I opened an account for Nolan that he isn’t allowed to look at until he’s eighteen, which drives him insane.

I bought myself the coffee I like, in a bag, without checking the price, and stood in the aisle at the Kroger on Broadway feeling foolish and enormous.

And I drove past Gold & Silver Exchange maybe nine times without going in, until my mother finally said, over dishes, “Are you going to do it, or are you going to keep driving past it like a teenager?”

“He sold it,” I said. “It’s been two and a half years. It’s gone.”

“Then go find out it’s gone,” Ruth said, “and stop paying rent on it.”

I went on a Tuesday in October, and Nolan came with me because he insisted, and because he had reached the age where he no longer believed I was reliable about telling him things.