"...Do I have to get comfortable around people?" Lumi mumbled. "It doesn't seem so good."
She said it just as I was rising to leave, and it stopped me entirely.
I let go of whatever errand I'd been about to run and turned back. She was sitting with her fingers wound together, eyes moving back and forth. I could feel her picking through my memories, cautious and deliberate, looking for evidence one way or the other.
She wouldn't have found much to encourage her. My past was not a generous advertisement for the human race. Bitterness. Betrayal. The particular loneliness of a man who had decided, somewhere along the way, that other people were more trouble than they were worth.
I knelt in front of her.
"That was the past, dumpling. Dad was a bitter man, and he didn't trust people either. But it was a matter of perspective, not of fact." I chose my words carefully. "A bad apple doesn't spoil the barrel, because bad apples come from bad situations. We can't hold everyone responsible for the worst things we've encountered. Do you understand?"
She looked at me without blinking, a small, placid frown settled on her face. Then she shook her head.
I almost smiled. "I can tell you're not convinced."
She bowed her head, as though embarrassed by her own honesty.
"That's alright. Look at what happened today. Look at Mr. Rockern." I touched the side of my temple. "I used to think he interfered in my life because it made him feel important. I was wrong. He came because he saw something of himself in me, and because he cared about me, and about you." I paused. "He came in person, Lumi. He didn't have to do that."
She turned her head toward the door, as though tracing the memory of their earlier meeting. Her lips were tight, but something softer had crept into her voice.
"Grandpa was nice," she said quietly.
"He'd like that name," I agreed. I rose and put a hand on her shoulder. "So. Will you come with me?"
She lifted herself a few centimeters off the sofa, and then settled back down, head dropping.
"The officers were scary, Dad," she whispered. "I don't like that."
Something behind my ribs gave way. I knelt again.
"That was different, dumpling. No child should ever be in that position. The weight of interrogation is different from the weight of ordinary nervousness. What you felt was a reasonable response to an unreasonable situation." I steadied my voice. "The world outside is not that."
I hadn't expected her to move.
She crawled into my arms. It wasn't gradual, but all at once, pressing her forehead hard against my chest, her fingers curling into the front of my shirt with a desperation that tightened my throat.
W-will you leave me if I don't go?
I pulled her close enough that she could feel my heartbeat against her forehead.
"Listen to that," I murmured into her hair. "That's the honest answer. I will never leave you alone in this world again. Not for this, not for anything. Okay?"
She pushed back from me.
Her shoulders were trembling. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose flushed, her expression caught somewhere between the urge to cry and the decision not to. But she raised her chin, and squared her chest.
"I'll do it, Dad."
You don't have to force yourself for my sake, dumpling.
Her eyes curved. "You believe in me so much, so I will too."
"Alright. But if your heart starts racing, if the thoughts get loud—don't hide it from me. Tell me."
She straightened to her full height, which was not very much, and placed a hand over her chest with the gravity of someone taking an oath.
"You believed in me and now you're a worrywort! I'm stronger than you think!"
"Yes, yes. I was going to take you to the barbeque stall, but it'll be crowded. Small steps, right? So we'll head over to the grocery store instead. Dad makes an excellent sandwich."
She strutted out of the apartment behind me.
The moment her feet touched the street, she stopped.
The cars. The horn blast from the road-raged driver three lengths back. The pedestrians in every direction. The birds. The exhaust. The sheer volume of a world that had been, until today, something she'd observed through a single window.
She didn't run. But she went very still, eyes moving rapidly, ears tuned to every sound like a small animal trying to process too many signals at once.
We were walking hand in hand when I noticed she had fallen behind. I stepped back and lifted her into my arms without discussion.
"It's different, isn't it?"
"It's loud," she said faintly. "And busy."
A family passed with a stroller. The baby inside started crying and Lumi flinched hard into my shoulder. I waited until we'd crossed the intersection before speaking.
No one is looking at you, dumpling. Everyone here has somewhere to be, something on their mind. Until you're a superstar, you're invisible to them. That's not a bad thing right now.
We turned a few corners. She was quiet for a while.
"But are they..." she started. "Are they good people?"
Her head was still down, still uncertain.
"That's not something I can promise you," I said honestly. "If you expect goodness in abundance, you'll face a lot of disappointment. But it finds you, in time. It happens naturally, when you put yourself where it can."
She didn't look entirely reassured. But we were standing outside the grocery store now, and through the glass I could see someone I recognized. I glanced between Lumi, peeking at the entrance with her jaw set with effort and the figure inside.
I set her down gently. My hand stayed at her back.
"Opportunities don't arrive on their own. You go and make them." I tilted my head toward the door. "Follow me, dumpling."