Mama is the mother, she’s meant to be the sun of their family. And she acts more like the moon, reflecting back others’ light
Wilhelm pries the cork off the bottle and splashes the wine into two flute glasses. He raises the glass. “To moving on with life.”
Felix watches, hesitating, before the lure of a wineglass in hand decides for him. He raises his glass. “To stepping back into the unknown.” He sips, allows the wine to linger in his mouth before he swallows. It is a good vintage. Not what he would have expected from Wilhelm.
“Papa gave me the key to the wine cellar,” Wilhelm says, pouring himself a second glass.
“In honor of?”
A big announcement is coming, surely. While Felix writes stories about Hans and Bertha (the latest: Hans and Bertha visit their elderly relatives on a sled, bringing them pastries that Mama has ordered the servants to prepare especially for them), Wilhelm is moving on. Not only that, he deserves a charged glass.
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