The almond tree,

, has narrow, almost rectangular, dark green leaves. It is native to the eastern Mediterranean, but can now be found in temperate and tropical regions throughout the world. In the wild, it can grow up to 6 meters tall; on orchards, it is usually pruned to no more than 3 meters. On account of its delicious and protein-rich nut, ecologists classify the species as Least Endangered. In most cases, the almond tree is not known to cry, weep, or sob. Nor does it usually levitate or float into the sky.

The suburban mall,

, typically consists of two rectangular wings, joined by a central, enclosed courtyard. Each wing is capped by a large, multi-story department store, providing perfume-laden entryways into the mall itself. A food court might protrude from one side of the central courtyard, balanced by, say, a movie theater on the other side. It is typically surrounded by acres of asphalt parking lots. On account of the shifting consumer habits of middle class Americans, economists classify it as Critically Endangered. In this day and age, it is unusual for a suburban mall to be newly constructed. It is also unusual for one to be crowned with a massive octagonal dome made of glass.

When Jeffrey Stavos pitched the idea for funding a new suburban mall in South Glenfield, Arizona to the other executives at Turntop Private Equity, he was met with skepticism, but the project was eventually green-lit. Jeffrey had argued convincingly about the market's willingness to spend big on nostalgia and its growing frustration with e-commerce. Also, the C.E.O., Alexander Shepfield, had a long-standing grudge against Jeffrey ever since he had stolen the spotlight at the company's annual karaoke night with a thrilling rendition of Alexander's signature song, "Firework" by Katy Perry. So Alexander had okayed the project, figuring it would be worth a few hundred million dollars to watch Jeffrey fail.

When Jenna Siddleton, a senior architect at Clarson & Sons, first met Jeffrey and the other stakeholders in the mall project, she felt, for the first time in a long time, a glimmer of hope. Six punishing years of architecture school and eighteen years of agonizing dullness designing rectangular prism after rectangular prism at Clarson & Sons had broken something in her. But now as Jeffrey clicked through his market analysis presentation and expounded on his vision for a glorious new take on an American tradition, Jenna's mind raced out of the air-conditioned conference room and back to her college trip to Florence. While her friends slept off a hangover, Jenna went alone to the city's famous cathedral, ascended the campanile, and gazed out at Brunelleschi's dome. The red brick glowed in the Italian morning sun, the curves arched heavenwards, the self-supporting, centuries-enduring dome in all its massiveness called out to Jenna: "Become magnificent," it said.

Jenna had returned to her studies with renewed vigor. She secured reputable internships and graduated from her prestigious coastal university with top marks. But when she started applying for entry-level positions at all the well-respected firms in all the well-respected cities, the rejections came rolling back, without explanation. This went on for months. Eventually, Jenna was no longer able to pay rent, so she took the last of her savings, packed up her car, and started a cross-country road trip, to find... well, anything.

She stopped one night at a motel in a dull and dusty suburb of Arizona. (What the town was a suburb of wasn't clear; it seemed to be suburbs all the way down.) In the morning, as she was walking to the vending machine to get a snack for breakfast, she noticed a "Help Wanted" sign in the window of the dull, dusty and narrow, single-story office building across the street. Without a single thought, Jenna crossed the street. She had neither combed her hair nor brushed her teeth.

But Ed Clarson didn't mind. It almost seemed like he was expecting her, like he knew his red-lettered sign would summon a responsible and diligent architect straight from a prestigious coastal university. He hired her on the spot, pajamas and all.

And so Jenna settled down in South Glenfield, Arizona and designed rectangular prism after rectangular prism for Mr. Clarson, his sons, and the slowly growing firm. Her sister and her parents visited from time to time. She made some friends and lost others. She joined a book club. She had a few romantic flings, but nothing serious. Eighteen years dragged and stretched and blinked by and suddenly in the conference room at Turntop Private Equity, Jenna felt the dome call out to her again. "Become magnificent." It had been a long time since Jenna had tried to become anything, but now she would again.

Jeffrey had paused for questions. Jenna raised her hand a few inches off the table and asked, "What if we put a giant dome over the courtyard? Like, a hundred feet high and made of glass?"

Everyone in the room laughed and the conversation moved on, but Jenna persisted. She drew mock-ups, projected costs, consulted local contractors, and pitched the idea to Jeffrey again and again. Eventually, she was able to convince him of its economic potential. And it wasn't going to be ugly. There would be something beautiful and fragile and spiteful about it, too.

A few years later, the mall was nearly complete. The escalators had been installed, strategically placed to ensure maximum foot traffic to all the stores. All twelve hundred acres of parking lot surrounding the mall had been paved, providing enough parking for everyone in the whole county and the neighboring three counties to show up on Black Friday in their RVs. Jenna had tried to get them to plant some trees throughout the parking lot, but the budget had run over. Alexander, who had taken over the project from Jeffrey when he sensed that it might actually succeed, had compromised with Jenna by planting four small bushes, one on each side of the mall. These would die before opening day.

The budget had run over because of the dome. The steel frame was in place now and the second shipment of glass panels was on its way. The first batch had arrived in the trucks in a billion pieces. Someone had forgotten to specify that the glass should be bubbled-wrapped.

But the dome wasn't why Jenna would soon turn her life upside down. It was the trees beneath the dome.

For the courtyard underneath the dome, Jenna's intern, Sid, had designed an elaborate koi pond. In all of twenty square meters, Sid had squeezed in four huckleberry bushes, a babbling stream ending in a crashing waterfall, and three small potted almond trees. Everyone at Clarson & Sons loved it, even grumpy old Ed Clarson himself. Sid was extended a full-time offer, which was later awkwardly rescinded with sincere apologies, after the trees began to levitate.

Three months before opening day, the construction crew had just started affixing the glass panels to the dome's superstructure (working mostly from the inside of the dome) when they noticed that yesterday's panels were slick with water (the insides of the panels, that is). It hadn't rained; South Glenfield was well into its second month of drought. Bob Trefelger, the supervisor, was called up to take a look. Bob, in turn, called up the union rep, Frank Montelieu, who, upon reaching the top of the scaffolding, leaned far out towards the dome and licked the glass. "Salty," he said.

"Oh?" said Bob.

"Yeah, like tears," said Frank.

"Tears?" said Bob.

"Yeah," said Frank. "Like when you're blubbering out of control and the tears are streaming down your face and one hits the corner of your mouth so you lick it and it kinda tastes good in a sad sorta tearful way like even as bad as things are to have made you start blubbering at least your tears taste alright. Heck you even kinda enjoyed the taste and maybe you'll just keep on blubbering to get another taste and this strikes you as sort of a funny thing to be thinking about amidst all the what all that has you blubbering in the first place so you let out a hiccupy kind of laugh, half a laugh and half a sob and you lick your lips again, all the way around this time hoping to get another taste of a salty tear but all you end up tasting is a glob of thick snot that's dribbled down your philtrum and it's nasty as all imagining and has you sobbing and weeping and miserable all over again."

"Huh," said Bob.

Frank shrugged. "Probably just condensation."

"Yeah," said Bob. He motioned for the crew to squeegee the glass dry and get back to work.

***

Every morning, as the mall's dome came closer and closer to completion, the panels were damp and had to be squeegeed. After about a week of this, Bob was very frustrated. So much time was being wasted on the squeegeeing of the glass panels—which panels, as the dome ascended, became increasingly curved and increasingly difficult to squeegee—and on the mopping up of all the water that would land on the floor outside of Sid's koi pond. Indeed, Bob was so frustrated that one morning he decided to call Jenna, despite her repeated warnings to not bother her before noon "unless the entire mall is swallowed by a sinkhole. Or worse."

"What," she said.

"Hiya Jen, good morning," he said.

"Sinkhole?" she said.

"Well, no," he said. "But—"

Jenna hung up the phone and snuggled back into her duvet. Her long tenure at Clarson & Sons had earned her certain privileges. She liked to sleep in.

Bob Trefelger had known Jenna for too long to be truly upset with her. It wasn't personal.

"Look," he texted her, "the thing's still standing but you really gotta see this. I think the dome's leaking."

"1hr," she replied.

Bob radioed up to the squeegee crew. "Hold your horses. Architect's on her way. Leave 'em wet for now. Over."

An hour later, Jenna, Bob and Frank were up in the scaffolding, looking at the beads of water gathered on the glass.

"Huh," said Jenna.

"Yeah," said Bob.

"I'm glad you called," said Jenna. Bob tipped his hardhat towards her.

"Lick it," said Frank.

"What?" said Jenna.

"It's salty," said Frank, "like tears."

"No thank you," said Jenna. She hurried back down. She felt queasy. Maybe it was the heights. Maybe it was the missed breakfast.

Jenna called Sid and briefed him on the problem. Together, they installed humidity sensors, anemometers, pressure gauges and thermometers, inside and outside the dome and all over the mall. The data agreed with what they already knew, with what everyone in South Glenfield already knew. It was dry and hot and windless, just as it had been for weeks and weeks. Jenna crunched some more numbers. Sid called one of his Ivy League professors. Nothing added up. They were stumped.

"I'm going to watch," Jenna said to Sid one day.

"Watch?" said Sid.

"If I keep my eyes peeled all night, maybe I'll see where the leak is coming from."

"Okay," said Sid. "Should I come with you?"

Jenna hesitated. Arizona state law prohibited unpaid interns from working night shifts. An extra pair of eyes would help, though. "Not tonight, Sid," she said. "If I don't figure it out, you can join me tomorrow. We'll pay you for it."

"Okay," said Sid. "Good luck."

At 11pm, Jenna scaled the scaffolding with her sleeping bag tucked under one arm. Inches from the dome, she unfurled the sleeping bag and crawled in. She pulled her thermos out of her bag and took a slow, steady sip of coffee.

At 11:10pm, the glass was still dry.

Jenna felt alone in the hollow of the dome in the empty mall in the middle of the empty parking lot. She wished she had told Sid to come. She stared at the glass, straining to see if droplets were forming on it. She exhaled and her breath fogged up the glass. "Well, that won't do," she laughed and thought about Heisenberg disturbing his atoms. She dug inside her bag and pulled out a lime green handkerchief and tied it around her face. It smelled of peanut butter.

She drew a face in the fog on the glass and then wiped it dry with her sleeve.

At 3am, Jenna woke up to the sound of rustling leaves. The glass panel next to her glistened in the dark. She reached out to touch it. It was wet. With the app on her phone, she checked the anemometers. There was no wind. What was rustling the leaves?

She flicked on her headlamp and descended to the floor. On her way down, a drop of water landed on the bottom of her chin. As she got nearer, the rustling noises were joined by a soft chorus of sniffles and sobs.

***

She brought Sid with her the next night.

"I didn't know they could do this," said Sid.

"Well, if they start to float, I'm turning my entire life upside down," said Jenna.

"Okay," said Sid. He didn't think that trees could float. "What should we tell Bob?"

In the morning, Bob was pleased with the news. If the tears are falling up, he argued, there's no danger of them falling down. He called off the squeegee crew. By the time the mall opened, a small reservoir of water had gathered at the top of the dome. The fire chief had threatened to delay the opening because of the threat of it falling onto some shoppers, but he was assured that the water would stay in its place. "It's tears from the trees," explained Frank. "They're salty and they fall up."

***

On the following Thursday, Jenna was perched on the sailboat-patterned sofa in Patricia's nautical-themed living room, in between Olivia, who was chewing loudly, and Veronica, who was scrolling through her phone, ignoring Patricia, who, with a polite clearing of her throat and a light shake of this month's book, was trying to interrupt Ruth and Sadi, who were chatting excitedly about their boys' last soccer game. Jenna took a sip of her wine. The red was too fruity to her taste, too much like the grape cough syrup she was spoon-fed when she was sick as a child. Her mother never bought the cherry flavor, no matter how many times Jenna asked.

"And I don't mean to sound rude, but why on Earth would Dave put Nick at left back?" Ruth was saying.

"Right! Maybe it'd be okay with a strong sweeper, but a flat back four? Disastrous," said Sadi.

"Well, you should be proud of Charlie for stopping so many shots! They were just raining down on him!"

"And you should be proud of your Sebby for the equalizer! What a counterattack!"

"I was thinking we could get started," said Patricia. "I just loved what Picoult did with the ending here."

"Now, if only it wasn't that damn side ref. He's the worst AR in the league!" said Ruth.

"The trees at the mall are crying," said Jenna, almost to herself.

Olivia stopped chewing. "Hey," she said loudly. Patricia smiled gratefully, but Olivia continued. "Listen to Jenna."

"The trees at the mall are crying," Jenna repeated. In the silence that followed, Jenna passed her glass slowly from one hand to the other. The air conditioner hissed.

"You mean in the book?" asked Patricia. "I must've missed it. What chapter?" She started thumbing through her copy.

"No, Patricia. I'm sure she means the mall she's working on. You know, with the dome?" said Olivia. "Right, Jenna?"

Ruth and Sadi exchanged a look.

"Yes," said Jenna. "The potted almond trees in the courtyard of the mall are crying every night. The tears seep out of the branches and roll off the long, narrow leaves and fall up into the dome. They weep and sob and snivel."

Veronica laid down her phone in her lap and leaned forward to grab another one of the tiny, triangular turkey-and-mustard sandwiches from the pile on the table. "What?" she said.

Jenna felt exhausted. She usually didn't talk this much at book club.

Olivia wrapped her heavy, slightly damp arm around Jenna's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "It's okay, Jenna," she said. "I'm sure you've been exhausted from all your hard work, what with that huge dome and everything."

Ruth turned again to Sadi.

"Yeah," said Jenna. "Yeah. It's just, I don't know. What am I even doing here? Why is everything... sailboats?"

"Aw, honey, all your friends are here," said Olivia with another squeeze.

"Yeah, but why are the trees crying? I don't know... If they start to float, I'll know. I'll know it's a sign."

"A sign of what?" said Ruth.

"Float? Like in the water?" said Veronica. "Can't all trees do that?"

"What water?" said Sadi.

"There's a koi pond at the mall!" said Olivia, happy to have remembered.

"I think she means float up, like balloons. She said the tears are falling up, too," said Ruth.

"Crying trees floating up like balloons!" exclaimed Patricia. She began to laugh. The other women soon joined in. Jenna managed a smile and took another sip of wine. Olivia noticed the tremble in her grip, but said nothing. As the last chuckles faded into silence, Patricia seized the moment. "Now, in my reading, I thought it was just marvelous the way Jodi neatly ties up these two long-running plot lines with this new twist right before the very end..."

***

The next Thursday was Veronica's turn to host. Jenna had almost pulled in the driveway when she decided to drive to the mall instead. She slipped inside and found a bench just outside the courtyard, far enough from the scaffolding to feel safe without a hardhat, but close enough to hear the trees. She sat and listened until she drifted off to sleep. In the morning, before the first workers arrived, she slipped back out, drove home, and got a couple more hours of sleep in her bed. At home, with the sunlight streaming through the gaps in her blackout curtains, she slept fitfully. The weeping trees echoed in her dreams.

As the dome neared completion and the stores began to fill up with all their various hats and candles and toys, devices and outfits and knick-knacks, Jenna returned again and again to sleep on the bench. She thought she owed it to them to listen, even though she didn't understand yet why they were sad.

***

Opening day was a roaring success. Ruth and Sadi texted the book club chat a selfie of them smiling in the parking lot with the dome towering behind them. Miles of cars were backed up on the highway leading to the mall. People were coming from all over to see the dome and the elaborate koi pond, not to mention the luxurious shopping experiences and the delicious chicken teriyaki combo available at the food court.

Alexander and Jeffrey from Turntop Private Equity called Jenna to congratulate her on a job well done.

"It's magnificent, Jenna! Just magnificent!" said Jeffrey.

"Thank you," said Jenna. She hung up. She wondered if she had misheard the dome in Florence all those years ago. Or maybe this was how everyone felt when they accomplished their dreams. No, that can't be right; it doesn't explain the trees.

At 4am the next morning, the trees, having shed their last tears, began to float. When they reached the second floor, they shook their roots out of their enormous clay pots and let them fall to the floor. The shattering of the pots on the ground startled Jenna. She had been fast asleep on her bench. A piece of clay bounced towards her head. She ducked.

Halfway up the second floor, the trees paused, as if to catch their breath. They hovered there the rest of the day.

Feeling nothing, Jenna drove home. She hummed along to all the songs on the radio, even the ones she didn't know. She packed up her bags, emailed a short letter of resignation to Ed Clarson, threw her phone into a storm drain, and started driving to Vermont.

***

In her rush to leave, Jenna had accidentally sent Ed the email from her personal account, which was directed automatically to Ed's spam folder. So when Jenna didn't show up for work the next day and no one knew why, Sid called her a few times. Her phone rang from the sewer, but no one heard it. The next day, without any further sign from her, Sid called up Bob Trefelger and Frank Montelieu and even Jeffrey Stavos to see if they had heard from her. The whole lot of them, along with some of the other architects at the firm, decided together to check in on her at home.

Meanwhile, having not seen her at book club for the past three weeks, Patricia, Olivia, Ruth, Sadi, and even Veronica had grown worried. They decided to pay her a visit, just in case. She had certainly been acting strange lately.

When these two crowds arrived and each group quickly surmised the intent of the other, they all began to rush up the path to the door. There they found a note. Sid read it out loud.

"Not dead, just gone. I needed a change. I thought it could be the dome. Guess not. Thanks. And sorry."

***

After a week, the trees began to rise again. One night they finally crashed through the dome, sending down a flood of broken glass and salty wet tears. One of the fish in the pond was severed in half. The rest were okay. The mall re-opened a few days later with a tarp stretched out under the dome.

In Vermont, Jenna found a nice little house to rent in a quiet village. It had a maple tree in the front yard and garden beds in the back. She grew cabbage and squash and sold line drawings of cats at the gift shop next door. She stopped dreaming about domes. When rain gathered in the leaves of the maple or tears in the corners of her eyes, the drops fell down, down to the ground, just as they should.