“I’ve tried everything—meditation, more pills, therapy, sort of. Nothing’s worked. My company lets me work from home now because it became too exhausting for me to leave my apartment.” I don’t tell her that they expect me back in the office next month, that I was able to leverage my grief to keep my job, that I’m not ready to go back to seeing all of them again, every day. To make small talk with people whose conversation topics range from which midlevel designer is having a sample sale to which salad dressing has the lowest calorie count.

Lola stretches and looks up at us, silently asking for attention. But for the moment, Anneliese is entirely focused on me. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.” She wraps her arm around me in a half hug. “I’m so, so sorry.” And she seems to mean it, too, even though my wacky brain has nothing to do with her.

“Actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to show you. Give me a second.” She finally looks down at Lola. “Maybe we should get your brother, huh? You think he’s been punished long enough?” Lola nods, her eyes wide, and sticks her thumb into her mouth. “Go say hi to Sue, honey. Show her your book. I’ll be right back.”

I kneel down on the floor, next to Lola. Her book is called Lola at the Library, and the cover shows a Black girl joyfully choosing books to check out. “Wow. Is this book about you?” Lola smiles shyly and shrugs. “Want me to read aloud to you?” She shakes her head no.

“I only like it when Mommy does the voices,” she explains, and I sit back, feeling oddly offended by the rejection. And I think she can feel it because she puts her little hand on my knee and scoots closer. “Does your Mommy read to you, too?”

I’m about to answer when Anneliese comes back in, holding a large book, trailed by a sulking Jordan, arms crossed, head bent to his chest. “Jordy, be nice and say hi to Sue.” He raises his head a little, looking in my direction. He has the same deep, penetrative gaze as his aunt.

“Hi.” He shuffles his feet, and I wave to him from my spot on the floor. “What’s up?” Anneliese glances down at him.

“Oh, don’t be rude, Jordan. Take your sister to your room and read her a story, okay? Then we can go out to the park.” To my amazement, he obeys her, begrudgingly so, but he takes Lola out of the living room, her hand cupped in his, and soon I can hear him asking her to choose a book. I wonder if he can do the voices right.

“You really have them under control,” I say as Anneliese makes herself comfortable on the couch again.