“All three copies.”

I turned without answering, walked into the kitchen, and set my ceramic mug on the tile counter.

Mark came in right behind me, his dress shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum.

He reached into the upper cabinet and pulled down two clean mugs with a harsh ceramic clatter.

He grabbed the glass carafe from the coffee maker and poured black coffee into both cups.

“Don’t make a dramatic scene out of this with your mother,” Mark said, taking a quick sip.