We'll Be Alright

Part 2

"Matthew."

I shake my head at Peeta's suggestion and find a spot on the wall on which to fix my stare.

"Maxim? Vladimir?" he asks hopelessly.

At this I just laugh and punch him in the shoulder.

"Well, then, I'm at a loss, Katniss," he laughs, rubbing his now-sore arm.

I direct my blank gaze back at the wall.

"It needs to be something... suitable for a little boy and an adult man," I tell him, thinking. "But it also needs to represent us somehow."

I throw my hands up after a while. We've been sitting here, on our bed, for hours, contemplating a name for our son, who'd better be ready to pop out any minute, because he's already a week late. And killing me.

"Come here." Peeta pats his lap.

I look at him, unsure.

"I'm twenty pounds heavier than you're used to," I tell him.

He waves me over anyway, so I comply. I lower myself hesitantly onto his legs, expecting a sound of discomfort from him. I hear nothing, so I put all my weight onto his lap.

"There's no need to get frustrated," he says into my ear. "We'll get it eventually."

"But I want to come to an agreement about this, you know? Plus, baby here seems to have gotten a little too comfortable." I place my hand over his, which is already grazing my oversized belly.

"I probably shouldn't say 'I know' here, but I'm ready for him just as much as you are," he says, his fingers now removed from my stomach and interlocked with mine.

The sight of my own swollen abdomen astonishes me, even now, already a week past my due date. Am I really ready for another child?

As much as I love Marnie, the image of two children wreaking havoc around this huge house scares me. And even more intimidating is the ever-present fear of Peacekeepers. Lots of them, taking my family. Torturing them, or worse. Peacekeepers have been gone for ages now, ever since the fall of the Capitol, but the nightmares are still there.

It's not the financial aspect that worries me. Believe me, Peeta and I have enough money to feed the old District 12 for life. It's that even after these five years of raising my daughter, the title of "mother" is still daunting to me. The idea of someone being solely dependent on you for... well, who knows how long.

Peeta must see the concern stretched across my sleepless face.

"You want this baby. Real or not real?" he asks me.

I look at him, surprised. We haven't played this game in years.

"I don't really have a choice at this point, do I?" I respond.

"Well, I guess not, but I want to know your feelings about this. Your sincere feelings." He seems serious.

I smile at him tiredly and capture his lips in a kiss. He seems stunned at first, but then he returns it.

I pull away. Then I tell him, surprising even myself, "It's real, Peeta. It's more real than anything."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The doorbell rings, and we both jump. I guess we'd been sleeping.

I rise from Peeta's lap, having forgotten that Marnie comes home from kindergarten at this hour.

I start to move towards the door, but Peeta stops me, aware of my inability to do anything much but sit.

So that's what I do. I sit, and I listen to the sound of the door opening, the sounds of my perfect husband and my perfect daughter squealing together with glee.

I leave the room and look over the banister. Peeta has his hands under Marnie's armpits, and he's swinging her around in the air. Her shrieks of laughter fill the air, and I smile down at the two of them.

When Peeta eventually lowers our daughter to the ground, she stumbles around a bit, giggling, until she sees me descending down the stairs.

"Mommy!" she shouts, and tumbles into my open arms.

I hug her tightly, my face buried in her chocolate-brown curls.

"Hi, cupcake," I whisper in her ear, then hold her at arm's length. "How was school today?"

At this she beams and launches into a detailed, if rather jumbled, description of her day.

"...and then Ms. Jones said there was this thing once called 'the Hungry Games' or something," she rambles.

My head snaps up from the newspaper I've picked up at this point. My eyes lock onto Peeta's. He looks just as shocked as I feel.

We made a promise to each other when Marnie was born that we would wait a while to explain to her what we experienced when we were young. But now it seems we were wrong.

Marnie's moved on, though, mumbling about some craft that they did, and I try my hardest to still my now-rapidly-beating heart.

"Did you think of a name for my brother yet, Mommy?" Marnie interrupts my thoughts.

"So you're finally okay with my baby being a boy now, pumpkin?" I ask her with a smile, and she nods.

"No, sweet pea, we were hoping you could help us with his name," Peeta tells her.

Her face lights up and soon she's deep in thought. Peeta's always known just what to say to make her feel special.

"I know!" Marnie blurts. "How about... Chicken!"

As silly as it was, we all burst into a fit of giggles. When we've all settled down, Marnie still looks delighted that she was so clever.

While she's distracted, Peeta and I make eye contact. Through a series of silent words and signals, we formulate a plan.

I motion with my fingers. One, two...

"Three!" I yell, and Peeta and I pounce on Marnie, tickling her most sensitive areas.

She shrieks with laughter, and attempts to push us off before running to the couch for refuge. We all settle there, the occasional giggle bubbling from Marnie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's eight o'clock, almost Marnie's bed time, but I don't plan on forcing her upstairs any time soon. I wouldn't want to ruin this moment.

She and Peeta sit at the kitchen table, her giving him ideas for a drawing, and him creating an exaggerated, off-kilter version of it. Her laughter permeates everything else, and there's a permanent smile glued onto my face. This life once seemed so overwhelming, but now I know I can handle it, even if it includes another child.

So when I feel that familiar tug down below, the same one I had when I was pregnant with Marnie, I stride into the kitchen and clasp Peeta's hand.

"It's time," I whisper.

I don't think I've ever seen a bigger grin on his face.