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My tea had grown cold. I took a sip, savoring the mint and the sweetness of the honey.
I had arrived early to this meeting place, a small cafe on the edge of town in District 2, after arriving by train yesterday and staying overnight in a motel.
My table was in the corner, so the shadows obscured my face. If the lady behind the counter recognized me, she did not let on. My face was not plastered all over everyone's television anymore, and had not been for years.
I knew Gale would recognize me, though. What I did not know was if he would come.
When my mother had sent me a letter saying she was now working as a doctor in district 2, I was happy for her but did not think too much else of it.
Until her next letter one month later. It contained a cryptic postscript at the end.
Sometimes life hands us a chance to forgive and heal, but the window does not stay open for long. Visit soon and you will find it open, wait and it shall forever close.
I knew that she was bound by confidentiality, and there was nothing else she could reveal.
I had frozen in my tracks, while walking the 2 miles from the post office to the bakery, reading the words over and over.
Only one other person residing in District 2 had played a significant role in my life.
Gale.
I had written to my mother and informed her of my arrival date and time, and asked for her assistance. I needed to speak with him one more time, even if it was just long enough to tell him I no longer blamed him for Prim's death.
She had booked the hotel room for me, and included directions to this cafe with a time I should arrive. But she also stated that she could not guarantee he would arrive on time, or at all.
I picked up the tea bag and swirled it in circles in the green liquid, wondering if he would show. Soft jazz played in the background, and the afternoon sun came through the windows. I shifted in my seat, then took a sip of my tea. It was cold, but minty and sweet. It reminded me of the peppermint tea my mother would make for Prim and I before my father died.
Patrons came and went. Other than the accent, they were just like my friends and acquaintances in District 12.
Were we really so different? Once upon a time, I had thought so.
Now I saw that we are all human, with faults and triumphs, tragedies and celebrations. We all just want to survive, to live, to love, to have meaning and a reason to wake up in the morning and a feeling of fulfillment when our heads hit the pillow at night.
Gale was no different. He was a pawn in the war just like me, and just like Peeta. Coin had manipulated him, zeroing in on his gift for strategy and his desire for revenge. Then she turned it into a weapon against myself and Prim.
Movement caught my eye, breaking me out of my reverie. I looked up and the first thing I saw was grey eyes, looking back at mine.
He looked fatigued and thin. His hair was grey and short, as if he had shaved his head bald and was now allowing it to grow. Or stopping the cancer treatment that had caused it to fall out.
My mother's letter had said nothing of his condition, only that time was of the essence.
An oxygen cannula was under his nose, and he wore a pack on his shoulder that concentrated the air around him, so he could get what his lungs could no longer pull in themselves.
I noticed two people in scrubs nearby, likely hospice nurses, watchful but not interfering.
"Katniss, may I sit down?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the deep and confident voice he once spoke with.
I nodded at the chair opposite me at the little corner table, and quietly watched as he sat down. His movements were slow, and he grimaced with each one.
One of the hospice nurses brought him a cup of tea they had ordered for him. Standing and waiting at the counter was not something he could tolerate, I was sure.
Then she turned to me, a look of understanding in her eyes.
"He is not able to tolerate being out of bed for very long. The lung cancer has moved to his spine, and makes sitting and moving painful. But when your mother told him you were coming, he did not want to miss this chance to make amends while he could." Then she returned to where the other nurse waited. A wheelchair sat near them, empty, waiting for his return.
I looked back at Gale, and saw his eyes were fixed on me. I noticed the movements of his shoulders and abdomen, and realized he struggled with each breath.
"Gale, I know you did not deliberately create the bomb that killed Prim. Coin was responsible for that. I know that now, and I am sorry that it took 15 years for me to see it. You were there for me after our fathers died when no one else was, and I will never forget that."
He nodded, his breathing growing more labored and making speaking difficult. But he tried, anyway.
"Thank you, Katniss." It was barely audible, and he began coughing uncontrollably.
The hospice nurses were at his side immediately, one pushing the wheelchair over. As they each lifted on each side of him to transfer him into it, I was reminded of the strong Gale I had once known.
"Mrs. Mellark, I apologize but we need to bring him home now. Thank you for helping him to find peace."
I nodded, my throat tightening so much that speech was nearly impossible.
"Thank you for caring for him." My voice was just a whisper, and I choked as I spoke.
I watched as they wheeled him to a waiting car and lifted him into the back, then sat on either side of him.
I somberly walked back to my motel room, and laid on the bed staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Images of Gale ran through my mind.
Waiting for word about our fathers after the mine explosion. Him teaching me to hunt, me teaching him to set snares. Him picking up Prim after I volunteered for her, and carrying her to our mother. My mother referring to him as my cousin when I returned home.
The grudge I had chewed on for so long had made bitter in my mouth everything that could have and should have tasted sweet.
I felt 100 pounds lighter without the years of rage I had held against the person I wrongly held responsible for my sister's death.
I walked to the train station, after placing a call to Peeta, and set off on my journey home. On the trip to District 2, the ride had seemed too short as I mentally prepared myself to see Gale. Now, looking forward to seeing Peeta and our one year old son, I fretted that it was taking so long.
I must have fallen asleep, because I jerked awake when the train stopped. On the platform stood Peeta, our son Sawyer in his arms.
My life was beautiful, and now I could finally live in it.