I arch my neck till it cracks, squinting at the skyscraper towering over me like a castle. Its sparkling windows beam at me, forcing me to grin back. I wonder what it would be like to live at the top of that building: to wake up every morning on a land of shimmery clouds. As a frenzy of New Yorkers hustles by, nudging me back and forth like a ping pong ball, I squeeze my brother’s hand: my only anchor in this sea of strangers.

 

As soon as we enter the building, a golden lobby greets us. Men and women saunter past in crisp black suits, enveloping us in a gentle chatter. I can’t help but think: one of them could be Momma. I haven’t seen her in years. I skid my eyes around, searching for that familiar face, till my brother tells me she’s upstairs.

 

“Stairs will take ages, Timmy,” I whisper.

 

“Lo, every building here has elevators,” he says. “Elevators—haven’t you learned about them in your kindergarten?”

“Ele wha—?” Timmy presses some lighted buttons, revealing a hidden room in the wall. Ding, it rings, and we step out. Laid out in front of us is a marble hallway with windows the size of doors. Sunshine spills into the hallway, staining the creamy walls with bright highlights. Tim says that the door at the far end is Momma’s. With each step towards the door, I imagine I am walking on clouds. I bounce, skip, and dance, each step jollier than the last.

 

We stand in front of a tall navy door with gold numbers and a curvy doorknob. Tim reaches out his hand to ring the bell but hesitates. “Do you really want to go in there, Lo?” he asks. Before I can open my mouth, the door bursts open.

 

“Sheet,” Tim mutters. I blink. I don’t see any bed sheets.

 

“Don’t you curse, Timothy. Not in front of your baby sister.” It’s her—Momma. I haven’t seen her in ages, but I melt into her arms in less than a flick of a second. She smells like lavender and tangerines, just like the old days.

 

“Listen, Eunice,” Tim says. Momma frowns like she swallowed a lemon. “I’m only here because Dad made us. Why don’t we take a quick selfie as proof and forget this ever happened?”

Momma beckons us in. “Timothy, I do not like your attitude.”

 

“My attitude?” Tim sighs and points at a pizza box on a marble countertop. “Look at yours. Lo and I spent a day traveling here but you got us junk food. You didn’t even try.”

 

“Of course I tried. Best truffle pizza in Manhattan, Timmy,” she says. “Took my assistant five hours. I thought you kids like pizza.” Momma grabs a seat and hands me a slice. She nudges a plate towards Tim.

 

I grab the pizza, a beautiful mess of cheese, dough, and tomato sauce with a hint of mushrooms. I blow on the steam and take a generous bite.

 

Tim stands up, his plate untouched. “Am I asking too much for a home cooked meal? I haven’t had any of yours since forever ago. I can’t even remember what your macaroni and cheese tastes like.”

 

“You know I have a schedule.  I can’t stand around making macaroni and cheese.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Timmy pauses. “You can’t stand around calling us, either. Not a single phone call since you left, Eunice...”

 

I decide I’m tired of darting my eyes back and forth between Momma and Timmy like a human pendulum. Instead, I focus on the windows behind Momma’s chestnut brown locks. Clouds swirl outside like thick chunks of cream in soup. The more I stare, the more Timmy and Momma’s words become distant garble. I wish I could do nothing but stare at the clouds for days.

 

“...You left us. You left me and Dad and Little Lo. What’s worse is that you chose to. You chose to leave us,” Timmy says.

“Listen,” Momma says. “You know I had to do this, don’t you?” Momma cocks her head, eyes wide and glistening, almost earnest. “I had a dream, Tim.” She holds out a fist. “And I never let it go. And look—look where it got me.”

 

“What was the price?” Tim asks.

 

“Was it expensive?” I add.

 

Momma ruffles my hair as she sighs softly. “Look at this glamorous apartment. You could live with me. I’ll get you enrolled into the best schools. Give you better food. New shoes every week. Maybe even a personal driver.”

 

“And leave Dad?” Timmy scoffs, shaking his head. “You live in nothing but dreams, Eunice. Your head is stuck. Completely stuck in the clouds.”

 

Momma’s mouth quivers. Meanwhile, I sit on my stool, frozen, perplexed. Timmy said that Momma’s head was in the clouds but raised his voice as if it was a bad thing. What’s so wrong with being in the clouds? I’d give up anything to wake up on a land of shimmery clouds.

 

“Your eyes are so pretty, Momma,” I finally say. “Like a princess; they sparkle like gems.”

 

Before Momma can reply, Timmy grabs my hand and pulls me away.

 

As we trudge out of the apartment and dive back into the hectic sea of strangers, he stops me.

 

“Promise me one thing, Lo,” says Tim, squeezing my fingers till they turn cherry red. “Don’t you ever become someone like her.”

“Why not?” I ask. I lift my head up one last time, taking in the skyscraper towering over us like a castle. “She lives in the clouds.”