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It wasn’t even 9am, though the Mallorcan summer air outside had already hit a comfortable twenty-six degrees, the sharp blaze of July softened by a salt-tinged breeze from the sea keeping it bearable. They would not yet hide in the cool hum of air conditioning. For now, the morning begged to be enjoyed outside.
Lia carried Maya through the open sliding doors, her daughter balanced against her bare chest. Maya wore just a swimming nappy and a floppy yellow sun hat with cut-out letters stitched in light blue spelling her name. Her little limbs flailed in every direction, soft fists curling, then uncurling, as if she had only just discovered her body that very morning.
Lia passed her off to Mariona, who had already made herself comfortable outside in the sunshine. Her natural habitat.
“Petita meua,” Mariona cooed, bouncing her gently, lips brushing her cheek.
Maya squealed in response, the sound more like a bird than a baby. Her brown eyes focused - fixated onto her mother’s grin.
Lia popped back inside quickly before returning with a towel draped over her shoulder, sunglasses pushed into her hair, and a cap shading her face. In her free hand she carried a bottle of baby sun cream and Maya’s pacifier, just in case. “She’s ready,” she said with a soft laugh, adjusting her little yellow hat.
Mariona tilted her head toward the pool, sparkling under the morning sun. “I think so,” she said, excitement ringing in her voice. “Today, la primera vegada.”
They had been talking about it for weeks - when the outside heat was right, when Maya was settled, when the pool was warm enough. It wasn’t about swimming, of course. Maya was barely three months old. It was about the ritual of it, the joy of another first, the memory already etched into their hearts before it had even happened.
Lia laid the towel across a lounge chair and opened the bottle of sun cream. Maya’s legs kicked wildly as Mariona held her steady, murmuring nonsense in Mallorcan Catalan into the fabric on her head. Lia dabbed cream onto her daughter’s face, her little nose and ears peeking out from beneath the shade of her hat, and smoothed it carefully across her back, down her shoulders and arms. Maya screwed up her face and gave a sharp, indignant cry. Not enjoying the way Lia moved further down her body.
“Ja ho sé, ja ho sé,” Mariona soothed, adjusting the baby’s hat as she fussed. “No t’agrada, eh? Però has de portar-lo.”
Her voice softened, almost like a lullaby. And just like that, Maya calmed, hiccupping one last little protest before chewing on her fist again. Her little hands had a new flavour this time: sun cream.
They stepped down to the edge of the pool. The water shimmered, warmed already by a few hours of the day's sun and numerous days prior. Mariona, topless in true island fashion, lowered herself onto the first step, water lapping at her waist. Lia stayed close, opting to sit on the edge of the pool instead, her hand brushing Mariona’s as she settled.
“Ready?” Mariona asked, excitement coursing through her.
Lia nodded, though her grip on Maya tightened ever so slightly as she lowered her down. “Slowly,” she whispered.
Mariona reached out, hands steady, voice low. “Shhh, petita… aquí estem.”
They dipped Maya’s feet into the water first. Her little legs jerked instantly, toes curling at the new sensation. A squeal escaped her, half protest, half surprise.
“Oh!” Lia’s voice went high with laughter. “She doesn’t know if she likes it!”
Maya kicked again, harder this time, sending a small splash across Mariona’s chest. Mariona gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Has vist això? She is strong already!”
“She gets that from you,” Lia teased, though her eyes were fixed on Maya, watching every flicker of her tiny face.
Together, they moved her down into the water, the waterline reaching just above her stomach. Mariona’s safe hands were holding her completely and securely under her shoulders. Maya’s little arms flapped, then stilled, then flapped again like another bird impression. A splash, another squeal, and then - just for a second - an expression that could only be described as pure joy.
Lia’s heart smiled, almost unbearably. She reached to steady Maya’s head, brushing her damp hat. “Oh, do you like it, my love?”
Mariona’s smile was so wide it nearly cracked her face. “És mallorquina, som una família de l’aigua,” she declared.
For several long minutes they stayed near the steps, letting Maya splash about, kicking softly, eyes moving between her mothers. Every sound and move she made was met with encouragement, laughter, or kisses pressed to her little cheeks.
When she grew restless, they lifted her out, wrapping her tight in a soft pink towel. Mariona pressed her to her chest, water dripping down her shoulders, while Lia pushed her hat back into place.
“She did so well,” Lia whispered, booping her daughter’s nose with her fingertip. “Better than I expected. Not a single tear!”
Mariona pressed her cheek against Maya’s head. “Of course she did. És la meua filla.”
They laid her on the lounge chair, bundled in her towel, and kissed her cheeks until she squealed again. Lia slipped back inside briefly, leaving Maya and Mariona together under the umbrella.
“Tatata,” Maya babbled suddenly, kicking her legs.
Mariona’s laugh was warm like the day. “Ah, sí? I tant de parlar avui.” She tickled the baby’s stomach as her fists waved wildly, and the sound of her laughter rippled through the quiet garden.
She stroked a thumb over Maya’s cheek, amazed again at how impossibly tiny she was. “Ets tan bufona… massa bufona,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Do you know how long we wished for you? Years, petita meua. And now here you are, and I still don’t quite believe it.”
Maya gurgled in response, fists stuffed back into her mouth, legs still kicking like a baby who didn’t yet know her limits. Mariona chuckled. “Ai, sempre vols parlar, eh? You’re like me, eh? Always something to say.” She lifted one of Maya’s little hands, pressing her lips to the curled knuckles that tasted like a mix of pool water and sun cream. “But maybe you’ll have Mama’s calm too. Balance. That would be good.”
Her voice softened, almost as if speaking to herself. “You’ve changed everything, you know that? We were happy before, sí. But now - now it feels so, so different, like life only just started when you came.” She traced the rim of Maya’s sunhat where it framed her round face. “One day, you’ll know how loved you are. For now… just stay small for us a little longer, eh?”
Maya blinked up at her, eyes wide and curious, as though she really had understood and that her request was possible. Mariona laughed again, brushing her nose against her daughter’s. “D’acord, d’acord. I’ll stop being silly.”
By the time Lia returned, Maya had grown tired. Her little head lolled against Mariona’s chest, her tiny body slowly overcome with sleep after the morning's antics. Mariona adjusted her gently, settling her so her cheek pressed against her heart.
“She’ll sleep like that for hours,” Lia murmured, adjusting her sunglasses as she sat back down.
Mariona only hummed, already half content to let the early afternoon fly by with her daughter nap-trapping her to the sun lounger. Lia smiled, pulled her book from the side table, and stretched out beside them. The quiet rhythm of Mariona’s breathing, the baby’s tiny noises, and the rustle of pages made her perfect summer song.
It was about 15 minutes later when Lia noticed, looking over the top of her book - the way Mariona’s head had dipped slightly, her smile still curved even in sleep. Lia’s chest tightened. She reached quietly for her phone, lifting it just enough to snap a photo: her wife and daughter together, asleep, sunlight kissing their cheeks. She lowered the phone again, heart aching with love.
The book sat open in her hands, words lining the page, but Lia found her eyes lingering on the two shapes beside her instead. Mariona’s chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, Maya’s tiny body curled safe against it, moving with her.
Her mind wandered, as it often did these days. Maya was only three months old, still impossibly new, and yet already everything was changing, her gaze more focused and her body stronger. Every day there was something new, something special. Lia thought of the first nights with her, the fragile cries, the sleepless hours that had stretched endlessly. Their complete delirium together in new parenthood. Now here she was, sprawled in the sunshine, cheeks full with life, arms growing restless with discovery.
Lia brushed her thumb along the edge of her book, attempting to pick it back up, but she couldn’t help imagining all the summers ahead. Pool days where Maya would splash loud enough to wake the whole street, or maybe even a baby brother or sister sleeping in their bassinet. Grass stains on her knees, endless giggles, arguments over bedtimes and vegetables. A blur of childhood that would arrive and vanish faster than Lia even wanted to think about.
She shut her own eyes for a moment, breathing in the mingled scents of sunscreen and warm lavender air. Gratitude filled her chest so fiercely it almost hurt. For the baby beside her, for the woman she loved, for this life they shared together. When she opened her eyes again, she caught sight of Mariona’s arm tightening unconsciously around their daughter even in sleep, and she smiled, returning at last to the waiting page.
Mariona and Maya woke slowly about an hour later, the kind of waking that belonged only to summer afternoons. Maya stirred first, fussing softly, fists pressing against her mouth and in turn waking up her mother.
“She’s hungry,” Mariona mumbled, her voice rough from her nap. She pressed a kiss to the baby’s temple before handing her over.
Lia shifted her towel, putting her book to the side and settling Maya against her. She latched quickly, with the eagerness of a baby who had missed her usual feeding window due to the nap. Lia exhaled, softening, her hand tracing lazy circles across her daughter’s back.
Mariona stood, stretching briefly. Her hair was wild from her sun lounger sleep. “I’ll make us some lunch,” she said, pressing a short kiss to Lia’s bare shoulder before disappearing through the sliding doors and into the cool air-conditioned kitchen.
As Maya nursed, the smells of garlic and olive oil found their way outside and filled the air around them. Mariona moved with ease around one of her favourite rooms in their house. She chopped tomatoes, drizzled them with sea salt and olive oil, and toasted thick slices of bread. She grabbed chorizo from the fridge, fried peppers until their skins split, and set out a plate of manchego, Lia’s favourite.
They ate outside on the patio, enjoying the now over thirty-degree warmth without worrying about the baby. Maya slept once more, but this time in her bassinet just inside the glass doors.
Lia poured two glasses of white wine, the glasses frosted with condensation. She handed the first one to her wife, who raised it with a grin.
“Per nosaltres,” she said. To us.
“To us,” Lia echoed, smiling.
For a while they ate in comfortable silence, the kind that only came from years together. Two people who know each other better than the back of their hand. When Mariona finally spoke, her voice carried the soft lilt of her island.
“Avui ha estat tan perfecte… com si el món ens hagués regalat un dia només per noltros.”
Lia set her fork down, smiling. “A perfect day, like the world gave it just to us,” she translated quietly, proud of herself.
Mariona’s brows lifted, amused. “Mira-la, ja m’entén gairebé tota,” she teased.
Lia grinned, a little flushed. “Not everything. I lose bits in the middle sometimes. ‘Noltros’… that’s us, right?”
“Exacte,” Mariona said warmly. “Nosaltres, but Mallorcan. You’re catching the details now.”
“I've been trying for the last seven years,” Lia admitted. “Every time you speak like that, it feels like a puzzle I need to work out.”
Mariona reached across the table, brushing her thumb over Lia’s knuckles. “Cada paraula que aprens és un trosset de mi que fas teu,” she said softly. Suddenly her grin curved slow and teasing. “Si continues així, prest seràs mallorquina de veritat,” she said, eyes glinting.
Lia laughed, shaking her head. “Mallorquina, huh? I don’t think the island is ready for me.”
“Of course it is,” Mariona countered without hesitation, squeezing her hand. “Ets meva, i això basta. You are loved here!”
Lia’s laughter softened, melting into a warm smile. “Your Mallorquina,” she murmured, not just telling her but as if to fully confirm it.
Mariona leaned across the table, pressing her lips to her wife’s. “Sempre.”
Later, after lunch, and when the worst of the strongest daytime sun had passed, they spread Maya’s lilac blanket across the grass outside. The sunset glowed gold and pink, the smell of jasmine lingering in the air from the plant in the corner of the garden. They lay on their sides, facing one another, with Maya on her tummy between them.
Her little legs kicked as she strained to lift her head, wobbling, then thudding back against the blanket. Mariona offered a tiny soft toy - a plush pink bunny - though Maya ignored it in favour of looking up at her mothers.
“Look,” Lia whispered, her voice full of awe. “She’s trying again; she wants to see you.”
Mariona leaned closer, encouraging. “Amunt, petita. You can do it!”
Maya grunted, drool falling from her mouth faster than Lia could wipe it up. Her face scrunched in determination; she managed to lift her head for three full seconds before collapsing into Mariona’s waiting hands. Both women cheered, their laughter spilling into the evening.
A mini FC Barcelona ball rolled across the blanket, nudged unsurprisingly by Mariona’s hand. “Too soon?” she asked with a grin.
Lia shook her head, laughing. “Way too soon.”
But when Maya’s fist landed against the ball, both mothers gasped in mock astonishment.
“See?” Mariona whispered, eyes bright with mischief. “Una jugadora, ja. And she’s a Culer!”
“With you as her mother, there is no choice!” Lia joked, though they both knew she was right.
They stayed like that until the last of the sunset melted away, until the sky turned a soft indigo and made its way below the horizon. The world had narrowed to just the three of them on that blanket.
Mariona reached across, her hand brushing Lia’s, fingers twining. Lia squeezed back, her eyes reflecting both the sunset and everything else - the love, the gratitude, the certainty that this was exactly where she belonged. Her Mallorquina.