Blooming in the Spring

Chapter 20

There is no more talk of children or families or the future, from either Peeta or myself. Though the anxiety is still there in the back of my mind and I cannot shake the feeling that I'm forcing him to give up more than I'm worth, I try my best to push these thoughts out. There's no point in imagining beyond today, I suppose. Today we have each other. We have a little home here together, in our own District that seems to grow more lively with each passing day. We even have Haymitch in our little family, who has taken a liking to a flock of geese that he tends to when he's short on alcohol. It helps him I think. At least, the circles under his eyes have lightened some and he isn't in such a foul mood all the time. I'll take it. 

The three of us sit quietly but contently in our kitchen, illuminated by candlelight and comforted by the mouthwatering smell of Peeta's stew simmering on the stove. We're all supposed to be helping him with this evening's meal but Peeta is something of a control freak in the kitchen I've learned. I'm an alright cook, especially after taking care of my mother and sister for so many years, but still, I'm nothing compared to Peeta. As for Haymitch, I'm pretty sure he's never made a decent meal himself in his life. So we settle for making up the dining table and pretend to be interested in the program on the television, though it's really just background noise. We don't talk much, the three of us. After everything, it's hard to find the words. Most of what we all have in common involves dead children and war. But still, the silence is comfortable, not awkward. It's easy. Sometimes we even do feel like a bunch of normal people. Sometimes. 

As Peeta's just about finished slicing up the bread for the stew, though, something on the television catches my attention. 

"It's no secret that the past year has brought on hardship and loss for our country Panem," says a reporter directly facing the camera. They've just finished a story on the reconstruction of a factory in District 8. This isn't particularly striking. 12 is not the only district that has started to rebuild and welcome citizens back to it, old and new. We hear all the time about the boom in agriculture near 11, the establishment of a new and more just military in District 2--where I've heard Gale has found work. There seem to be new updates nearly every day about how Panem is moving toward a brighter future. I'm not entirely sure I buy it after everything I've seen but I suppose it's better to imagine than the alternative. However, the reporter does not stop with this story. Rather, she continues on and says, "With the first anniversary of the 75th and final Hunger Games quickly approaching this summer, Panem prepares to remember and honor the countless lives lost not only in the last year but in the history of the Hunger Games. Stay tuned for updates about the progress made on the memorials that have taken the place of the deadly Capitol arenas, as well as information on the upcoming remembrance ceremony set to be held the first week of July."

As soon as she finishes speaking, the camera cuts and switches to an advertisement encouraging volunteers to join the district reconstruction teams. Haymitch, Peeta, and I sit in silence, memories of the Games looming heavily over all of us. 

"Remembrance ceremony?" Peeta hardly has time to get out the words before our phone rings in the next room. My heart sinks, knowing this is surely an invitation to whatever sort of memorial they've got planned. 

Sure enough, after several minutes of painful quiet between me and Haymitch in the kitchen, Peeta returns from the phone call in the living room. 

"We've been personally invited to visit the Capitol for a memorial service in July," he says, taking a seat across from me and Haymitch at the table. The bread and stew sit between us, though no one seems to have an appetite anymore. Something about thoughts of blood and dead people and war seems to have that effect, I guess. 

"Bold of them to assume we'd be interested," I scoff, rolling my eyes, though I don't get the reaction that I expect from Haymitch and Peeta. Haymitch shifts in his seat, fiddling with the flaky crust on his slice of bread and Peeta clenches his jaw and stares at his hands.