The thousand-dollar espresso machine on the quartz counter hissed twice, releasing a sharp cloud of steam into the cold air of my son’s kitchen.

Mark set his silver travel mug beside the sink and didn’t look at me while he opened the morning mail.

“I need the twelve hundred for the utilities today, Mom,” he said.

I picked up the teabag by its string and dropped it into the trash can under the sink.

“I can write a check from my bank downtown, Mark.

Or do a transfer right from my phone, like the young clerk showed me.”

Mark sliced open a heavy white envelope with a silver letter opener.

“No transfers.

Cash is just cleaner for everyone during tax season, Mom.”

He held out his right hand without turning his head.

His gold wristwatch slid out from under his cuff, catching flashes of bright morning light on its face.

I reached into the pocket of my housecoat and took out the three white envelopes I had filled at the drive-through window on Monday.

Each one held four hundred dollars in crisp hundred-dollar bills, straight from the teller’s drawer.

I laid the three envelopes on the polished quartz beside his keys.

He picked them up with one hand, tapped them against his palm, and slipped them straight into the inner pocket of his wool overcoat.

“Did the paperwork from the county recorder come in yet?” I asked, keeping my voice low and steady.

“The papers adding my name to the deed?”

Mark picked up his coat and tossed his car keys into the air once, catching them cleanly.