“Just leave a quick list on the refrigerator door.”

“I’d rather drive myself, Daniel.”

“This isn’t about what you’d rather, Mom,” he said, opening his briefcase to go through a stack of white folders.

“It’s about running this household efficiently.

We can’t have an unregistered car sitting in the driveway if the neighborhood association does a street sweep.”

He snapped the brass latches on his briefcase shut with two crisp clicks.

“And where are my car keys?” I asked.