Fickle

FICKLE.

Children were fickle and fleeting creatures. I recognized why the saying was true.

I recalled in my last life how Lumi was in a depressive slump on this day. Ever since she passed, Lumi closed herself off from the world even more. She refused to eat or leave her room. When I had tried to talk to her later, she avoided my eyes. Nothing made her react. 

But here she was, in my second chance, reassuring me with the cutest look of maturity ever.

It would be a wonder if she could understand me; my past; my regrets; my present self. I imagined how intimate we could be if she knew how much I loved her. How much I yearned for her future full of greatness and happiness.

I wish I could understand you too, Lumi. Wouldn't it make it that much easier for me to realize all your dreams true?

It would, Dad.

"H-huh?"

I exclaimed.

What was that?

I looked around the cramped room. The lights were still off. The messiness remained without a trace of disturbance. I sensed no other presence, except for Lumi. In the dark room, her warmth cozied around me. I caught a glimpse her glimmering eyes.

"Fi-ckle. It sounds like tickle," she said, not hiding the excitement in her voice very well.

That was what I thought a moment ago. I stared right back into her eyes. How could she have known?

L-Lumi...?!

"Hi, Dad. Can you hear me?"

I shot upwards and stepped back in astonishment.

"No, I'm not a ghost," she pouted. "I'm Lumi."

There was no way. I fell into disbelief. My daughter somehow spoke to me via telepathy.

Dumpling? Baby? Is that really you?

I'm going to hug you right now.

I knew her intentions in my mind, but I still remained unprepared for it. She crawled into my arms. The instance her small, soft, frail, warm body brushed against my clothes, she froze me in place. Stone-struck like a statue of Medusa's.

I understand, dad. You were in a lot of hurt too. Not bruised, not bleeding. Hurt in the heart. H-hey! D-dad! Why are you crying?

I wiped my tears on the top of her oversized, ragged shirt and sniffled.

Sorry, dumpling. That was out of control. Dad was only... happy. So happy.

H-happy? Why?

I can understand you. I can help you achieve your dreams.

There was a moment of silence, but then Lumi pressed her body closer. It was noticeable, but I refused to be mistaken. My arms squeezed around her so tight she let out a soft gruff.

I... also want to help Dad achieve his dreams.

"You want to help Dad help you achieve your dreams?"

"Eh?"

Lumi's big, round eyes were full of surprise. Her head rocked backwards like a baby chick. I pulled away and flicked her nose.

"You're so cute, silly dumpling."

I still think something's wrong! Is Dad saying good things... or bad things about me?

"Good things, adorable dummy dumpling."

My dream is to make Dad's dream come true. But Dad's dream is to make my dream come true? How can this be? Do I have to let him make my dream come true first?

I smiled. How could she be so lovable? It was supernatural; impossible.

Between her endearing self, our telepathy, and my second chance forced me to accept the fact. Lumi was so cute and endearing and adorable and lovable and sweet and lovely. And those were few of the reasons why I could hear her thoughts and got a second chance to spoil and dote and pamper her.

"Yes, dumpling. So, tell me. Why do you want to sing?"

I expected a sweet and silly response. The sudden, unmistakable slight rouse of disgust shocked me.

L-Lumi?

I kind of don't like that, Dad.

She lowered her head, her voice hoarse with reluctance. I pulled her into another embrace.

Tell me, baby dumpling. Why don't you want dad to know how you want to sing?

I saw in your mind how singers have to sing in front of people. So many people.

That's because you don't like people, dumpling. You haven't met enough people. It's not because you don't like singing.

I...

You can do whatever you like, dumpling. You can sing to your heart's content. Sing about the rain and the thunder. Sing about the pretty flower you once saw out the window.

T-that's... em-barr-a-ssing.

Liking something is nothing embarrassing, dumpling. Chasing your dreams is nothing embarrassing.

It feels like you want this more than me... why do you want me to be a singer, Dad?

Because it's your dream.

Lumi broke free from the embrace. The black magic worked again: her innocent face turned accusatory. But this time around, I refused to admit it was guilt.

"You're lying, Dad. Hiding something. I can feel it."

I heaved a sigh. "I kind of don't like this too, dumpling."

This telepathy was something special. I could not hide anything from her. I guessed it was the reason behind emotion Lumi felt earlier.

"In that case," I muttered under my breath. "It's best to say everything."

I want you to be loved to be all people, baby dumpling. You want to sing and dance. An idol. You want to be an idol, but I want you to be a superstar. I want to see people, people from all over the world to scream your name. To idolize you. To believe you. I want people to spend every moment singing your songs and watching you dance. To wish they could meet you. I want people to love you so much that in the end, you'll always be reminded that I will love you more.

There was silence, then a sudden dampness on the hem of my pants. I panicked, throwing my arms out.

D-dumpling! D-don't cry!

"Lumi was only... happy. So happy," she said, raising her head.

My arms froze, centimeters from her shoulders. My face was inches from hers. I saw clarity fill her eyes and I froze away from the hug I clamored to give her.

"I like that dream. Make me a superstar, Dad."

My dreams are your dreams because my happiness is your happiness. It doesn't matter which comes first.