Episode 43 — About Children

Shion’s sound is buoyant. Since the day she won the Grand Prize at the competition, her piano has become incomparably better. The lesson hours have actually decreased since then — and yet her expressiveness grows more refined with each passing day.

I find my thoughts drifting to the one girl who is probably the cause of all this. To Shiko-chan.

It would be a lie to say I don’t feel a pang of something — that the time Shiko-chan spends with Shion does more for her piano than my lessons do. But I mustn’t lose sight of the original purpose: I was strict with Shion in order to protect her sound, to develop her talent. And I have to be honest with myself that I’d lost sight of that a little, somewhere along the way.

In the end, all I can do now is quietly accompany the colours that keep becoming more vivid in Shion’s sound, day by day.

◇◇◇

After the lesson ended and I’d showered and passed through the living room — Shion was sitting on the sofa, gazing at her phone. Mouth soft. Smiling to herself. That expression was so unusual that I found myself speaking before I’d thought about it.

“Shion — what are you grinning about?”

At my voice, Shion gave a small startled jump and looked up. I know it’s unusual for me to speak to her unprompted at home — but there’s no need for that much of a reaction.

Even after the surprise, though, the corners of Shion’s mouth stayed soft. Shiko-chan, I thought, with a rough but not unreasonable degree of confidence. This child — how much does she love Shiko-chan.

“Am I grinning?”
“Try touching the corners of your mouth.”

I pointed to the corners of my own mouth as I nodded, and Shion followed suit, bringing her fingertips to her lips. But her mouth corners were considerably higher than where her fingers landed — and Shion murmured, surprised:

“They really are…”
“Something good happen?”

I asked, already fairly sure it would be Shiko-chan — and sure enough.

“I exchanged contact details with Uta.”

And with that, Shion hugged her phone to her chest with an air of cherishing something precious. The gesture was the very picture of a girl in love.

Could it be — could Shion be in love with Shiko-chan? Well, she certainly loves her as a friend without question. But beyond that — another register of feeling on top of that? Watching the two of them holding hands, and the sheer depth of Shion’s devotion to Shiko-chan, I find myself considering it.

And having considered it — well, it doesn’t particularly matter either way, I think. If that feeling toward Shiko-chan gives colour to Shion’s piano, if it becomes something that helps Shion live with some degree of flourishing — then there’s no problem. I’m surprised to find such a soft thought in myself. And I recognise it’s probably something Shiko-chan awakened in me. It isn’t just Shion — I’m aware that Shiko-chan has given me something too.

Her expression in the shopping mall, the seriousness with which she took me to task over how I was treating Shion — knowing there’s someone who thinks about Shion that sincerely. The relief of it, the sense of a weight lifting from my shoulders — I think that’s what softened something in me that had been rather rigid.

Because she is that kind of person, I think it’s fine — even if my precious only daughter has fallen for her — and when things go wrong it’s a parent’s role to point the way back. So.

I smile, naturally, and ask:

“Is that right. So you were smiling like that because you were messaging her?”

Something in my question or my manner caught Shion off guard — but she answered with visible delight anyway.

“No — I’m not messaging her. Uta will be doing something else right now.”

Not even messaging, and smiling like that — I set aside that observation and voice the first thing that comes to mind.

“Something else — like writing her novel?”

At that, Shion’s expression changed abruptly, and she came at me.

“How does Mama know about that — !”

I genuinely didn’t know Shion had that kind of energy in her. And the fact that it was being directed at me, even if through Shiko-chan as the medium — I found that rather amusing, and in a moment quite unlike myself, teased her:

“That’s a secret.”

I placed one finger against the centre of my lips as I said it — and:

“Mama is being mean too…”

Shion puffed her cheeks and started batting at my chest with small, soft punches. I found that childlike tantrum endearing — and then, thinking about it properly, I realised I had never carried that kind of fierce energy in all my life. Music has always been the centre of everything. Even with Kanzaki Takuto, it was more of a drift than anything chosen. Even Shiko-chan — I’m fond of her, but that fondness comes specifically through Shion as its medium. Whether for better or worse, the only thing that has ever stood at my centre and shaped everything around it has been Shion. I noticed this, belatedly, just now.

And while a parent places their child at the centre of their own life — for the child, the parent is only ever a supporting player. What occupies the centre of Shion’s life is not me but Shiko-chan. Swallowing that asymmetry, that loneliness — perhaps that is what it is to be a parent. Sixteen years into motherhood, and I’m only just arriving at that thought.

As if to confirm that hypothesis, Shion calls Shiko-chan’s name again. Her expression shifting rapidly now — this time with a trace of urgency mixed in.

“Don’t tell Uta. Keep it a secret — that I know about Uta’s novel.”

She pleads it, looking up at me. I don’t fully understand the reason behind the request. It might be something utterly trivial, the kind of thing that would make an outsider laugh. But I can tell that to Shion, right now, it is something that matters enormously.

So I placed one finger against the centre of my lips once more, and smiled softly.

“That too — is a secret.”