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“Be happy, Anna. It’s about time. They think they’ll get better with age. No way. Nothing doing. The laundry just piles up.” Sylvia turned to Junior: “Congratulations. Take her! Quick! Lisa loves you.”

My son is increasingly recognizing the moments when he appears most cultured, when he is silent. He had his eye on his shoe and was busy. I distracted myself with specialty coffees. They suit my mood in any weather.

“Oh, how nice, Sylvia. Are you bringing the cappuccino on a tray with a glass of water? “

” Yes, no. You have to move with the times. With coffee, it’s going backwards. Can I get you anything else? – Anna, strawberry cake?”

” I’d love that, Sylvia, thank you very much. “

The gentleman at my table shook his head.” Thanks.”

Sylvia disappeared back into the shop. I collected myself as I looked at the oval metal tray.

Oh, how sweet, a heart on the milk foam. It’s made of chocolate powder. With a knack for love, I took a sip and carefully put the cup back down. The powdered symbol remained intact.

“Fuck! They’re never the same length. Velcro fasteners should be available for these delicate shoes too. – But if you have a dog that sheds, you’re jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Whatever you do.” He ended his profound everyday problems with a hearty jerk and looked at me: “Mom, no kidding. I’m going to marry Lisa.” Mayer Junior said again the shoes fit snugly on his feet—all three pairs and couples equipped for life. Real burdens they only knew from the movies. He took a big sip of his cappuccino.

I’m going to marry Lisa,” Mayer Junior said again. His shoes were tight on his feet, but they didn’t have to carry any weight yet.

He took a big sip of his cappuccino. He whistled at his chocolate powder heart. Or rather, he blew out his nose, and it swayed on the foam. With the first sip, the marriage-minded man cleared it completely. Junior kept the cup in his hand and looked across the square.

My thoughts needed more light to grow.

When things go wrong—shoes—marriage—life… I’m here. The pampered dog, knowing my way—to the gate at the end of the playground.

It was a sun-kissed, until that moment uneventful day in April. We sat in the middle of Luneburg under a twenty-year-old maple tree with light green foliage. Our table was one of the outdoor seats at a pub owned by friends. Everyone pitched in to help. They only avoided each other physically when there was oncoming traffic with loaded trays in the store. My family is tiny, which doesn’t necessarily make things any clearer. Junior and I were the only members of the Mayer family under the tree.

A planned business trip to Pescara in Italy was the reason for our conversation that day. At the end of May, Junior was planning to drive to the Adriatic Sea for the annual meeting of an association. Until he told me about his marriage plans under the maple tree, the plan was for me to accompany him to Pescara. The hotel booking and registration for the meeting had already been confirmed six months ago. It was not yet clear whether we would leave earlier to make one or two stops along the way. The travel fever was kept within limits. My mood matched the anticipation of a trip to Italy with a class reunion. I knew most of the participants better than he did. That wasn’t difficult. He liked to have me represent him at previous events. I had let myself be persuaded and had seen New York, New Orleans, and Dubai. Apart from his fear of flying, there were no reasons for this division of labor. Pescara is easily accessible by car. Junior got there without wetting his pants.