Chapter Text
“Peeta says we have tomorrow off.” Haymitch spoke just as we finished practicing our knife-throwing in his backyard. The sun was still high in the sky, even though it was almost late afternoon.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and reached for a sip of water from a bottle. Haymitch and I had been practicing hand-to-hand combat all afternoon. Peeta, in his role as coach for the Quarter Quell, had only joined us for the morning drills, disappearing at midday when my mother offered us lunch.
“And why is that?” I raised an eyebrow at my old mentor, puzzled.
Since the announcement of the 75th Hunger Games a few weeks ago, and since I learned I would have to return to the arena in July, Peeta has relentlessly insisted that the three of us train from dawn till dusk, resting only to eat and to watch recordings of our potential opponents' games over dinner.
Haymitch doesn't answer me and instead huffs in annoyance as he walks away to disappear through the back door into his house without saying goodbye.
I want to run out and bang on the door, demanding he can't leave me talking to myself andwithout answers; but I know that, out of the three of us, Haymitch is suffering the most physically. Sober and with little stamina, Peeta's sadistic training will probably kill him before Snow and his arena do.
On my way home, crossing Haymitch's yard and the street, I consider going in the opposite direction to look for Peeta at his house. From where I am, I can see that his kitchen windows are open. I want to look for him, but I'm still resentful of how harshly he's treated me lately.
It's unfair, I know. Everything Peeta is doing is to improve our chances of survival. Specifically, to improve my odds of surviving and returning home. It's uncomfortable, and it triggers a backlash in my body, but I've already made up my mind. Never mind that we still don't know what name Effie will draw on Reaping Day; it's more obvious than ever that the star-crossed lovers won't get their happy ending.
So that's how it'll be. Peeta lives. Not me. Nothing will change my mind, not when it's clear that this time no berry trick will save us both. And, between Peeta and I, President Snow will target me, which will make it much easier for Haymitch to save him.
It's not fair to miss him this much, even though I see him every day.
Then, I change the direction my feet are pointing and head home, where Prim and my mother are waiting for me.
When I walk in, the aroma of stew fills my nostrils. It smells delicious, and my stomach rumbles. Peeta once mentioned to my mother that lamb stew was my favorite, so she tried to adapt the recipe with the fresh meat I hunt. She's made it a few times since I returned from the Victory Tour, and to be honest, she cooks it very well.
"Aren't Peeta and Haymitch coming for dinner?" my mother asks as she stirs the ingredients inside the pot.
I shrug. "I don't think so. Peeta disappeared at noon, and Haymitch certainly wasn't handling being sober today very well. Where's Prim?"
"In her room. She said not to disturb her. She'll come out when dinner is ready." Asterid Everdeen smiles and goes back to what she was doing.
I slump down on the living room sofa, grateful for this rare turn of events. Today I won't have to see the faces of elderly people I'll probably have to kill. It is a small win.
Exhaustion makes my muscles feel heavy and my eyelids threaten to close when Prim appears in the room. She sits beside me and gives me a huge smile. But it's the kind of smile that hides something.
"Is something wrong?" I ask after yawning.
"Oh, nothing important. I just finished some homework." She proceeds to massage my aching muscles, something that's become a sort of ritual since the Quell announcement. I'm so exhausted that I don't feel motivated enough to try and get information out of my little sister, so whatever is making her act strange, I let it go and focus entirely on the pleasure of feeling the tension points in my shoulders and arms being tended to by her hands.
Later, my mother calls us to sit down at the table and, without further ado, I wish them goodnight before retiring to my room and falling into a deep sleep.
I'm not having nightmares tonight, which feels like a present.
When I wake up, a strange feeling of peace washes over me. As if a liquid warmth were coursing through my veins instead of blood. I think it's the light streaming through the window, an omen of a peaceful day, or the familiar scent of sweet bread wafting through the walls. I linger in bed a little longer, indulging in the luxury of not having to train for my life so early in the morning, and I frolic in the sheets, closing my eyes for a couple more minutes.
Time passes, and the peace stretches on so long it's alarming. I don't have many mornings like this left, according to Snow's plan.
Suddenly, I hear some noise and commotion downstairs. I recognize each of the voices, and suspicion sets off an alarm in my head. So I throw back the covers and get out of bed. When I'm on the first floor, I only see Prim placing some flowers in a vase and arranging some streamers and beautiful paper flowers on the table where Peeta is carefully placing candles on a white-frosted cake decorated with strawberries. My mother is by the stove making scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast.
Then I realized it. Today is May 8th.
It's my birthday. My last birthday. And, apparently, the trio of blond heads moving nimbly around the room took the time to prepare a little surprise.
Peeta is the first to notice me in the kitchen doorway. His eyes light up like blue jewels and his smile widens. There he is. My Peeta. Not the tough, insistent trainer who counts every second I spend running and makes sure I get fat enough to have a body mass advantage in combat.
There he is the boy with the bread. Always so kind and considerate to me, even though I still haven't apologized for how hostile I was a few weeks ago. Angry at his determination to save me. Hurt to see how he doesn't hesitate for a second to give his life for mine.
And he baked a cake. I think it's the first and last real cake I've ever had for a birthday.
I can't speak, but it's not necessary because Prim and my mother have already realized that I've woken up.
“Happy birthday, Katniss!” Prim jumps excitedly into my arms, and I hold her close as she speaks with excitement.. “We knew you didn’t remember what day it was today. So we decided to surprise you with a little decoration. Mom is making breakfast, and Peeta baked a cake!”
Suddenly, I'm paralyzed in my sister's arms. Something stirs painfully in my chest. Panic overwhelms me, and I'm so angry that I can't enjoy a sweet moment like this, because I've already resigned myself to the fact that there's no life for me beyond July. I see hope in Prim's eyes, and, hidden deep within that joyful happiness in her pupils, I also glimpse a plea.
Don't die in that arena. Come home. Let's celebrate more birthdays together.
So I'm afraid to speak and burst into tears. I'm afraid to move and have all my resolutions shatter like glass. Without a doubt, right now I'm afraid of dying.
Peeta sets the cake aside. He says something to my mother and Prim, something I don't hear because the panic is so loud in my ears that it blocks out everything outside. Then he comes over to me, takes my hand and puts his arm around my waist, and pulls me toward the back door that leads to the patio.
Peeta makes me sit beside him on the floor, one hand gently stroking my back while the other holds both my hands. He repeats soothing words and kind promises that I know are lies, but I'm still naive or desperate enough to believe him, so I slowly begin to relax. Thanks to his touch and voice, I feel the earth beneath me again. My mind is here, not on the scenario in which I die.
I take a deep breath before meeting his gaze. He's so close, but it doesn't bother me. He's been away from me for too long already.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I think I could almost count his blonde eyelashes with my fingertips. “I think I ruined the surprise.”
He shakes his head.
“Your mother and Prim understand. They’re happy to be here for you. Haymitch will come later. Perhaps before noon to try the cake.” Peeta has a self-assurance I envy, and at the same time, it evokes a tranquility in me that makes me greedy. “It’s Wednesday, so perhaps Gale will stop by tonight to say hello after the mines.”
The only days we see Gale are Sundays, when he teaches the three winners of Twelve everything he knows about traps. For some reason, the mere mention of Gale irritates me.
“It’d be better if he were easier to hate”.
“Tell me about it. If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He’d be dead, and I’d be a happy little victor all by myself”.
Why would I say that? I didn't mean it that time. Was the resentment even mine? I never meant to hate Peeta, not even when I thought he was with the Careers. And the thought of not having him by my side right now terrifies me. Far from being happy, if Peeta weren't here, I'm sure I would have gone mad, forever wandering in that forest, angry and hurt.
“Thank you, Peeta.” Perhaps he’ll never know that, more than for his words, I’m grateful to him for being by my side.
He nods and for a moment I think his gaze lingers on my lips.
“Happy birthday, Katniss.” He offers me his hand, and I take it without hesitation. Just for today, I don’t dare leave his side. Then Peeta pulls me to my feet.
“I hope you like the cake. It was Prim’s idea to make it with strawberries.” Standing there, we didn’t let go of each other’s hands. We walked at a comfortably slow pace, to prolong this moment by ourselves as much as possible.
“I’m sure it tastes amazing. You’re the best baker I know,” I say, freely praising him.
“Katniss, aside from my father, I’m probably the only one you know.” Peeta laughs.
I frown. “Well, your father doesn’t decorate cakes as beautifully as you do. And I’ve tried his cheese buns; yours are by far softer and tastier.” I persist, managing to freeze his smile on his lips for the rest of the morning.
When we get back inside, my mother and Prim are acting normally, though noticeably relieved to see me okay. I smile at them and offer to sit down for breakfast. Prim asks if I want to blow out the candles on the cake after lunch, but I tell her I'd rather wait until Haymitch is around to do that.
Peeta keeps the atmosphere pleasant for the rest of the morning along with Prim, while my mother and I, on the contrary, are more inclined to listen to them talk.
At midday, Haymitch appears, miserably sober, and I decide it's time to share the cake. Peeta lights the candles with matches, the flames reflecting intensely in the water of his eyes, and tells me to make a wish.
And I wish for more birthdays like this, even knowing this is the last, so I can live in a dream where I don't have to leave this world and he's always happy. May Prim, my mother, and even Haymitch, remain in that dream.
I refuse to have hope, but it's impossible not to feel an encouraging thump in my chest when I blow out the candle.