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My mother squeezes my hand as we wait for Thom to announce my arrival at the brand new Town Hall building for Peeta and I’s wedding reception. I still hate to be the center of attention - but after everything Peeta and I have been through over the past five years, it feels nice to celebrate something beautiful - the things we have left, the things only Peeta Mellark can give me.
I hear Thom call out “Peeta, your bride” and open the doors to find my husband, grinning nervously and holding back tears.
His grin breaks into a wide smile at the sight of me, hair curled, and in a simple white dress that falls effortlessly to my feet. I swish the puffy white tulle around my calves and shrug. I have him now and a stray tear falls down onto his cheek. Our toasting had been quiet and private, but we agreed to a celebration for our 20 closest family and friends and seeing him now I’m thankful we did. He looks so handsome, and even the one night apart has left me missing him so much that I feel my steps quicken to reach him where he waits at the center of the room. When we meet, he places a soft kiss on my lips and pulls me close. “Hello, my love” he says softly in my ear, causing me to lean in closer.
“And now, Peeta and Katniss will share their first dance as husband and wife” Thom announces as the lights dim.
The statement catches me off guard - our first dance? Peeta and I have danced together hundreds of times now - under the careful scrutiny of Panem, under threat of our enemy. But this time, with his arm protectively around my back, all I can feel is safety and comfort. I’m transported back to the way it felt that first time - despite everything buzzing around me and the fear and confusion - this may be our first dance as husband and wife but the feeling is the same as that first dance on the victory tour…
All day - or maybe even for years- I’ve felt like I’m melting away. Like I’m slowly disappearing and I’m helpless to stop it. There’s so many things I need to do and say, so many people relying on me but my body can’t seem to hold the weight. I’m just so, so tired.
So when we finish pushing the food around our plates at the lavish banquet table and the music begins, I welcome the opportunity to escape and head to the dance floor where we’ve been instructed to “open the dancing” - whatever that means. The need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter is beginning to feel like torture, just another weight to bare.
Peeta and I have never danced together before - there wasn’t time for it in the Capitol after we won, and of course before that we were strangers. I wrack my brain, trying to remember if we had ever crossed paths at a harvest festival or new years celebration - but if we did, I don’t remember it.
His usual easy demeanor had seemed tense as we practiced on the train to learn the few steps necessary for these fancy dances- him with Effie and me with Haymitch (He definitely got the better end of that deal, at least Effie bathes…) So when we meet at the center of the dance floor I’m not sure what to expect. But the minute his arm encircles my back and our hands clasp together I feel some of the tension ebb from my body.
There’s something about his arm protectively around my waist that makes all the rest of it fall away.
The cameras are on us so I allow myself to lean into his chest and can’t stop myself from sighing in relief at the feel of his strength and sturdiness holding me up as we turn on the dance floor. I can hear his heart thumping a little too quickly in his chest and he’s humming something under his breath.
“ Are you singing?” I ask, stepping back a little to look up at him with curiosity. His eyes are on the ceiling of the justice building and I can see now that what I thought was humming was actually counting - he’s counting “1,2,3 1,2,3” the way Effie had on the train.
I can feel my face breaking into a grin. “Peeta?” I ask.
His eyes squeeze shut and I can see he’s still trying to keep count. “Yup?”
“What are you doing?” And he must be able to hear the smile in my voice because his expression relaxes and he looks down at me, his own lips turning up into an unsure half grin.
“Uh…” he looks sheepishly around before whispering “Just really trying not to step on your feet?”
At this I can’t help but let out a burst of laughter.
“So - let me get this straight” I say, his eyes now firmly on mine but his movements a bit more disjointed as he loses the rhythm. “I am the reason you only have one leg, and you’re worried about a few bruised toes?”
This comment causes him to shake his head and give me a stern look, he won’t let me take the blame for the tourniquet that lost him his leg, but I also notice his arm flex behind me, pulling me back in a little closer. It feels so natural to be close to him like this, and I feel a confusing stab of longing in my chest - a whisper of a wish that I could just stay here in his arms for the rest of the night - the rest of the tour - maybe for the rest of my life. I hear myself say “this is nice…”
He looks down again, his pale skin unable to hide the blush on his cheeks and clears his throat, trading the genuine smile playing at his lips for a look of confusion or sadness - I can’t tell. He only says “it is…” and then promptly steps on my toe with the heavy metal prosthetic.
“Ow Peeta!” I say with gritted teeth.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” He says, but then he starts to laugh at the sight of my indignant scowl and I can’t help but join him. Soon we have to stop turning on the spot to control ourselves as the camera flash around us. The moment is broken and I’m left with an awful pit in my stomach - that longing inside I can’t seem to quell or understand. And now isn’t the time to work it out. As quickly as it began the dance ends, and when we separate I feel a chill shiver down my spine - alone again.
I have always seen my life in pictures, before I could ever afford to smear paints on canvas, I’ve always viewed the world this way - finding the angle, erasing an unpleasant detail to cover with something more palatable, saving them in my mind to re-examine over and over again. And today, I have to keep squeezing my eyes shut to memorize every detail of this moment - because after all we’ve been through - I can’t believe I’ve wound up here. With Katniss Everdeen in my arms. With Katniss Everdeen celebrating our marriage - our future. Not the horrid display of the Capitol’s design but a choice we’ve made to spend our lives together.
I chance a look down at her and see her eyes are closed as she leans on my shoulder in perfect peace. The sight almost brings a fresh round of tears as I think of the hardships she’s endured - what she continues to suffer - coming to terms with all she’s lost. This is my whole life’s mission now - not to simply keep her alive but to give her the stability and peace she has lost. Replacing every hurt with comfort, every sorrow with something to be joyful about - back to the child who raised her hand to sing, the big sister who cared enough to stop at the bakery window and the carefree girl who danced at the harvest festival…
Both of my brothers are staring at me, eyebrows raised as I effectively tear apart our shared dresser looking for something suitable to wear as quickly as I can. Our mother has mercifully dismissed us early from evening prep work so we could attend the final few hours of the Harvest Festival and I am determined not to miss my chance if one of her moods arrives and she changes her mind.
I don’t pay them any mind. My eldest brother Ryland just rolls his eyes and leans effortlessly against the doorway but my middle brother Nick wouldn’t dare let this show of enthusiasm go unnoticed.
“What’s the rush, P? Got someone to see” he asks.
I just glare at him and finish buttoning a blue shirt I think is clean.
Suddenly my back is shoved down by the weight of him, his arm wrapping stealthily around my neck just tight enough to cause discomfort. “It’s that seam girl isn’t it - the one with the squirrels”
“Nick…” Rye says warningly. His eyes darting down the stairs as we grapple back and forth.
“Gonna ask her to dance, little brother?” He says, ignoring Rye’s warning.
“None of your business” I grunt back, managing to push him back to the other side of the room. The resulting smash alerts our mother to our presence and she hollers up the stairs for us to get out of the house before she changes her mind.
After that, the easy atmosphere vanishes and we quietly finish getting ready and clomp out the back door.
Despite my protestations, the thought of asking Katniss Everdeen to dance has been on my mind at almost every available moment. It had been three years since I had tossed her that bread in the rain and we’d had no discernible interaction since then. Last year, Delly had pushed one of her blond bubbly friends on me and I couldn’t find a way to refuse without telling her who I really wanted to go with and anyway, Katniss hadn’t even been there. The year before that, our mother had descended into one of her fits on the day of the festival and we’d been locked up in our rooms, bruised and battered, unable to attend. And before that - I didn’t have the courage. Still probably don’t - but this year I’m determined to find it. Just one dance - maybe it won’t even lead anywhere - but I need to have just one dance.
When we arrive, the festivities are in full swing. The handful of town families are gathered around a table with large vats of spiced apple cider and the Seam families mill around the food. The din of happy chatter rises in the open air but doesn’t feel overwhelming. A band of a flutist and three fiddles are setting up in the corner.
I spot Katniss in between the two groups, sitting on some make shift bleachers made from logs and stumps with Madge Undersee on one side and her little sister Primrose on the other. She’s smiling but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and she’s tucking into a bowl of stew a little too eagerly - obviously hungry. No sign of Hawthorne though - so that’s something. Maybe tonight really will be my night….
As the music begins I watch as she transforms. Her usual restless and wistful demeanor melts away as her shoulders perk up and her toe begins to tap. I even see the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.
The logistics begin to play in my mind - should I go now, before anyone really starts the dancing before someone else gets the chance? No, a town boy and Seam girl will cause enough of a stir without making a scene. Wait until she’s out there and approach her then? What if it’s too loud and it may be too late? I’m still contemplating when people begin flooding the makeshift dance floor - just a large open space in the middle of the gathering. It’s mostly Seam couples but Delly and a partner and a few other town kids are joining in too.
Before I can make up my mind, she’s rising to her feet, a real grin on her face now and pulling Prim with both hands towards the dancing. Her little sister smiles too and they join the revelers in earnest.
Something about the fire and the starlit night, the way she’s smiling and closes her eyes to take in the moment, the way her drab beige dress swishes around her knees freezes me in my tracks. Katniss looks so unburdened in a way I haven’t seen in years. I let out a sigh, calming my beating heart, and in that moment, I know - I will not interrupt this moment of freedom and happiness for her. I’ll endure another night of teasing from my brothers, another night of not knowing, if it will allow her to live in this moment - without some town kid she’s never given a second thought to approaching her or the pressure of staring eyes - without a care in the world. As I walk away, I try to burn the image in my mind, erasing the starving girl who sat under my apple tree and replacing her with the first time I saw Katniss Everdeen dance.
We may have shared hundreds of dances but this one feels special - a reclaiming of sorts from the way we used to be pressed together, photographed and analyzed, every step must be right, every look conveying someone else’s agenda - now, when we are truly free, we are choosing this. Choosing each other.
In this moment, I see a thousand tiny moments ahead with him - a favourite partner at the annual harvest festival hoedown, a private slow dance by our crackling fire on New Year’s Eve, a silly do-si-do to celebrate something special, a daughter balanced on his feet, a son swung ‘round in my arms. So much life to look forward to and still I don’t want to rush this moment away, the feeling of his strong arm around my back, his warm hand holding mine and the look of absolute joy on his face.
But the music fades and I know we have to get back to reality.
“Does it have to be over?” I whisper in his ear as our dance concludes and we begin to head back to the table that’s been laid for us at the front of the room.
“It’s not over, love” he smiles softly at me then raises a cheeky eyebrow “this is just the beginning…”