Chapter Eight
"Please, come in." Dad stated, opening the door wider. I began to grind my teeth, trying to hold my tongue from snapping at the man. Just the sight of him nearly made me want to throw a fit. But I had to control myself.

"Gale!" Rye grinned, running from his spot to envelop our guest in his little arms. "I'm so happy you're here!" He added, tightly holding onto Gale's legs.

Gale ruffled his blonde curls, smiling at him. "I'm happy to be here too, bud," he lightly laughed. He glanced up at me, our eyes meeting. I hoped he could see the fire of hate burning inside of them. "Good evening, Willow." He smirked.

"Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne." I replied, hate dripping off of my lips. Tension began to thicken in the air as we glared at each other, neither one backing down. I could feel Haymitch's eyes staring at me, watching my every move.

Gale shook his head, chuckling as Rye peeled himself off. Gale stood taller, placing his hands on his hips. "Ya know, Willow, you can just call me Gale."

"I know." I fired back, my face growing more stern. It was like the world stopped to take a breath. I could almost hear Mom in the kitchen scolding my behave to her Gale. I stared into Gale's gray eyes, or as my mother calls them, seam eyes.

Dad cleared his throat, causing my eyes to meet their carbon copy. I studied his face, quickly reading that what I did was definitely not okay. I glanced down at my place, my cheeks beginning to burn in shame.

"So nice to see you again, Gale. Last I heard, you were in District 2." Haymitch stated, saving me from this moment of embarrassment. I licked my lips, arguing with myself on how to act tonight. I figured if I was mean enough to him, he would go away, but now I realize that that won't work. Mom likes him or at least she did. I had to actually treat him like he was a guest.

I felt a hand land on my shoulder, making me slightly jump as I looked at my father's face. "Kitchen. Now." He softly declared under his voice. Quickly, I realized that there would be no arguing.

I nodded my head as I rose from my seat. Gale and Haymitch were talking up a storm while Rye stood beside them, admiring both of them. His gray eyes were bright as he laughed when Haymitch laughed. No one even noticed we left the room.

I followed behind Dad, keeping my head low. I already knew what was coming.

Scolding time.

"Willow, what are you thinking?" Mom scoffed, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at me. I shrugged my shoulders while I darted my eyes around the room, trying to find something to look at other than her face.

"I don't know. I wasn't." I replied, as I ran my hands over my snarly braid. I hoped no one in the dining room could hear us.

"Exactly. So start thinking about what comes out of your mouth and treat Gale with respect." She grumbled, handing me the stack of plates to set the table.

I groaned, rolling my eyes. I opened my mouth to argue, but Dad beat me to speaking. "Look, Willow," he began, his voice low. "I don't like the guy either, but everyone deserves a second chance, okay? Give Gale time to explain himself before you fire another shot at him." He reasoned, softly frowning as he led me towards the dining room.

"Fine," I sighed, giving in. "But only for Mom's sake." I quickly added, glaring at him as we got closer and closer to the dining room.

"For Mom's sake." He agreed as he grabbed the silverware, following me out. We set the table, making sure everything was in perfect order. Not that it really mattered anyways. My family was never the proper type and I assumed Gale wasn't either, considering he lived in 12 at one point in time.

Dad and I continued walking back and forth from the kitchen, each time bringing a new plate of food. Each time we passed each other, we sent a smile of encouragement. I hoped I could make it through tonight without making a mess of everything for Mom's sake.

Slowly, but surely, the table was covered in different types of food. I took my place at the table, sitting between Dad and Rye. Across the table, Gale sat between Mom and Haymitch.

Great.

Now I'd have to stare at him though dinner.

The table was quiet, no one really knowing what to say. I personally didn't want to speak, so this wasn't a problem for me. I'd rather listen to forks clink on plates than speak to Gale. "So, Gale, how have you been?" Dad began, starting off the conversation.

All eyes traveled to Gale, waiting for his response. He waited until he swallowed then wiped his mouth. "Pretty good. I've been promoted a couple of times over the years so the pay is nice."

"Scenery good?" Dad fired back, making Gale smile. I furrowed my eyebrows and curved my lips to the right.

"Scenery is beautiful, but it's nothing compared to 12." He smiled, his eyes brighting. Is this what Mom meant about Dad? Was this his way with words? His ability to start a conversation from nothing?

"I haven't been to 2 in a long time, but from what I remember, it is truly breathtaking," Dad agreed, his fork moving his food around on the plate. "Not as much open space through. Filled with buildings and such." He explained.

"Yeah, especially now that everyone has been gradually moving westward from the Capitol and into the Districts." Gale softly chuckled, his eyes going back to his own plate.

"People are moving out from the Capitol?" Mom asked, slightly furrowing her eyebrows. Gale shifted in his seat, turning to face her.

"Sorta. Most of the areas damaged from the war are still being constructed and there's no where else for them to go but out into the districts." He explained. Mom nodded her head, looking back at her food.

It was silent for a while, the sound of forks tinkling on plates filled the space again. I would peer up at Gale, watching him. I just didn't know where to place this guy. Mom wanted to impress him, but Dad absolutely despised the guy. Why the conflicted feelings?

"So," Gale said, clearing his throat. "We've talked a lot about me, but I haven't heard how it's going for you guys."

"It's going well. Peeta has been painting and baking and I still hunt." Mom replied, softly smiling at Gale. Gale returned the smile, nodding at her.

"Yeah, we have a whole room filled with my paintings if you'd like to check them out later." Dad offered. I nearly gagged. Why would Dad show him something so precious? What if Gale ruins it with his grubby hands?

"A whole room full?"

"Yeah, well, Katniss won't let me get rid of any of them." Dad lightly chuckled, teasing Mom. 

"I just don't see the point of throwing away something that you've worked so hard on, is all," she quickly defended. "You've spent years on some of them. I think it's stupid to just toss it."

"Well, some of them are terrible." Dad chuckled, looking down at his plate. My father has also been humble, never taking credit for anything and never seeing his full potential.

"Better than I could do." She fired back. They grew silent as their eyes studied each other. This was a common occurrence at dinner. Their compliments come out harsh and demanding, like they're fighting. But anyone who knows them knows that this is just the way they are.

"So, Gale," Haymitch began, clearing his throat. "What suddenly made you want to come back?"

Gale paused, furrowing his eyebrows. Concentration was now present on his face, weaving in and out as he licked his lips. "I don't know." He confessed.

Mom turned and looked at him. Her face was contorted with anger and confusion. "What do you mean you don't know?" She spat, narrowing her eyebrows.

"Don't get so defensive, Catnip," he replied, his voice soft. "I got a letter asking me to come back and something inside me told me to do it."

We all looked down at our plates. Did he think one of us sent it? Was he hoping we wanted him back?

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Rye smiled, able to fix the tension, a trait he luckily received from Dad. "I like you."

"Thanks, bud. I like you, too." Gale softly smiled, nodding at Rye.

The rest of dinner we spent in silence. No one felt the need to carry on a risky conversation anymore. People's feelings were in different places and we all knew this. Dad and I cleared the table as Haymitch left for his house with a glass of wine.

"Did I do okay?" I asked, placing the dishes in the sink. Dad hovered behind me, reaching over to place his armload in the sink.

"You did perfect," He breathed. He placed a kiss on the top of my head and ran his hand down my shoulder. "Get ready for bed. I'm sure your mother and Gale have lots to talk about."

"Okay." I softly replied. I rushed up the stairs, hoping to avoid anymore contact with Gale. I quickly prepared for bed, listening to Rye singing to himself as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom.

Dad's voice echoed in the hallway, leading Rye to his bedroom. That left me with about fifteen minutes to myself. Dad was putting us to bed, which meant I would get a story until I feel asleep. I prayed that Rye would be full of energy tonight.

I knelt down beside the vent, leaning my ear against the cold metal. "So, when were you going to tell me about the kids?" Gale asked.

I narrowed my eyebrows, surprised that they were already taking jabs at each other.

"I didn't know I had to update you on my life." Mom said, anger clear in her voice.

"I thought you never wanted children. What changed?" He continued.

"Peeta wanted them."

"So suddenly just because your star-crossed lover wants children you'll give me to him? That doesn't sound like the girl I knew."

"In case you've gone blind, I'm obviously not the same girl I was over twenty years ago, Gale. I'm not the girl who snuck under the fence in hopes to find game to feed to my family. I'm not the girl who volunteered for her sister at the reaping," she spat, her voice growing louder. "No, Gale. I'm the girl who survived two Hunger Games! I'm the girl who survived the war and watched everyone she loved slip through fingers!"

"Doesn't he scare you?" Gale asked, his voice growing hard.

"Who?" Mom huffed.

"Peeta. Didn't that ever cross your mind? You were attacked by him in Thirteen. You watched him push one of our soldiers into a barb wire trap of death!" Gale argued. "Doesn't it scare you that he'll flip on the children one day? He's not safe! He'll never be safe!"

I gasped, covering my mouth. What was he talking about? What was this secret I was never told?

"Peeta loves those children more than you ever could. He would never lay a hand on them! I've watched him love and care for his children for the past thirteen years!" Mom's voice cracked. "He'll never be cured, but he doesn't live in the past like you, Gale. He doesn't fuel his heart with hate!"

My door slowly creaked open. Quickly, I stood up and rushed to my bed. I tucked myself under the covers, seeing my father's face brighten at the sight of me. "Hey, Peanut."

"Hi, Dad." I smiled. He shut the door behind him, sitting down on the floor beside my bed. I studied his blue eyes, unable to see the monster Gale described. Maybe the monster Gale was talking about was himself or a dream.

"How about I tell you a story?" Dad stated, smoothing down my blanket. "You know I'm not a good singer like your mother." He chuckled.

Suddenly, my stomach began to churn. As I looked into his eyes, I had to spill my secrets. I had to tell him. "Dad."

"Yeah?"

"I have to tell you something," I shakily breathed. "You have to promise not to tell Mom." I added.

He swallowed, thinking it through. "I'll keep your secret."

"I know about Rue," I declared. He furrowed his eyebrows, studying my face in the dim light. "We learned about her during school."

I looked down, gripping the blanket in my hands. "I had to watch the video," I explained. "I watched Rue get stabbed and then I saw Mom shoot the attacker."

I began to sob, my hiccups getting trapped in my throat. "Then I watched Mom sing her to sleep with the Valley Song. It was awful." I cried. He kissed my forehead, brushing my locks out of my eyes.

"I know. I know it is," he cooed. "But the woman who shot that arrow was not your mother. The woman who sang sweet, little Rue to sleep was your mother. Your mother and I have done things we don't like to think about. But that doesn't change who we really are."

I nodded my head. "Don't let those images change your view of your mother." He commanded.

"I won't." I promised.

He smiled, kissing my forehead again. "That's my Willow," he grinned. "How about that story?" He asked.

I nodded my head. I drifted to sleep with sweet images of pink skies and hummingbirds buzzing in my mind. I could feel the gentle breeze against my cheeks and the grass underneath me. This was what my mother meant. Not only could he paint a picture for your eyes, but he could paint one inside your mind.

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