preston hope. cb refurbish d8 done

Dad is still a touchy subject. I still have some internal flame that sparks whenever I see him as the mayor, a position of the government that supports the killers of his daughters. Mayors keep peace. They're the figurehead of the District, and they're supposed to be the upmost loyalty to the Capitol. But my sisters also died a long time ago. He had no control over who got reaped. It's not his fault, but there's a part of me that feels like it is. Like he's to blame. But he's not. Pierre didn't pull their names, he didn't force them to volunteer. But becoming mayor made it seem like that all didn't matter to him. I sometimes wish I knew if it did. I wish I knew him more and spoke to him more. That way Lotus and Nile don't need to ask me about life growing up, they can ask their grandfather. That way, I could have someone to talk to about them other than my wife.

There's a part of me that regrets being so mad at him. A big part of me, really. He never wrote to me while I was in the DC, and I remember how I felt not hearing from him or mom. It was like they were embarrassed of me, disappointed. But I was young. I was angry - I thought it was reasonable to feel this hatred for the world. My sisters were all killed on national television and there were people watching like sheep in pasture. Nobody was doing anything. So I burned something down. And then I spent a year there. And I sat, angry. Angry at dad for not writing. Angry at mom for not writing. Furious at the world for choosing to fuck my life up.

Receiving no letters, I thought it meant they didn't believe in me anymore. That I was a lost cause, and I was just as dead as my sisters.

I never considered how dad felt. But I never wanted to, not until now, now that I'm also a dad.

This dad shit? It's no joke, honestly. I never thought being a father had athletic components, but goddamn, somethin' about being able to walk makes them believe they're faster than a train. Thankfully, the kids have all grown out of their run-everywhere-because-wow-I-can-walk phase. They're in school now, so the only time they're running around is when they're running late to school. Lotus is 7, Nile is about to turn 6. We've given thought about having another kid, maybe adoption, but we don't know if we want a large family.

Lotus likes to come to the shop with me often, and I let her. She likes helping people pick out a bouquet whenever they come in to buy anything. It reminds me of how happy Lily used to be. God, her Games were so long ago. It's almost crazy that Lotus is already half the age my sister was when she got reaped. And when she died. Lotus has this snarky attitude to her, as most young children do. They're unhinged. Lotus likes to give out Lotuses whenever we have them and say she thinks they're the prettiest. I don't say anything, because hey, a sale is a sale.

I remember that about being young. When I was still only a child and hadn't fucked up my family relationships so much. I was like Lotus. I'd try to join dad whenever he went to go work at the store. Sometimes he'd even let me skip classes in order to join him. "Alright, P." He'd look down at me, a light, elvish smirk on his face. He'd always reach out his hand and ruffle my hair, knowing that it annoyed me, but he didn't care. I do the same thing with Nile now. Dad knew it wasn't right to let his kid skip school, but he also didn't care. "What do you say when someone asks about school?" I'd have my speech ready, the lines of excuses prepared, like Dad had taught me. "I'm homeschooled. We're practicing eckonnmcs!" Pierre would often sprout a thoughtful look. I used to mumble when I got excited. A look on his face would then bloom, basically saying good enough.

And then we'd go. Dad still did most of the talking, though. He didn't want me talking like any unhinged child would ("why would you buy that?") Because of this, I would normally sit at the cashier desk organizing the glove rack we had. I'd have the occasional old lady talk to me in her 'awwwh, small child' voice, asking which color of gloves I liked most. That voice was also something that annoyed me as a kid, so I'd often picked the ugliest color. I'd follow it up with a "We used our most expensive leather to create them!". If I was fortunate, it'd be someone who isn't as familiar with fabric and would buy it.

Dad shortly implemented a no return policy afterward.

I guess the gloves are why I learned to knit during the colder seasons. Supporting a small child's business? Come on, you can't ignore a pair of fuzzy gloves or a fuzzy hat. Especially during the days when it would snow a lot. Dad used to present the gloves like it was more important than the actual clothes on the rack.

I miss those days. Where I was excited to talk to Pierre and Pierre was excited to talk to me. Maybe I'll invite him for a drink sometime. You know, adult things. I don't know.

How do you fix twelve years of pain?