"This is one of our favourite restaurants," Eli informs me with a giddy grin as we take our seats outside the bulging place. The plastic chair is slightly warm, heated by the temperature of the night, and I am glad that my wet hair will dry quickly. The table is a square, and so the four of us – Alexia, Alba, Eli, and I – all sit opposite one another. Their frequency of their visits to this establishment is evident in the way no one bats an eye at La Reina's presence, viewing her more as the little girl who presumably kicked a ball around the pavement while her family ate.

"I think I've had about twenty birthday meals here," Alexia dutifully adds, hoping to not let the conversation stale but sensing the difficulty I am facing. I don't know what to do, or what to say. I wish I had asked if Clàudia could join us. "The food is delicious. It's all very local. I'm not sure if they have a Spanish menu."

Eli chuckles. "Shall we just order what we usually would? Talia, are you allergic to anything?" I shake my head. "Okay, great. Drinks?"

"Wine?" suggests Alba.

"Water."

I glance between my captain and her sister, ultimately deciding to follow the decision of the best footballer in the world. "Water for me, please."

Their mother seems to have expected both answers, and enjoys the way I copy Alexia. "We will have champagne when you meet the rest of your family," is her determined addition, to which Alba's grin only widens. The charm of the restaurant settles above us as I take in the faint smell of cigarette smoke and the murmured blend of languages. Places like this, so warm and comforting, make me yearn for home. "Talia, we are so glad that you joined us tonight."

A rush of gratitude at Eli's welcoming demeanour surges through me. Barcelona, although livened by Clàudia and the team, has been relatively lonely so far. "Thank you," I say. I think it would be nice to get to know them. I try not to punish my own mother in my head. "Did you enjoy the match?"

"It was incredibly boring," says Alba. Under the table, there is the movement of legs – I tuck my own back so as to not get caught in the crossfire. "Alexia kicked me!" Alba whines, staring directly at her mother, chin jutting out as if to prompt a scolding for her sister. "Talia, do your siblings do this?"

Eli eyebrows raise, her interest piqued. They look at me, awaiting my answer. The possibility of more estranged family members must be intriguing, but I quickly stamp on it with, "I don't have any. It's just me and Mamá." I feel a little guilty about my omission of the man who named me. "Well, there's Manuel, too. I suppose he is like family."

"Who is Manuel?"

I glance at my captain. It is a little off-putting that Alexia will suddenly know everything about me, if the way this conversation is heading is anything to go by. Alexia nods, as though to assure me that this is something different – she is not Alexia Putellas here. "He's our priest." Eli's laugh tells me, I think, about my mother's life before. It remains hidden behind an inky black cloud of deceit and lies, but this is one more step towards clarity. Their silence is an invitation to explain. "Mamá and him are very good friends. He named me, actually. And he was the one who convinced her to let me play professionally. She wanted me to finish school and go to university."

"He named you Talia?" asks Eli, with a subtle eagerness to learn about my entire life.

"Natalia. I prefer Talia because there was someone with the same name as me in my class, and it was irritating to get mixed up. And then Elisabet, of which the origins are now clear."

"Elisabet?"

"Yeah."

"Natalia Elisabet Segura," she begins. "What's next?"

"Sabaté."

"Tere never was very creative." But there are tears in her eyes as she speaks. "So, where is Marc in all of this?"

"Who?" I ask.

However, I do not receive an answer, as curious as Alexia, Alba, and I are to hear one, because the waiter has noticed our readiness to order, coming over with a notepad and about ten minutes of conversation, asking Alexia for updates on football. His daughter, Laia, has just been accepted into La Masia, and he exudes pride. He asks me for my autograph upon taking in my presence – "my daughter loves you" – but Alexia declines for me, saving me from the hassle. Maybe Clàudia has told her about my little rule.

After the interruption, we do not return to such heavy topics, instead lightly exchanging small talk. I suppose it is long overdue for Eli to hear snippets of her sister's life, and I enjoy the way I am not encouraged to delve into deeply personal issues that I don't want to share with people I just met – regardless of any DNA we share.

Then, once the tantalising aroma of food fills our table and we have tucked into the long-awaited meal, the attention shifts to Alexia, much to her dismay. Her family grill her about Fleur de Voss like it is the foundation of their conversations, and it is clear that my seat at the table does nothing to discourage them. They ask me what I think, caring even more when Alexia tells them I prefer Fleur's company to her own, and do not let the topic drop until Alexia is begging for mercy. I'd never thought I'd see Alexia Putellas begging for anything, but here we are.

Even then, their benevolence comes at a price. "You like her," says Eli, bored of these words. "You know that – you've admitted that – so why don't you say something? It is a bit cowardly. Alba is less dramatic with her relationships, and that is a high bar to jump over."

Alexia's eyes widen at what her mother has let slip, and she makes a point to avoid looking at me as I digest both the food and that information. I remain silent, cautious to not alert them of my nosiness and have Alexia change the subject. "She doesn't like me," Alexia mumbles dejectedly, completely humbled by Fleur's behaviour. She's not used to someone having such reluctance to feel positively about her. "She's said it multiple times. Even after that night in Sevilla."

My question escapes me before I can cover my mouth with my hand. "What happened in Sevilla?" That match was three days ago, so this is recent news that Fleur has chosen to keep a secret.

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Alba says with a smirk. "Alexia slept in Fleur's bed with her because Fleur was in pain. She held her all night, despite her legs cramping – how valiant – and then Fleur woke up in the morning and kissed her cheek. But then she ignored Ale the whole day, as if it never happened, and..."

"I've been working on my English. I heard her ranting to Ingrid about me." She saddens, and I wonder when their feud will end. "Enough about this, though. Tell us all about you and Pina!"

"You and Pina?!" Eli and Alba both share a surprised look. "You and Pina have been going out?"

"Only for a little while, since I moved to Barcelona. She was there when no one else really was, though no one is at fault for that other than me." I probably could have reached out to Salma beforehand, or Jana. I chose not to as if coming here was some top-secret mission, forgetting that tiptoeing around the subject was only necessary in the presence of Mamá. "I like her, don't get me wrong. It's just not that serious, and I don't know how things will transpire what with the World Cup and–"

"You're going?" Alexia interrupts with a cautious lowering of her tone. Her brows furrowed and eyes dark with something that resembles past trauma, I can only feel guilt when I nod. "He has called you already, hasn't he? It'll be to ensure you're on his side, you know. So that you don't run your mouth off to a journalist."

I click my tongue, working fast to form a coherent opinion on this. Clàu has deemed it my 'most annoying' habit. "I'm not on his side," I state firmly. That needed to be cleared up. "I am young, and I did not have the benefit of La Masia or some other well-regarded academy. I've been told that I have potential, and that is why I am playing in a jersey I cannot stand to wear, so if I can put myself through this, then I can put myself through that."

"I want you to be careful." Eli's voice is grave and bears memories of comforting Alexia after years of mistreatment, heartbroken at what the senior team has had to go through. "Both of you."

Once again, Alexia looks mildly annoyed at her mother for exposing her. She has not spoken on the matter, but I know of her plans now. I cannot blame her, but we can feel the shame together when Clàudia and Mapi both remain at home. They are stronger than us.

"Talia, do you not support Barcelona?" Alba asks, leaning back in her chair with folded arms, both her demeanour and her input lightening the mood. "Of course, you must love whatever your local team is too. Totally understandable. But it's alright to support two teams when one of them is the best club in the world."

"I'm too big a Córdoba CF fan," I joke.

Alexia's eyes narrow. "She supports Real Madrid."

"No!"

"Hala Madrid," I confirm.

"No!"

"I can't help it. They're just so much better."

"Our own flesh and blood," Eli wonders aloud. She is disgusted, though it shallows as she gulps back the last of her wine. "It is not your fault, I suppose. You did not know." I think back to the times I was encouraged to don a white jersey, or when Manuel would bring me with him to watch the games in the bars upon Mamá's request and approval. She urged me into it, though I am not complaining, and it is evident, as I am sitting at this table, why.

Alexia tilts her glass in lieu of a toast. "We can still change your mind," she declares heartily, relaxed amongst the safety of her family. There is a fleeting moment of silence, in which she must be considering what she is going to say next. "I take it you're not staying here next season?"

"I think I'll try out England," I reply honestly. I sigh. "This league is not competitive enough, and it would be too hard to break into Barcelona's squad with Salma and, of course, the multitude of incredible forwards you already have. Plus, Fleur has been helping me with my English. It would be a good experience."

"You would be far away," Eli states. Her disappointment is clear. "We have just found you."

"Football comes above all," Alexia reminds her mother. There is a known wound to her words, but they must be well aware of what the sport demands of us.

"We know." Alba's glum look is uncharacteristic, out of place on her usually bright face. "So our new cousin is going to move to England? Can I come visit? I have never been to London, and... Oh, doesn't Leila live in Manchester? We should visit her in Manchester. Lex, why do we never visit Leila in Manchester?"

"Too cold."

"Tell me about it," I laugh. "I'm the one from Andalucía."

Eli appears to want to speak, but she does not. We finish eating, and I find that I have quite enjoyed what I thought would have been a very emotionally-intense dinner. It is because – and I am well aware of this fact – they have memorised their questions for another time. One where I am more prepared to answer, or where they are at liberty to speak as freely as they would like.

Or, as I come to realise when Eli starts to interrogate me about my schedule, a slot in my day that works for their entire family. Because there is more.

Alexia carts me away before her mother delves into the extent of probable invitees.

"She is just excited." She speaks as if to comfort me. Her car unlocks with a loud beep in the quiet side street she has parked in, and I reach instinctively for the door handle to the backseat before realising that Fleur is not with us. "Teresa shattered her heart when she left. She's the youngest, you see. She was her baby, in a sense, and... Well, I remember how it was back then."

I get into the car, pretending not to see the notification that appears on the screen when Alexia's phone connects to the system. It is a message from Mapi: a continuation of their ongoing disagreement about the World Cup. The subject is touch, and I do not feel equipped to discuss it. "She knew you?" I choose to ask instead, looking at Alexia as she begins to drive us back to the building.

Alexia nods. "She left in 2002. I was eight."

That is the year I was born. The opportunity dawns on me: "Alexia, do you know who my father is?"

She nods again.

"Is it a man called Marc Ivorra?"

Her breath hitches and there is no third nod. "Talia, I think you need to talk to my mother or my grandmother" – our grandmother, apparently – "about this. I was very young, and I was very obsessed with football. I will not have the correct information to give you. As Mamá said, there will be time. We are a close family. You will meet them all." She glances over to my nervous expression. "If you'd like to."

My mother is going to kill me.

"I wouldn't mind."

"You can even bring Pina, you know." I swallow the lump in my throat at the thought of the future. Not only is it terrifying because I am young and there is a lot that could happen, but the approaching World Cup – and the unavoidable argument that will take place before I leave – and the idea that my life is going to change drastically in many ways also knots my stomach and presses on my insides. "How are you and Pina?"

"I'm not going to talk about my sex life with you," I tell her with a snort.

Upon second thought, her question is retracted. "I wasn't asking for the details." Reminded by my own love life, it seems, she chances another look at me. "Don't tell Fleur, okay? Please."

"I didn't think you knew how to beg."

"Please, Talia." She is sincere. "She hates me as it is, and she is going through a lot–"

"–I know," I interrupt.

"I know," she parrots. "Just don't tell her. The feelings will go away soon, and we can hate each other again."

"If you like her, you really should just let her know."

"When you are older, with rivals and scars from previous relationships, it is a lot more complicated." I ignore the dig at Clàudia and I. "You know about what happened to Scarlett Powell, right? I cannot imagine what it would be like. If any of you died on the pitch today, I think I would have died with you."

My eyebrows furrow. "Do you pity her?" Fleur is stubborn and intrinsically against help. She has been taught to do things herself, and her independence is both admirable and her downfall. If Alexia were to ever pity her, Fleur would strike her from the list of names on the team and declare the woman dead to her. This, I am sure of.

She shakes her head, seeming to know this already; "No, I think I care deeply for her."

"I think," I say earnestly, with the implication of telling her something she does not want to hear, "that you might love her." How can Alexia be so insightful unless she spends hours thinking of her? She cannot display this level of understanding, this grasp of her character, without a conversation that I know they have never had. To be so acutely aware of someone you barely know – and to feel like you do know them though that is not true – must be what it means to fall in-love from afar. Surely.

I do not necessarily feel that way towards Clàudia.

"Fleur is just really pretty." She smiles, blushing.

notes: 

the benefit, for u guys, of hmc being on hold is that u get to see alexia harbouring a crush. so really i should be thanked because it isn't that just adorable 

also also also 

talia rn is so mature. like look at her go

anyway, thoughts? opinions? rants? 

thanks for reading!