I sidled past the plants and displaced Poppy, who hopped up, licked a paw, and slinked off. I scooted as close to the glass as I could, catching a glimpse of a twist of coral-colored light illuminating the rain-beaded branches of a maple tree like a giant candelabra.

“Come from there, Hanadi.”

I crawled to the swivel chair and rested my elbows on the seat. You picked up the white cardigan from the floor where it had fallen, folded it, and laid it on the chair back.

After several days of this, W put her hand on my shoulder. Like she was claiming me for her kickball team. “Who’s gonna be outside to see?” She started to cough.

“You know,” you said.

You were everything to me. I wanted to be on your team. But I also wanted to go outside, and I sided with W.

“Who’s gonna see?” I said.

Behind your back, W smiled and clapped her fingers together, like she’d won a prize. I felt like I’d won one, too.

You won the battle, though. You sidled along the wall to the edge of the window, like a spy staying out of view, and pulled the drapes closed, arm over arm. W winked and shook her head to the shoulder on either side. I understood her message: arguing wasn’t worth it.

On W’s days off, she tried to convince you that we should go to the mall with her, or the grocery store, or the movies. You said no, so she went by herself and I yearned to be with her.

I felt drawn to the window. One day, while W was at work and you watched The Price Is Right, I sat among the plants and carefully snapped their leaves off at the base. I stacked the leaves like blocks, unstacked them, spread them around on the carpet, and set them one next to the other, making a pathway toward the window. I moved plants out of the way, and the path led to the middle where the curtains parted. I poked my fingers between the drapes and stood like a statue, not actually looking. When I heard you coming upstairs to go to the kitchen, I plopped on the floor with my back to the window.

You leaned against the doorway between the living room and kitchen, a glass of water in your hand.

“What are you doing?” you said.

“I don’t know.”

“Come from the window.”

I inched forward. “The curtain’s closed, Mama.”

“I don’t care.” You leaned back into the kitchen to set the glass on the counter, readied yourself to step toward me and force me to move.

“Why?”