Please tell me you have a middle name - Epilogue
Epilogue
(Prim)
I wake up with the sweet scent of cinnamon in the air. That’s Peeta’s doing. He knows how much I love cinnamon rolls, and always has them ready for me for breakfast on my birthday, even though he has to juggle it with all his morning work.
The cinnamon buns will have to wait.
I cross the hall to Peeta and Katniss’ room, to recruit her for my inspection, but she’s not back from the woods yet. Living above the bakery is a lot more convenient for Peeta, and more comfortable for us, but a lot further from the fence, making her excursions longer.
I ended up moving in with them last year. Now that Rye works with Madge on the Justice building, Peeta and Katniss need help to keep the bakery running. Between schoolwork, helping out my mother and getting ready for my college admission in district four, I can still work a couple of hours on the bakery’s counter every week. They’ll definitely need to hire someone once I’m gone.
I enter the bathroom and inspect myself in the mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t even feel eighteen. I inspect every inch of my body, top to bottom and find nothing.
What if I don’t have a soulmate?
Gale doesn’t have one and he’s totally fine with it. He even found himself a steady girlfriend in district 7, though I’m not quite sure on the terms of their arrangement because they spend months apart every year.
But that’s not what I want for myself is it? Aren’t soulmarks supposed to reflect your heart's desire?
I’m about to give up when I lift my foot and catch it. Beneath my toe. A simple and unembellished R.
Rory Hawthorne?
Please no, the last thing I need is for my soulmate to turn out to be an ex boyfriend.
Why, oh why? What have I done to deserve this? I’m a nice person, Universe! I do volunteer work in the community home once a week, I let Peeta think I’m the one pilfering the chocolate chips and I never go beyond the fence even though that’s technically legal ever since the rebellion two years ago!
I put on socks and silently hope Peeta doesn’t ask anything about it. Katniss surely won’t ask, unless I tell her.
At least I have cinnamon rolls for breakfast.
“… doing here? I specifically told you 7:30, it’s 7:05!”
Peeta has company in the kitchen’s bakery, and I tread with caution with my sock covered feet on the staircase.
“She wakes up at 6:30, I know she does! I just want to know if Katniss gave her the letters already…”
“Katniss isn’t back yet, once she is…”
Both of them freeze when I finally appear on the bottom stair.
“‘Morning Peeta! Reese!”
“Prim! Happy birthday!” Reese greets me with an awkward smile. He’s acting strange though I can’t guess why. Being Peeta’s best friend makes him a regular visitor here. And Katniss adores him. Whenever he has dinner with us she smothers him with questions. I barely have the chance to talk to the guy.
“You too!” I tell him. “I dropped by the sweet shop yesterday to wish you one, but you weren’t there.”
“You must have missed me, I had to run some errands.” He says with a shrug. “I’ll be back later…” he adds. I’m not sure if it’s for Peeta’s benefit or mine.
“If you don’t, I'll save you a slice of cake!” I call out after him, before he closes the door.
Peeta extends me a cinnamon roll as he kisses my cheek affectionately.
“Happy birthday, little sis.”
“Oh, you’re the best brother I could hope for!” I tell him as I inhale the sweet scent. “You should make these every week.”
“You’d be sick of them if I did.”
“Never!”
I pop one in my mouth as I start collecting the fresh out of the oven pastries and rolls, to bring them to the front.
“You don’t have to work on your birthday.” Peeta tells me as he takes the trays from my hands. “You have a big day ahead.”
“How will you two manage the bakery and the Hob stand?” I ask with a doubtful raise of my eyebrows.
“We’ll manage.” Katniss says entering through the backdoor. “Happy birthday, little duck.”
She opens her arms and I hug her as tight as I can. If there is one person who was a constant in my life, it was her. Every day of my life, she was always there. “Thank you, Katniss.”
When we break apart I notice the unshed tears in her eyes. “Are you crying? Seriously? Over a birthday? What will happen when I go to district four in the fall?”
“Let’s not think about that, shall we?” Peeta says with a chuckle.
Between the three of us we carry everything to the front. Just a few more minutes until opening time.
“I have something for you. Here.”
My sister is holding a few envelopes in her hand. When I take them I notice they are all addressed to me. The handwriting seems familiar, though I can’t exactly pinpoint it. It’s not Katniss’ and surely not Peeta’s.
“Read them in order.”
Without another word the both of them escape to the front, to finally open and deal with the morning rush, as I sit in a kitchen stool, with my cinnamon buns and a cup of tea.
May 20, 2076
Primrose
Today I got my soulmark. It’s a small P, under my big toe. I have no idea if there’s someone with a matching one across the district, but I sure hope not. Because I’m hoping… oh I am hoping it’s you.
If you were older I’d be at your doorstep in a heartbeat. But you’re not, so I've made up my mind to wait until you're ready. Please don’t be mad at me if I backpedal on our friendship. It’s the only way I’ll be able to keep myself accountable for the next three years.
Hopefully yours
Reese Donner.
(You want to read the rest o Reese's letters? You know the drill. AO3 link)
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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