(Julian)"You got a haircut," Natasha says at the door, like I've committed something."I got a haircut.""And that's a new shirt.""It's a three-year-old shirt. It just hasn't been out much lately. Neither have I. We're reintegrating together."I hold up the bottle I brought."Am I allowed in, or is the inspection ongoing?"She steps aside.The townhouse smells like whatever's in the oven, and Lily's on the rug in the living room, upright against the coffee table, supervising her blocks like middle management.Six weeks since the funeral.Give or take.I've stopped counting in days, which the grief pamphlet Piper mailed me, mailed, with a stamp, like it's 1994, says is progress.The pamphlet also says to "rejoin your social circle."So here I am.Rejoining.I did Sunday lunch at Gloria’s, which was easier because there were so many people and the attention wasn’t focused on me.Now I’m doing Tuesday dinner at Natasha's, the training-wheels version of a life."You look better," she sa
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