and he knew I would do the same.
____________________
My mother asked me, when I came home and calmly told her I would need a dress for my toasting, what I was doing. A part of me wanted to lash out and scream that I was providing for Prim, as she apparently could not. But I didn’t. I just said that Peeta Mellark had asked me to marry him and I had said yes.
“Mellark? The baker’s boy? But…do you love him?” Her tone was more energetic than I was used to. She was looking more alive than she had in some time, her tired blue eyes becoming animated and brighter.
“He’s always been nice to me and I want to marry him,” was my cryptic reply. She shot me a calculating glance, and simply said that she would find me a dress to wear for the toasting.
I broached another topic. “Peeta said you and Prim could live with us, Mom.”
She cocked her head a little, contemplative. Then her gaze slid around the little house where she had lived with my father all of their marriage, and I knew her answer before she even said it.
“No, I don’t think so, Katniss. It wouldn’t be right to invade your privacy while you set up house. And, besides, I don’t want to leave this home.”
I didn’t want my disappointment of not being able to live with Prim show, so I simply said, “Alright, Mom.”
Just as I turned to go find Prim, I heard my mother’s voice say softly, “You know, I knew his father growing up. The boy seems like him: kind.”
I hadn’t known that my mother had known Mr. Mellark. I supposed it made sense that she would be friends with the merchants, since my mother was a merchant’s daughter. I contemplated for a moment what it might have been like, had my mother not run off with my father. She probably would have married a merchant, and I wouldn’t be here. But I knew why my mother had chosen my father. Burdock Everdeen had been darkly handsome, with a laughing mouth, and a singing voice like no other. I remember how entranced my mother looked whenever he would sing, and how soft her eyes were whenever she looked at him. I had never planned on getting married, but I felt a slight pang that I would never feel that utter fascination with my husband; but then, that would be a good thing. I couldn’t be hurt by him as my mother had been, the day she found out she was a widow.
____________________
Prim had been ecstatic when I told her the news, and after she finally settled down and fell asleep that night, I huddled close to her warmth and lay awake, mentally replaying Peeta’s proposal.
After he had asked me to marry him, I had stared at him like he was a lunatic before answering, “Are you crazy?”
He shook his head, and said, “Think about it, Katniss. I need help in the bakery, but I can’t afford to pay anyone. I would be getting the help I need, and you would be getting a regular source of bread without having to risk your life going over the fence. Not that you can’t keep going if you want to…” he trailed off.
I had stared at him, torn between just running away and wanting to scream at him for just assuming he could ask me to marry him like it was not a life-altering thing he had just done. I just stood there, not saying anything.
Peeta tried again, “See, if you help me run the bakery, we always get the leftovers. I mean, the bread is stale by the time we get to eat it, because we only eat what doesn’t sell. But, it’s not bad. And your mother and sister could live with us. You wouldn’t need to worry about them.”
The only thing I could think to reply was, “But why me?”
He sheepishly answered, “Why not you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just shook my head in bewilderment.
His face paled and he looked crestfallen. I realized that my gesture had answered him, and I hastily said, “I just don’t understand why you’re thinking of this now.”
He shrugged sadly and said, “Well, you know my dad died…”
“Yeah,” I agreed uncomfortably.
“Well, I guess it seemed like a good idea,” he finished quietly.
I looked away, over at some trees to the side of the house. I thought about what he had said: I would work in the bakery, have bread to eat everyday for myself and my family, and my sister and mother could live with us. Really, I realized reluctantly, it was ideal. This winter had been so cold, and game so scarce. Who knew if we could last the winter. And what would next winter look like? Prim was so thin.
Just thinking of her ribs and hollow cheeks made my decision for me.
“Peeta,” I said, “I’ll marry you.”
It was as if a light had switched on behind his eyes. They brightened and his face lit up.
“You will?” he breathed.
“Yes,” I replied shakily, “I’ll marry you tomorrow, if you want.”
“How about two o’clock?” he asked, a smile breaking across his face.
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll see you at the Justice Building.”
I quickly turned and fled, not glancing behind me even once, a tiny part of me afraid he would change his mind.
____________________
The day of my marriage was the coldest day of the season yet. I woke up and could see my breath in the air, and I was grateful for the warmth of Prim next to me in the bed. I lingered for a moment before rising, shivers wracking me.
I found my mother in the kitchen, already heating a large kettle on the stove for my bath. When I walked in, she smiled wanly at me.
“I was just getting your bath ready, Katniss. Use the nice soap today.”
Once in the bath, the warm water a sharp contrast to the cold air, I scrubbed vigorously with a bar of soap made from Lady’s milk and wild chamomile leaves I had picked beyond the fence. It was a delicate, sleepy smell, and rubbing it over my breasts and at the thatch of hair between my legs felt especially significant today. I was the only person to have ever touched these areas of my body. It was strange to think of a man– any man, let alone gentle Peeta– touching those parts of me tonight. I rinsed quickly and rose out of the bath, not wishing to dwell on those thoughts.
A dress was laid out for me: my Reaping Day dress. It felt a little morbid to be wearing it today, but it was by far the nicest dress I owned.
Prim bounced into the room, beaming at me.
“Today is the day! Oh, Katniss, I’m so happy for you.” She beamed at me, and I did my best to reciprocate. It undoubtedly looked a little pained.
“Oh, let me do your hair, Katniss,” she begged.
My mother breezed over, holding the hairbrush, and said, “Goodness, Prim, let your sister breathe. Well, Katniss,” she looked over at me, “perhaps Prim could go find some holly berries outside for your hair.”
My mother seemed to be trying to send me a message with her eyes, and I sighed, knowing what was coming.
“Prim, maybe I can brush my hair while you go outside, and then you can braid it.”
Prim shot a look between the two of us; she knew what conversation Mom and I would be having, but she seemed to sense it was not the time to test boundaries by arguing to stay. She bundled in a coat and scarf and left.
As soon as the door clicked behind Prim, Mom sat down next to me.
“Katniss, I know that we don’t have the kind of relationship where we always confide in each other, but it’s your wedding day, and I need to- to prepare you for what married life is like.”
My face burned, and even in the chilly room I felt hot and sweating all of a sudden.
“Mom,” I barked harshly, “I know what happens between men and women. You don’t need to explain how it works.”
She sighed, and her face was also red. She avoided my eyes. “I know you know the mechanics, but Katniss, I just think you need to know what to expect on an emotional level.”
I wanted to disappear. In order not to look at her, I grabbed the brush and started aggressively passing it through my hair, wincing a little as it caught small snarls.
She started again, “Katniss, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but just remember to keep trying. It may feel a little overwhelming at first, but if you and Peeta keep trying, it will all come together and be something wonderful for both of you. Don’t be afraid to communicate your feelings and preferences.”
I nodded, hoping my show of cooperation would end the lecture sooner.
Her voice caught a little on her next piece of advice, “And, Katniss, if you both respect each other and let your bed be a place of closeness and togetherness, you will find unending joy in marriage. You’ll be able to weather the storms of life together, knowing that you’ll always have each other to come back home to.”
I felt my heart soften, and though still deeply uncomfortable, I heard and saw the wistfulness. She was thinking of my father. I nodded, not sure what to say.
I finished my brush stroke and said quietly, “Thanks, Mom.”
She surreptitiously wiped at her eyes and then said in a louder, falsely cheerful voice, “I’ll go see if Prim has found some holly.”
Minutes later, my hair was braided and pinned on my head, with a little sprig of holly on the side. I thought it looked ridiculous, but they were both cooing at me, so I said nothing.
Before we left the house, my mother drew me aside, producing a small burlap bag. Prim was putting on her coat, and my mother glanced at her to make sure she was distracted.
She handed me the small bag and whispered, “Wild carrot seeds. Chew one after you’re intimate. It should prevent pregnancy.”
Face flaming, I nodded and placed the burlap bag into the old carpet bag that held my clothing and what few belongings I was taking with me to live in Peeta’s house.
Moments later, I left my childhood home. Prim held on to my arm tightly, seemingly pulling me along to the Justice Building.
When we entered, a small group of people was already there. Madge smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but think she looked more of a bride than I did that day. She was wearing a pretty blue dress and her blonde hair fell in waves down her back. She gave me a little nod of her head, and I turned my attention to the other light-haired people in the room.
I recognized Peeta’s brothers and their wives (it felt almost comical to be marrying a man when I didn’t even know the names of his family members), but they didn’t look happy to see me. They all looked rather solemn, and no one stepped forward to make introductions. I noticed Peeta’s mother wasn’t there. All the better.
I didn’t see the Hawthornes, though I wasn’t altogether surprised. Gale would have to work today, just as any other day, and he had been caustic the day before.
At last, my gaze fell on Peeta. He smiled tremulously at me. He was wearing a clean, though faded, button up shirt and slacks. I almost grinned at his hair. He had attempted to tame the curls by combing them down with water. His curls were slowly bouncing up again, giving him a slightly boyish air. Though as tall as his brothers, his eyes were so rounded and innocent that he seemed too much of a child to be the groom today. But there was no mistaking the wide shoulders and the bearing: this was a grown man, not the little boy who threw me bread ages ago.
I wasn’t sure if I should say hello, or wave, or go stand by him, so I did an awkward combination of all three. I started walking to him, froze, jerked my hand slightly, and said, “Hm.”
Peeta opened his mouth, but just as he started to speak, someone cleared their throat. We all turned to see a tall, gray-haired man on the other side of the room.
“Are you the Mellark-Everdeen party?” We all nodded and murmured. “Very well, follow me through this door and let’s commence the ceremony. Where are the bride and groom?”
Peeta raised his hand, “Here, sir.”
“You started the paperwork?” The gray-haired man had started walking through the door, throwing the question over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Peeta replied, as we all followed the official.
We arrived in the ceremony room. I looked around. It was plain and uninviting.
“Come here, young man,” the official said, and Peeta stepped up, waiting. The official grunted slightly, “Well, where’s the bride?”
I stepped forward, almost tripping over my feet. I stepped next to Peeta. The official looked us over, grimacing slightly. We made quite a pair, no doubt.
“Well, you will finish the paperwork after the ceremony. You have picked your witnesses?”
We glanced at each other and then stared at him blankly.
He sighed impatiently, “It’s not official unless you have witnesses who will sign that they have indeed seen you two wed. Who do you want to witness?”
One of Peeta’s brothers stepped up and clapped Peeta hard on the shoulder, “I will, little brother. Never thought I’d see the day you’d marry the girl.”
I furrowed my brow at that comment. I supposed seeing a merchant man wed a Seam woman was an uncommon occurrence. Before I could think that over more, the official turned to me, “And your witness?”
I glanced behind me, seeing Prim.
“Could my sister be my witness?” I asked quietly.
“No, she’s a minor. Pick someone else,” the official was starting to sound irritated.
“My mother,” I said quietly, and Mom raised her hand to indicate who she was.
“Very well,” the official seemed relieved to get that out of the way. He cleared his throat and spoke the few words to make us man and wife. He asked for our consent. We both consented, and it was done.
The door opened right on cue and a clerk came in, carrying a large registry book. He came over and explained that we now had to sign the book indicating we had joined together in a legal union. We would then receive a copy of a marriage certificate, in case we should ever have need of it. The clerk had just handed the pen over to Peeta to sign when the door slammed open again. A couple people jumped, myself included.
A ragged group of people stood there: the Hawthornes. Hazelle stood there, holding on to little Posy, looking slightly embarrassed. She murmured an apology for their tardiness, and they all tiptoed into the room. Last of all was Gale, looking particularly sullen.
Peeta glanced at Gale, then his gaze flitted over to me, before turning back to the registry book once more. His signature was decorative and distinctive: Peeta Mellark. He passed the pen to me, and I felt just a brush of his warm fingers. I bent down and was just about to sign when I realized something.
I looked up at the clerk and asked a little shakily, “Do I sign with my maiden name or my married name?”
“Maiden,” he answered matter-of-factly, and for the last time, I signed Katniss Everdeen.
____________________
After leaving the Justice Building, our friends and families walked us to the bakery, everyone shivering and walking at a brisk pace to escape the cold. There was no lingering at the door, though Prim started singing the Toasting Song before we shut our door. Voices joined in, though I couldn’t help but notice that Gale chose not to sing. He slouched in the back, looking grim.
As we shut the door, I saw Madge turn her head to stare at Gale with a bemused smirk. And then Peeta and I were alone.
He nodded at me, and then said he would start a fire in the sitting room of the quarters upstairs, as it was so chilly. He ran up the stairs, then called down to me that the warmest place was up there. I walked up the stairs of the bakery to the family quarters. I had never thought I would ever come up here, and admittedly was curious how this merchant family had lived. As I walked into the living room, I saw a worn sofa in front of a large fireplace. There was a single bookshelf with a few books, and a little table in the corner. That was it. It hit me once again that though I had always considered merchant families well off, they were not living in the lap of luxury. District Twelve was difficult for everyone.
Peeta was sitting on the sofa, looking a little nervous, picking at the cuffs of his shirt. He looked up at me and invited me to sit down. I sat, leaving a generous space between us. I looked at the fire, not sure what would happen next.
Glancing at him in the glow of the fire, my bridegroom was tolerably good-looking, certainly not ugly. Considering I would be seeing this man in all stages of dress, that was probably a good thing.
I couldn’t imagine what it would be like, sharing my bed, my life, and my body with him. My parents had had a gentle way about them. By their lingering touches and the way they looked at each other, even a young girl of my age had been able to tell they loved each other. I couldn’t imagine giving myself to Peeta the way my mother had given herself to my father, of bearing Peeta’s touch, and, consequently, his children.
But I could do it. I had to do it. For my sister, I could stand to be touched in that way. I would be able to look at him in my bed and not feel regret.
Peeta looked back at me and smiled gently. “Well, that was quite a day. I imagine you’re hungry… shall we have our toasting?”
I nodded numbly. Our toasting. I had never pictured what my toasting would be like; frankly, I had never really thought I would have one. It had certainly never crossed my mind that I would be toasting Peeta Mellark.
He went downstairs, the stairs creaking merrily, and in a couple minutes was back with a loaf wrapped in a dish towel, and two toasting forks.
He knelt in front of the fire, and said, “Katniss, it’s quite nice down here.”
“Alright,” I croaked, and knelt next to him on the hearth rug. The fire was deliciously warm.
Peeta opened the dish towel, and my breath caught to see the loaf sitting there: orange and cranberry.
He looked up at me with twinkling eyes, and said, “I thought you should try it fresh. It’s my favorite bread we make here. Or,” his eyes dimmed slightly, “I guess my favorite bread I make here.”
He was probably thinking of his father, and to temper his sadness I said, “When you gave us that loaf, it was amazing, Peeta. I can’t wait to try this one.” I did my best to smile.
We skewered slices on the toasting forks, and took turns holding the bread pieces over the flames. Peeta gave me the first bite.
As I bit down, crumbs falling onto the rug around me, I couldn’t help the satisfied moan I made. “Oh, it’s so good,” I murmured.
Peeta said sheepishly, “I promise there will always be bread on our table, even if we do eat the stale loaves.”
Next I raised the slice of orange cranberry bread to his mouth, and only trembled slightly when he lifted his hand to steady mine. He took a bite, and opened his eyes as he chewed. He looked at me solemnly.
We finished the whole loaf in silence, with a little awkwardness between us. This was the first day of the rest of our lives. When we were done, I felt more full than I perhaps ever had. The half loaf of bread was sitting heavily in my stomach, and all of a sudden I felt exhausted.
I must have looked sleepy, because Peeta said he would take me to our room. We went down a little hallway.
He swung the door to the bedroom open with a creak. I stepped in and took in the scarce furnishings of the room: a tall wooden wardrobe, a chair in the corner, a cedar chest at the foot of the bed. The bed. I gulped. It was smaller than I had thought it would be, for some reason, and there was no way I would be able to avoid touching my husband in the night. After… after he had finished with me.
Peeta seemed to share my discomfort, for he wouldn’t look at me when he said, “I’m sorry, there’s just the one bed, and I’m afraid we’ll have to share it since my mother took the other beds with her when she left…”
Seeing his nervousness made me feel a tad braver, so with a voice that didn’t even tremble at all, I said, “That’s fine. I’m your wife now, so it’s only natural.”
He had raised his head while I was talking and was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. He shook himself slightly.
“Well, then I’ll leave you to get ready. I’ll be back in a few minutes. The washroom is just down the hall.”
I nodded, and he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.
Not wanting him to come back with me half-dressed, I hurriedly pulled off the blue dress and changed into a flannel nightgown pulled from my battered carpet bag. Not sure where to put my dirty clothes, as I could see no laundry basket, I shoved the dress back into my bag. I would have to ask Peeta later what to do with my laundry.
All the while I was thinking over his words. I’ll leave you to get ready. Perhaps, a small hopeful voice in me wondered, he meant just for sleeping, not for anything else. Peeta didn’t seem the type to… exercise his husbandly rights against my wishes. I wasn’t ignorant, and I knew that this was a part of marriage. But I hoped he wouldn’t push for it, not tonight, at least. I wondered if Peeta had ever done it before, perhaps with Delly Cartwright, who was always at his side in school. Maybe he had visited the slag heap like so many other merchant boys. The thought made me feel vaguely sick to my stomach.
I washed my face and brushed my teeth in the washroom. I undid my elaborate wedding up-do, pulling the wilted holly leaves out of the braid, and brushed out my hair. My hands hovered then, unsure if I should leave it down, as was my usual habit for sleeping. But that might look like an invitation to Peeta. I braided it again tightly.
Peeta still wasn’t in our room when I got back to it— I could hear him puttering around downstairs in the bakery— and I wasn’t sure if I should sit on the bed and wait for him, or if I should just lie down and try to sleep. I felt very tired, and the bed suddenly looked inviting, covered with a thick patchwork quilt. Our blankets at home were never this thick, and I imagined the sheets would be soft.
As I pulled the blankets back and sank into the bed, I sighed with pleasure. This had to be the most comfortable bed in the world, for I could imagine none better, and the sheets smelled clean and freshly washed. I had thought I would have trouble falling asleep, waiting for him to come, but as my head sank onto the down pillow, I found I had no trouble at all.
I roused briefly, I don’t know how much later, when I heard the door creak open softly. I heard the rustle of the bedcovers as Peeta gently slid into the other side. For a moment I held my breath to see what would happen, but I felt him roll with his back to me, his breathing deepening into sleep. It seemed I was not the only one exhausted by that life-changing day. The warmth from the bakery downstairs drifted upward, heating the room, and I could feel Peeta’s warmth in our bed, and so though it was mid-January, I felt warm and content, and slept once more.
I was alone when I woke up, Peeta’s side of the bed cold. Looking out the window, I saw the sun was already high in the sky. I felt a slight headache, after that long and deep sleep, so I forced myself to sit up and shove the blankets off. My skin broke out in goosebumps, so I hurriedly grabbed clean undergarments, clothes, and my boots and scurried to the washroom.
After my ablutions, I quietly descended the stairs to the kitchen. He wasn’t there. Perhaps he was out at the storefront, helping a customer.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, he stepped into the room from the storefront, eyes immediately locking with mine.
He smiled warmly, “Good morning, Katniss,” he said, “How did you sleep?”
Feeling a trifle embarrassed and self-conscious, I replied tersely, “Well.”
He cleared his throat a little, my awkwardness rubbing off on him. “Well, I have some fresh cheese buns out of the oven, if you’re hungry. Then I thought we could get started on going over how the bakery is run, and what you’ll be doing here. Not that I expect you to bake,” he said hurriedly, “but, you know, just helping it run smoothly, and stuff like that.”
I nodded and said, “That sounds good. The cheese buns and- and the other stuff.”
The only thing better than the smell of hot cheese buns was the taste: I could taste sharp cheddar and fresh herbs. It was so good my eyes were watering, and as we sat across from each other at the small table in the kitchen, Peeta’s eyes flicked towards mine several times as he silently ate his own breakfast.
I took my plate over to the sink when I was done, and I could hear Peeta behind me as I rinsed it. When I turned around he was closer than I expected, and I backed up against the sink instinctively. He immediately placed some more distance between us and looked away.
“Umm, should we get started?” he asks.
____________________
Over the next few weeks Peeta initiated me into the business of being the sole baker for District Twelve.
The easiest part of the business for me to understand was the books, though this was the side of running the bakery that Peeta clearly cared for the least. He showed me the ledger: the balance of incoming supplies from the Capitol and the amount of bread baked. Every ounce of flour and salt sent had to be accounted for, and the reconciliation between credit and debit had to be flawless. I had always rather enjoyed the logic of algebra in school, and so balancing the books was a task I took over gradually, allowing Peeta to focus on what he truly enjoyed: baking.
Baking was a mystery to me. I understood the basics: combine some ingredients, stick it in the oven, and a little bit later something edible resulted. What I didn’t understand was the nuances. The science of how ingredients interacted was puzzling to me. I could follow a recipe, but I couldn’t tweak it. Peeta fundamentally understood how the ingredients interacted, and could adjust amounts or components accordingly. He knew what the day’s temperature and weather conditions would do to rising time, or how the frostings would behave. I knew much of it came with experience I would gain over time, but he also just seemed to have a knack for it. He moved quickly and instinctively. He could multitask, prepare dough neatly and efficiently, and knew the exact minute to take things out of the oven.
We found ourselves in a quandary the first few weeks of working together: I was still learning how to bake and couldn’t be the only one in the kitchen managing it all. On the other hand, being out in front dealing with customers was perhaps even more disastrous. I had always struggled to be friendly; I preferred to keep to myself. Working in a bakery, however, meant that not only was I interacting with other people on a scale totally unprecedented in my life, but most of our customers were merchants. I had even less skill speaking with merchants than I had with fellow Seam folk. At least those in the Seam knew my mother and sister, and had known my father. No one ever had a bad thing to say about my father, and all the Seam residents knew that my father had been killed in a mining accident. It was a shared trauma that bonded us somehow together. I had the distinct feeling many times while working at the counter in the bakery that merchants were a completely different kind of person. So Peeta and I were stuck: I couldn’t be alone in the kitchen, and I couldn’t take over the front. Peeta had to do both, for now. I shadowed him closely, and we spent the bulk of our time back in the kitchen, only heading to the front when we heard the tinkling bell indicating the door had been opened.
Gradually, I became more comfortable in the front and in the back. He handled the front in the morning, when most merchants came for their daily bread, but after the first loaves were in the oven. I took the front counter in the afternoon, when it tended to be more quiet. While he worked the counter in the morning, I was in the back, prepping ingredients, checking orders for the week, and working on the books. In the afternoon while he was in the kitchen, complex breads and cakes would be baked and frosted.
It was a good rhythm, and Peeta never hesitated to reassure me that this bakery was only successful because of me. Frankly, I knew it wasn’t true. He would have done fine without me, but I couldn’t deny that it seemed easier with the two of us. We worked well and harmoniously together. Though we often found ourselves in different parts of the bakery, the times we did work together were the highlights of the day. He was charismatic, making me smile and enjoy his company.
Prim came to visit sometimes in the afternoon. She would come after school and she seemed fascinated by baking and decorating. She had always come in through the storefront until Peeta kindly told her one day to use the back door. “And don’t knock,” he said, “because you’re family, so just walk right in.”
When he said that, Prim’s smile of joy was so radiant I couldn’t suppress a smile of my own. So Prim coming to visit us became a somewhat regular affair.
I was always happy when I saw Prim’s blonde braids flashing in the sun as she made her way to our door, or when I heard her voice greeting us. She never went away empty-handed, for Peeta would give her any cookies or other small treats that had small imperfections and were thus unsellable. I didn't think they really were unsellable, but I went along with the fiction so my sister could get a little extra.
Peeta also seemed to enjoy having Prim around, and treated her so much like a little sister that he just started calling her by that nickname. Prim adored Peeta and never hesitated to let me know it. She would even sometimes cheekily address him as, “Brother.”
Peeta’s and my routine was soon established outside bakery hours, as well. Every evening, he cooked and I washed dishes. He insisted when we were first married that he wash the dishes, as well. At the time, I had thought it because he was particular about his kitchen and thought I might do it wrong. I realized quickly, however, that it was because he didn’t want me to do the extra work. I told him that I preferred hunting and washing, and that way I would never feel that I wasn’t doing my share by not cooking.
He must have sensed the iron stubbornness in me, for he gave no argument. After that, our routine was firmly established. After cleaning was done, and the doors were all locked, we would walk upstairs to our living quarters. Sometimes we would sit and chat in front of the fire in the living room, but after a hard day’s work, we often just went to bed.
We always respected each other’s privacy and space, so there was never any awkwardness about dressing and undressing. When we were both bundled in our night clothes, we would crawl into bed with a sigh. I loved the feeling of the feather mattress at my back, enshrouded in thick quilts. Peeta’s heat was not to be discounted, however. I could always feel the warmth emanating from him, and it was as comforting and reassuring as the old patchwork quilt. We would often lie awake in bed telling stories, reminiscing about our school days, telling stories about our families, and even broaching the dark topic of the Hunger Games, about the injustice of our society. Then, when we grew sleepy, we would roll away from each other, each to our respective side of the bed. For the first week after the wedding, each night I waited nervously for him to turn to me at night and initiate a consummation, but he never did. He was courteous by allowing me privacy to change and ready myself, and then he always got in bed himself quietly and turned his back to me. Sometimes our bodies would brush against each other, but it never felt intentional and we would each scoot away from the other.
Despite the distance in our bed at night, there was no such distance during the day. Conversing with him felt easy and comfortable, and I found myself opening up in conversation.
He quickly became the person who probably knew me best, except, perhaps, Prim. I would often visit my mother and Prim, but Peeta was the person I would turn to when I wanted to share my thoughts, when I cared to. He was a good listener: attentive, respectful.
____________________
Being called Mrs. Mellark for the first time was a shock. Just a few days after our January wedding, Peeta and I were in the front of the bakery. Peeta was with me, still training me. It was a Wednesday morning, so the traffic would be slow. Usually just a couple merchant wives would stop by on a morning like this for bread.
“You should take this one,” Peeta murmured next to me, when we saw a woman and her small child heading for our front door.
I nodded, and felt only a little apprehensive as the customers entered, sending the bell over the door tinkling.
“Good morning,” I greeted, as mother and son shivered from the abrupt change in temperature. They were wearing winter clothing and seemed to relish the warmth of the bakery.
Peeta echoed my voice, “Good morning.”
The mother and son repeated the salutation, and I continued, “How can we help you?”
The woman stepped up to the counter to face me, clutching her little boy’s hand. “Well, we need bread for the week, and I was hoping for a suggestion. We enjoy the cottage loaf and the whole wheat bread, but my husband has a bit of a sweet tooth, as well. I don’t want to buy two full loaves, but what are my options?”
I hadn’t been expecting the barrage of information, and I glanced at Peeta. He smiled encouragingly.
“Well,” I began, “here is the selection we have available today.” I gestured down to the glass display cases that held the bread, and she followed my gaze.
“Perhaps you would be interested in rolls, instead of a whole loaf of bread. That way you can also get a small, sweet option for your husband in addition to your daily bread needs.”
When I glanced at Peeta again, while the woman and her son were looking at their options, he was beaming and sent me a little wink. That wink reassured me, and I gave a tiny little nod in response.
“What’s that?” the woman asked, pointing to a small, round loaf. I remembered quite well, as the smell of that loaf baking that morning had been heavenly.
“It’s walnut with a sugar glaze,” I replied.
The little boy made a face. “Walnuts are gross,” he declared.
His mother laughed and tugged on his hand playfully. “Nonsense, you love walnuts. Remember we had walnuts the other week with the turkey and you said it was yummy?”
The little boy had clearly made up his mind, however, and said, “Daddy won’t like it.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure about it,” the woman said, “I’ve never heard of a walnut loaf before.”
I could sense that she was waffling.
“Perhaps,” I interjected softly, looking at the boy, “you would like to try a bite. That way you can let your daddy know whether it’s tasty or not.”
I looked at the mother for permission, and she nodded with a small smile. I excused myself and went to the kitchen. Our best walnut loaves were in the display case, but I had accidentally partially burned one. It was sitting on our table, ready to be eaten as a midday meal for Peeta and myself. I carefully sliced off a small unburned piece for both the woman and her son and put them on napkins.
I went back to the front where they were waiting and handed them over. The happy noises they made as they ate were gratifying. I had helped make that loaf, and I felt a little speck of pride that they were clearly enjoying it.
“What do you think, darling,” asked the mother as she finished her piece, “Should we surprise Daddy with this tasty treat?”
“Yes!” said the boy enthusiastically, and we all laughed. I grabbed a loaf out of the display and wrapped it in paper.
“What do you say to Mrs. Mellark?” said the woman to her boy as I was wrapping the loaf. A little jolt went through me to hear my new name. Mrs. Mellark. For so long I had associated that name only with Peeta’s mother, an overbearing and cruel woman. It felt peculiar to realize it was my name, now, too.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mellark,” the boy dutifully replied, only stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar name.
“You’re welcome,” I murmured. “May I get you anything else?” I asked, turning back to the woman.
“I like your idea of the rolls. We’ll take a dozen of your freshest.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I responded, and filled a little bag. After handing it over, I received the woman’s payment, and they were on their way.
They waved as we left the shop, and Peeta and I both called after them, “Have a nice day!”
As the door shut behind them, Peeta turned to me with a broad grin. “Katniss, I would have guessed you’ve been doing this for years. That was fantastic!”
I shrugged, feeling pleased. “You taught me how. I was just pulling out bread.”
He shook his head in wonder, “It was more than that, and you know it. Samples? Brilliant idea.”
“They would be crazy to not buy the bread, Peeta. It’s delicious.”
“Regardless, the bakery is clearly in good hands, Mrs. Mellark.” So he had caught that use of my title, too. It sounded nice, coming from his lips.
“Well, Mr. Mellark,” I replied, “before you get too carried away, remember I’m the one who burned the loaf I gave them.”
“I like burned bread,” he said, softly and seriously. I wondered if he was thinking about a hungry little girl on a rainy day years ago, because I certainly was.
“I like it, too,” I said, looking down at my hands, and the conversation ended there.
____________________
A couple weeks after the wedding ceremony, I woke up on Sunday morning and decided to go to the woods. Gale should be there, and though I was a little apprehensive about his behavior after my sudden change in life, I was eager for a taste of normalcy.
It was still so cold, though it was mid-February. There was no sign of spring, though I knew there would be a splash of color soon as daffodils peeked through the snow and endured the last bitter remnants of winter.
I had told Peeta the previous night I would be going, so he didn’t ask any questions as he drowsily watched me gather my clothing out of the wardrobe. I whispered a goodbye as I left the room to go get dressed in the washroom. He made a sleepy noise and rolled over. I could hear his breathing deepen as I quietly shut the door behind me. Sundays were the only day he slept in, so I wasn’t surprised he was taking advantage of it.
Just before I left the bakery I slipped on my father’s old jacket, grabbed my bow, and my bag. The first step outside was brutal, and I missed the warmth and good smells of the bakery, already looking forward to returning.
The snow crunched under my feet as I made my way to the fence. After checking to make sure it was off, I made my way to where Gale and I always met to check traps. He looked only mildly surprised to see me.
I hadn’t seen Gale in the couple weeks since the wedding, and I wasn’t surprised to see him looking a touch thinner since then. The winter had been especially harsh, and it seemed to show in his appearance. His cheekbones looked sharper, and the tiredness seemed more acute in his eyes.
“Catnip,” he grunted, bending once again to his task.
“Gale,” I walked over, crouching down next to him. There was an emaciated squirrel caught in the line.
“I’m amazed there’s anything,” I commented. “It’s been a brutal winter.”
“For some more than others,” he muttered, angrily.
I glanced over at him, eyebrow hooked in question. He was looking at me, and didn’t break his gaze when I stared back.
“Is there something you want to say to me?” I asked, coolly.
“Sure,” his voice was just as chilly. “Must be nice not having to come out here and hunt. Must be nice having townie bread every day.”
“I thought we already talked about this,” I responded, a little annoyed. “I thought you understood why I made the choice I did.”
He shook his head, huffing resignedly, ”Yeah, I do, Catnip. Is marriage to the baker boy everything you dreamed of and more?”
I was stung on Peeta’s behalf by his sarcasm. “Shut up. You don’t know anything about him, Gale.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say anything about him. I just asked if you’re happy.”
He hadn’t, but I decided not to confront him with it, and just responded with, “I’m doing fine, Gale. I think I’ll go off on my own now and see what I can find.”
He grunted, obviously not eager to detain me. I wondered if we would ever be able to talk with the same amiability and understanding we had always had, or if the fact that I lived in the merchant quarter loomed too large between us.
I was so distracted by my conversation with Gale, and so out of practice in shooting, that I managed to get only one squirrel that day.
Peeta, however, acted as though I had come back with a bountiful feast. It had been a relief to step through the back door of the bakery and have a wave of warmth and the smell of yeast greet me.
I called out to Peeta when I arrived home, and I heard his loud pounding footsteps bound down the stairs that lead up to the living quarters. He was garbed in a thick sweater the color of the sky outside, and it made his eyes especially bright.
He grinned when he saw me, and said warmly, “Welcome home, mighty hunter. Any luck today?”
I held up the squirrel and he chuckled and said, “Ah, right through the eye. Let’s have fried squirrel for lunch.”
Though I had always been the one to prepare the game back home, I happily relinquished the squirrel to Peeta as I went to wash. I watched him deftly prepare it; obviously, someone had taught him how to efficiently skin and butcher the little creature.
The fried squirrel, seasoned with black pepper and onions, was delicious. As I bit into the stale roll that accompanied the meat, I thought about what Gale had said about being able to eat merchant bread every day, and I couldn’t deny that he was right: it was nice.
____________________
I went to visit my mom and Prim one day, and was taken aback when I ran into a Seam woman exiting the house just as I was about to knock.
She looked just as startled to see me, and we both mumbled an apology as we weaved around each other. I noticed her obviously protruding belly and her dispirited expression. Her dark hair was lank and unkempt, and her cheeks looked hollow. I watched her as she waddled down the path, and then turned back toward the front door.
I knocked on the still open door and heard my mother’s voice bid me enter.
She looked up as I came in, and said, “Oh, Katniss, come in.”
I walked over to the table where my mother was bent over a pile of a variety of dried herbs. I knew most of them by sight. I saw feverfew, peppermint, butterfly weed, echinacea, chamomile, bilberry, and wild carrot seeds. My glance lingered on the wild carrot seeds, then skittered away.
“Is Prim home?” I asked.
“No, she went to the Hawthornes’ house. She should be home in a few minutes, though.”
“Oh.” I sat there for a moment, unsure if I wanted to wait or not. My mom and I could be so awkward sometimes, but as I was rifling through my thoughts, trying to think of something to say, my mother interrupted the silence.
“How are you, Katniss?”
I glanced at her quickly, wondering what she was getting at. “Fine,” I answered cautiously.
“You’re happy?” Her voice was soft, and she moved her hand, as if wanting to reach out to me, but stopping herself.
“Yes,” I said, and my voice sounded a trifle defensive.
She recoiled a little, an expression of hurt confusion passing her face.
I felt a twinge of annoyance at her and at myself. She was just asking after me, but somehow the fact that she acted so concerned about my wellbeing now when she hadn’t bothered for so long when I needed her most struck a note of irritation in me.
Feeling awkward and a little piqued, I searched for another topic. “That woman that was leaving the house… she’s having a baby,” I said, rather stupidly. It was neither a question nor an interesting observation.
“Yes,” Mom sighed, and I couldn’t tell if it was out of relief or annoyance that I was changing the topic.
I regretted having brought up the topic when my mother asked, “You’re chewing the wild carrot seeds, then?”
I just contained my gasp, feeling embarrassment sear through me. “Yes,” I choked, hoping she couldn’t sense my lie.
“Every time?” she clarified. “It’s not effective if you’re not consistent.”
“Yes, Mom, every time,” I protested, standing up, not willing to wait for Prim any longer.
She stood up, too, looking uncomfortable and red-faced. “Katniss, about that–”
I took an involuntary step back, bracing myself for what she was going to say. I opened my mouth to respond, but she uncharacteristically raised a hand to forestall me.
“No, let me speak, Katniss. I know it’s uncomfortable to talk about this with me, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you with whatever you need. I know right now you’re not interested in children, but perhaps one day you might be, and I have herbs that can help with that, as well.”
It was hard to know which emotion I felt more strongly: shock or relief. I was relieved because she clearly believed that my marriage to Peeta was real, and I never wanted her or Prim to believe otherwise. I wanted them to believe my going off and wedding him was because I loved him and that’s where I wanted to be. At the same time, however, I was surprised that my mother thought I ever wanted children. I thought my feelings had always been very clear, after what she had done to Prim and me after our father’s death. Didn’t she know that it was because of her own inability to cope that I felt like I had had a mother’s responsibilities for years? And here she was, playing the part of a concerned parent now.
“Yeah, Mom, I’ll let you know when I want you to give me herbs so I can get impregnated.” I spoke with false calmness, feeling a little burning pit of anger in my chest.
Her brow crinkled in anger, and she snapped, “Don’t be like that, Katniss. I’m doing my best.”
“Well, good to know that it took this long. I sure appreciate it.” I whirled away, ready to bolt.
Her voice was quiet and sad, “Katniss, I’m sorry.”
Those words stopped me in my tracks. I was ready to shout, but I took one look at her watering blue eyes, and for some reason wanted to cry myself.
“I’m sorry, Katniss,” she reiterated. “I didn’t know what to do when your dad died. I didn’t know how to do it.”
“You should have figured it out,” my voice quavered, and to my horror I felt a little tear welling in one eye.
“I know,” she said quietly. “I should have.”
“You act now like you care so much about my life.”
Her mouth opened in shock. “I do care. Don’t you know that?”
“It’s hard to know when it felt like I lost two parents that day.”
She straightened her spine and brushed aside tears with the back of her hand and said with resolve, “Well, you didn’t lose me. I’m still here. I hope that you can forgive me and let me be there for you now.”
Unaccountably, the pit of anger inside my chest extinguished, and the bitterness I harbored toward her softened a little. I wanted so much, then, to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her that I had married Peeta to provide bread to Prim, that he was so good that it hurt just a little to have married him for such selfish reasons, that I felt a little twinge of guilt when I thought about it. I wanted to tell her that Peeta and I didn’t have a physical relationship, though I felt a little twinge of guilt about that, too, because we had never talked about expectations and hopes for the future when we got married. What if he wanted that kind of relationship with me, or wanted kids, and I was imposing my selfish will on such a nice person. But I didn’t share this with her. It was too much, and some things are best kept locked away.
“Alright, Mom,” I said, tiredly, feeling the weight of so much emotion begin to drain me. “Alright, you’re here now. I see that.”
I left on that note, but my mind was churning as I walked home to the bakery. I kept going back to our conversation, and the phantom images of the wild carrot seeds sitting untouched in the wooden wardrobe swimming with images of the miserable pregnant woman I had seen, and memories of annual reapings. The fear and horror were palpable those days. How could I ever subject a child to that? I thought of Peeta, though. He was so kind and warm. Did he want children? He would be a very good father. I remembered my own. How, despite working long exhausting hours, always had a song on his lips and a bounce in his step. Peeta would be like that. He would lean over his children and teach them how to knead dough and frost cakes, just as he had done with me. Yet, I couldn’t imagine being the mother of those children, and that was a sobering thought.
When I arrived home through the back door, Peeta was in the front, and wasn’t there to greet me. I didn’t go to the front to let him know I’d arrived back, either. I wasn’t ready to see him yet.
I decided to start to prepare for the next day of baking, since it was almost closing time. I tried to be as quiet as possible, so as not to announce my presence, but I must have been loud enough to alert him.
His head popped around the corner, and he smiled when he saw me. “Katniss, you’re home. I was wondering when to expect you back.”
“Hi, Peeta,” my voice was subdued, for his expression turned concerned.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, and came and gently put his arm around my waist, guiding me to the table. He pulled out a chair for me, and I sat down, wishing instead for the warmth of his arm again. His presence was so reassuring.
He sat down next to me and looked at me questioningly.
“My visit with my mom was…interesting.” I started. “We talked about a few things, and I’m just upset by them, I guess,” I finished lamely.
He nodded, but didn’t pry. I hesitantly reached out and touched one of his hands with my own, wanting to communicate the seriousness of what I wanted to ask him.
He seemed startled by the gesture, but didn’t pull away from my touch. I left my hand there for a moment, basking in the warmth of his big hand.
I retracted my hand, but said, “Peeta, we never really talked about things when we got married.”
His brow furrowed, and he said slowly, “Things?”
“Do you want children?” I asked quietly.
He blinked, clearly taken aback. I watched a combination of emotions cross his face, but couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
After a moment’s hesitation, he steeled himself and said calmly, “Katniss, I do want children someday, but only if you want them, too. I would never… touch you that way without your permission. I’m happy with the way things are, children or not.”
Telling him I never wanted children seemed harsh, so I settled instead for, “We never discussed that, either. What if I never want you to touch me?”
He looked down at his hands as he said, “Then I wouldn’t. Katniss, I really never intended that to be part of our relationship when I asked you to marry me. If, however, you wanted–” he broke off, looking uncomfortable.
It felt a little awkward at that moment, so I hastened to reassure him, “I would never touch you in a way you don’t want, either. You needn’t worry about that.”
A strained little smile twisted his lips and he said quietly, “I’ll remember that.”
Then he got up and left the room quietly, and I couldn’t help but think I had done something wrong, though I didn’t know what.
Later that evening, however, he was back to his normal self. So much so that I almost thought I had imagined our exchange earlier.
A part of me was very disquieted, however. He had said he never intended our relationship to be physical. He did say, though, that he wanted children. He seemed to imply, also, that if I was willing… Well, that just made it an even more unsettling conversation.
I let the matter rest, and he didn’t bring it up either. It was something my mind kept returning to, though: that he wasn’t opposed to the idea of us being together in that way. That, perhaps, once or twice, he had thought about it. It sent a little shiver down me, and I couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else.