Elisabet Segura and I have never met before. I suppose she'd have seen me play for Barcelona, or perhaps even the club's matches against Sevilla, and she would know who I am if I grant myself the presumption that Alexia has mentioned me to her. Probably as her new, young teammate who is out of her depth and kicking as hard as she can to stay above the water. Or maybe the captain of various youth teams.

Elisabet Segura and I have never met before, but she embraces me over the barrier as though I am her daughter.

Her arms carry the strength of child-bearing, and are firm, as though they are pleading me to never part from her. The hug is suffocatingly tight, and I am at her mercy, much to her daughters' horror.

A second more, and Alexia places her hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mami," she says sternly, as though she is the one in charge. The captain's armband stretches across her bicep as she grips the fabric of Eli's jersey. "Let her go."

Though Eli shakes her head, she releases me. I stumble backwards, falling into Clàudia's chest as she watches on with a concerning curiosity. Her lack of alarm scares me. She looks like she had expected this to happen.

"What the fuck," I murmur into her ear as Alexia and Alba begin to apologise profusely.

"Hey, Talia," she says back, "go talk to her again."

The air grows heavy and the rain clouds drop lower, overcasting my vision as I try my hardest to understand what she means. My heart rate picks up and I suddenly feel too cold in this city, wishing with every fibre of my being to be returned home into the warmth of the sun and Mamá's comfort. I long to walk through my city without the fear of losing myself in a sea of tourists, and to find my way to the church whenever my head won't be cleared by the repetitive action of kicking a ball over and over. Distantly, I hear Manuel's voice, but he is warning me. He is telling me that something is very wrong with the way Eli Segura just greeted me. He is advising me to turn around and walk into the tunnel, and then to head south until the language drops its 's'.

But I can't.

I can't go to Córdoba without knowing who Marc Ivorra is, and I can't fail to discover Mamá's ghosts. Those wisps of the past are what has created me, and there is something so instinctive about needing to know. I withheld my questions for twenty years, and there has always been more to my relocation than what is simply best for my career.

Alexia and Alba go silent as I step forwards, and I have to tell myself that I am not walking on liquid ground before my knees buckle and I hit the dirt.

Knowing I should speak but unable to construct anything of substance, I reach the barrier with parted lips and a dry mouth. The seats behind Eli and Alba have emptied, and there is an eerie silence settled into the stadium, blanketing the pitch as though to return it to its natural, uninhabited state. The emptiness does nothing to open up the world for me, and I become trapped between two voices: Manuel's deep collectedness, and Eli's shriller, excited Catalan.

As I stare at the face in front of me, floating despite the hands cupping my cheeks, I begin to remember the crease of her forehead, and the shape of her eyes. Her nose protrudes from her face with the same unassuming curvature as one I have grown up. She looks like Mamá.

I feel my eyes widen and I pull my head backwards, gasping for air as Alexia wars with herself, unsure of whether she should intervene. Unsure of what is really happening.

"Talia," I hear Manuel instruct me, voice echoed by Mamá's. "Talia, go. Go now, and come back to Córdoba."

I shake my head, wanting them to be quiet. Not wanting to be told what to do, or how to think, or who created the world and how and why or 'no, you must not'. I look to Eli as if she holds the answers to my questions.

"Welcome home," she says.

And I realise that she does.

Eli holds out her hands, far less forceful than her embrace, and I take them. She carefully guides me towards her once more, tears brimming in her eyes. The water catches the sliver of sunlight that pierces through the clouds, and they shine like treasure.

"You look just like Tere," she breathes in disbelief, and she speaks to me in Spanish though it seems to break her heart. "You have her cheekbones, and her chin. You have her smile. I thought... After all these years, I thought I had imagined her. I never thought I would see her again, but here you are. How is your mother, Talia?"

I begin to rattle off the same 'she is well' every child is obligated to say, but my mouth moistens slightly and finds its own words. "She's your sister?"

Roots sprout from the turf and hold me down in Barcelona suddenly. No one knows what to do. I certainly don't.

It is then, when I have frozen in place with an expression of horror and wonder, that Eli drops my hands. I miss her touch the minute she lets go, but she is only apart from me for a moment as she turns to Alexia and Alba. The two have gravitated towards each other, sharing unmeasurable amounts of curiosity, wearing red-tipped ears courtesy of Eli's embarrassment.

"Talia is your cousin, girls," Eli states slowly. Pronouncing the words as though she has practised saying them, longing for this day to come. "Talia's mother is Tia Tere."

"As in 'no one knows where she is' Tia Tere?" Alba questions.

Her mother winces, and it does not go unnoticed by Alexia nor me. Carrying the tact of the eldest daughter, Alexia amends Alba's phrasing. "This is the sister that none of you talk about, right?" she says, a lot more diplomatically. "The one who left."

"To..."

"Mamá lives in Córdoba," I supply. A tear runs down Eli's cheek. I quickly reel in my readiness to share this information, just in case this is some elaborate prank. The disappointment that prepares itself in my stomach makes me grieve the sudden accumulation of an extended family.

Clàudia senses that this has become too much.

Despite being caught up in the discovery, I have not forgotten her presence. She exudes unwavering support, and I know that she is standing behind me even before she places her hand on my lower back.

Her deep inhale is a quiet reminder for me to breathe.

"Why don't we all go and get changed, and then the reunion can continue. Alexia, you smell." Her jab at our stoic captain prompts Alba to laugh, always thrilled to tease her older sister whenever the opportunity arises. Naturally, Alexia deploys a cutting remark to shut them both up.

I cast my gaze to Eli, who seems to want to protest against our departure, but who possesses the level of self-control to not voice her argument. Her patience is that of a mother of two strong-willed daughters.

As Clàudia leads me into the tunnel, her steps matching mine as she rips me from whatever had stuck me to that spot by the stands, I turn back towards the family of three. Eli wraps her arms around her girls. The action dwarfs both Alba and the ever-mature Alexia, reducing them both to small children. Her mouth moves in an explanation that I am too far away to hear, but she finds my eyes. I cannot avert them. She smiles.

The changing room is empty, and our teammates have trickled outside into the carpark, where they hatch plans to go out for dinner or find a new bar together.

Clàudia and I are joined by Alexia, whose listless expression finds us in the reflection of the bathroom mirrors. She examines my features with great care, though she tries to only do it when I am not looking. The awkwardness is palpable. I can feel it tingle my fingers.

Half-dressed, I reach the limit of the amount of time Alexia can spend staring at me. Desperate to change the atmosphere, and knowing that my escape is impossible, I decide what to do.

"If we are going to drop bombshells," I begin, breaking Clàu out of her focused trance as well, "then I just want to tell you that Clàudia is my girlfriend."

Alexia's jaw, usually clenched, loosens, hanging open as she pulls on a pair of grey joggers. Her laugh is small, and she shakes her head. "You are going to kill me, Talia."

The way she says it sounds too much like Fleur for me to pretend I haven't noticed how much time they have been spending together recently, but I say nothing out loud solely because my girlfriend would tell Patri and Patri would tell Mapi and the whole team would know before the sun sets. It's cute that she has picked up the phrase, and even funnier that she has translated it from Fleur's English to her own language.

"When did you two decide to be adults?" she then teases, looking up at her pseudo-daughter with a prideful glint in her eye. The awkwardness dissipates for a moment. "I don't even know which one of you to give the shovel talk to..."

"Talia, of course, because she is not right in the head. She supports Real Madrid."

Alexia's eyes harden. The exposed skin of my arms pimple with goosebumps as the air in the room shifts into a hostile environment.

I am sure Alexia had previously been made aware of this, but I suppose the phrase packs a lot more venom when it is her own flesh and blood. Not that I am at all comfortable with my newfound maternal origins.

"Proudly," I state, just to add fuel to the fire.

"Mum told me to invite you to dinner, but now I don't think I want you to come."

Her question is buried within her distaste, and I finish putting on my clean clothes, slipping my feet into my unlaced trainers. Alexia zips up her washbag, and the screech of the mechanism diffuses part of the cumbersome silence I let us sit in while I consider her offer.

Clàudia and I were planning to order food to my apartment and make use of Marta's absence. I still don't have a bedframe, and she still has her stupid standards, so the sofa is a great place for us. We were also going to search for Marc Ivorra some more.

I guess I can just ask Eli, right? She'd probably know.

As for spending time with my girlfriend: she is already urging me to accept the dinner invitation with her pale, blue eyes. They have been full of thought for the past half an hour, watching on as my entire life lost its meaning and was redefined by information I have yet to digest. I vow, to both myself and her as we stare at each other, that I will ask her how she knew. Because she did.

Not now, but later.

"...I was joking," Alexia informs us, for fear that I have taken her statement for what it was and ready to pretend this whole thing never happened. More serious now, Alexia approaches me, briefly acknowledging how Clàudia instinctively moves closer as if to be a barrier of defence. "You don't have to come, Talia. I apologise if it seems like I'm pushing you. Mum was over-excited and a little bit dramatic, and I totally understand if you want to take some time to think about... stuff."

"She wasn't being dramatic," is all I can think to respond.

It's a surprise for me, but it is probably a relief for her. (Maybe 'surprise' is an understatement, but does that not then make her mother's reaction more valid?)

Alexia nods twice. First a small movement of her head, and then something more assured. We are still rather close – closer than we'd be as just teammates – and I, for the briefest of moments, catch a whiff of perfume I am almost certain belongs to Fleur. With the emptiness of the stadium, and the monumental dinner ahead of us, I take this moment as a reprieve. Everything is going to change, but Alexia's strength, no matter how intimidating it may seem, demonstrates exactly how I should cope with it. It's a little inspiring, actually.

After all, the family drama is now shared, is it not?

notes: 

this is only the beginning of her story. there is still so much more to write...

oh btw yesterday i fucked up and accidentally wrote that the match was the one where they lifted the trophy. it's not -- this is two weeks after that, in may. 

i feel like the story has finally built up and now we can get into the actual drama :D

also lets appreciate my title skills because wow, it's so poetic 

thanks for reading!!!!