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The night before Maya’s first day at school was heavy with the kind of excitement that vibrated through the entire body. Upstairs, in her soft pink-coloured room, Lia and Mariona sat cross-legged on the floor with their eldest daughter, going through the small but most important ritual of choosing her outfit for the very first day.
Maya, at six, was more than ready, bouncing between her wardrobe and the little pile of clothes they’d laid out on her bed as options. “This one!” she declared, holding up a yellow checkered dress dotted with tiny flowers.
“That’s beautiful, petita,” Mariona said, brushing the fabric. “But maybe with some shorts underneath? You’ll want to run and play.”
Maya giggled, thinking about how she would show off her monkey bars skills. She threw the dress onto the bed and pulled out a pair of white shorts. “Like these?” she asked, her eyes wide, placing them on top of the tossed dress.
“Perfect,” Mariona said confidently, folding the clothes neatly before laying them over the back of the chair. “Tomorrow, la gran Maya conquers school.”
“Conquers,” Maya repeated, testing the word. She wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but she didn’t really care enough to question it. She liked the sound.
Lia reached out, running her hands through her daughter’s curls. “First we conquer bedtime,” she teased, “or you’ll be too tired for tomorrow!”
Maya allowed herself to be tucked into bed with the thought that the quicker she goes to bed, the quicker she could go to school the next day. She cuddled her pink bunny against her chest, her eyes still wide, sparkling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
“Story,” she demanded softly, as though stories were the only true way to fall asleep. She wanted to go to school with all her being, but giving up a bedtime story was never on the cards.
Lia pulled a slim book from the shelf - one she had picked deliberately for the occasion, a Catalan story about a little tortoise who was afraid to leave his shell but discovered that stepping out allowed him to see a world he had never imagined. She read, mostly in her gentle accent, a German-tinged Catalan song, while Mariona translated anything she wasn’t sure of to help her along.
The tortoise trembled at the edge of the garden, worried he would be laughed at, but when he finally stepped out, he found friends waiting, adventures beckoning. By the time Lia closed the book, Maya was smiling sleepily.
“It’s like me tomorrow,” she said softly.
Mariona kissed her forehead, her voice in a whisper. “Exacte, princesa. You’ll be brave, and you’ll find new friends, just like the tortoise.”
“You’ll still come get me?” Maya murmured, eyelids drooping.
“Always,” Lia promised. “We’ll be there before you know it.”
They lingered a while longer, stroking her hair, listening to her steady breathing, and taking in every last moment until she fully fell asleep.
Downstairs, the house felt suddenly too big without the prospect of Maya’s chatter bouncing off the walls for a whole day. Lia sank into the sofa, curling her feet under her, while Mariona poured two glasses of wine and joined her. They clinked their glasses softly together.
“She’s so ready,” Mariona said, her smile wide with pride.
“I know,” Lia admitted, staring into her glass. “But I’m not. I knew this was coming, but it feels like yesterday she was still toddling around, calling for her Bunny.”
Mariona laughed, leaning her head against her wife’s shoulder. “She’ll still call for Bunny. Don’t worry. But yes… she grew so fast.”
“She’s going to walk into that classroom tomorrow, and I’ll cry.”
“I know,” Mariona teased, grinning. “I’m going to bring tissues. For you, not her.”
They sat together, trading the fondest of memories - Maya’s first laugh, her first wobbly steps across this very living room rug, and the endless babble that had suddenly in the blink of an eye become full sentences in multiple languages. Every milestone seemed to point towards this one moment. Lia sighed, half-laughing, half-crying, and Mariona wrapped an arm tighter around her.
“Let's go to bed.” Mariona brushed a stray hair from Lia’s face. “Staying up all night won’t make it go any slower.”
It was still grey outside when the sound of little feet pattered down the hallway and a burst of energy hit the bedroom door. Before either of them could properly stir, Maya had launched herself onto the bed, Bunny still tucked firmly under her arm, her curls in a wild but cheerful disarray.
“It’s today!” she announced, her voice triumphant, as though she were delivering some breaking news. “I’m going to school!”
Lia groaned softly, pulling the duvet up to her chin. “Maya… it’s not even light yet.”
“I’m ready,” Maya said matter-of-factly. She hopped down to stand proudly at the foot of the bed and spread her arms; she stumbled clumsily as she showed off her yellow dress with her shorts. “See? I even dressed myself!”
Mariona cracked an eye open and laughed, her voice husky from sleep. “Mare meva… you look beautiful, princesa. But it is…” She squinted at the clock on the nightstand - her eyesight betraying her without her glasses - “half past five. You could have stayed in bed a little longer.”
“No,” Maya said firmly, climbing back up and wedging herself between them. “I want to start now.”
They gave in easily, lifting the blanket so she could tuck herself inside the cocoon of warmth. Her small body was buzzing with anticipation, her arms and legs completely restless until Lia smoothed her hair back from her forehead and cupped her cheek.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly, sleep still very much in her system, “we’re so proud of you already. Did you know that?”
Maya blinked at her, the question softening her restlessness just a fraction. “Why?”
“Because you’re brave,” Lia whispered. “Because you’re kind. And because you amaze us every day, since the very beginning.”
Mariona’s arm slipped around her daughter’s middle, pulling her closer. “When you were just a tiny baby, the same size as Bunny, I used to look at you and think, ‘How can someone so tiny take up so much of my heart?’”
Maya snuggled into them both, wriggling until her head rested on Lia’s shoulder and her legs tangled together with Mariona’s. “Tell me,” she said, her voice softer now.
“Tell you what?” Mariona teased.
“About when I was a baby.”
Lia smiled, exchanging a glance with her wife. “Oh, we can tell you about that. We dreamed of you for years before you came, Maya. Before you were even born, before you were even in Mama’s belly, we were already hoping for you. We wanted you so much.”
Mariona kissed the top of her daughter’s head, her voice calm and grounded. “We worked very hard to bring you here, princesa. Lots of visits to the doctor, lots of waiting, lots of wishing. And then one day, there you were. The most beautiful sound in the world was when you cried for the very first time.”
“I cried?” Maya asked, smiling at the thought.
“Oh, so loud,” Lia said, and a flicker of memory flashed through her head. “The whole of Mallorca knew you were here.”
Mariona grinned. “And when I held you, I thought, ‘She is perfect, and I will love her forever and ever.’”
Maya’s eyes were round and shining, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of being the centre of their story. She shifted closer, hugging them both at once, her small voice muffled against Lia’s chest. “I’m really glad you wanted me.”
Lia smiled and pressed her lips to the crown of her daughter’s head. “Oh, my love. We didn’t just want you. We waited for you every day. And now, the world gets to see how wonderful you are. Just like you’ve been showing us since you were born.”
For a long while they stayed like that, all three of them tangled together under the duvet, the morning creeping in through the curtains. Maya’s excitement never disappeared entirely - her legs kicked restlessly, and her questions bubbled up now and again - but the grounding weight of her parents’ arms soothed her.
By the time breakfast did come around, it was a cheerful chaos. There were special pancakes that Mariona flipped with the ultimate pizazz and fruit sliced into little stars and hearts by Lia. Maya ate quickly, buzzing with anticipation, while Sofía, not quite four, sat at the table pouting.
“Why can’t I go?” Sofía asked, stabbing a piece of watermelon with her Disney Princess fork.
“Because you’re still not quite big enough,” Lia explained gently. “And today is Maya’s big day. In two years it will be your turn!”
Mateo, still small at two and a half, drummed on his highchair with sticky hands, offering little commentary other than “Maya school?” with wide-eyed curiosity.
Before long, Àvia arrived, smiling as always, her arms ready to scoop up Sofía and Mateo. She kissed Maya’s cheek, whispering, “Ets tan gran ja, petita.”
On the doorstep, a new tradition unfolded: photos taken of Maya with her brand new backpack, Bunny tucked inside with his little head poking out, her smile wide and confident. Lia stroked her daughter’s hair, her hands wobbling just slightly, while Mariona bent down next to Maya, whispering jokes, making her smile.
After the doorstep photoshoot, the first walk to school began. It was alive and full of questions. Maya wanted to know if the teacher would like her drawings, if there would be swings on the playground, and if she could sit by a window. Lia answered as best she could, while Mariona swung her between them, their daughter shrieking with joy.
The classroom was warm in the August heat: it smelt faintly of fresh paper and crayons. Bright posters covered the walls - colours, numbers, and animals all in Catalan - and on each of the low tables sat neat stacks of pencils and paper, waiting. The air filled softly with chatter as other children shuffled in with their parents, some clinging to legs, some darting forward without a backward glance.
Maya’s hand was still snug inside Mariona’s, though her body leaned forward, eager. Her eyes scanned everything - the shelves lined with books, the row of little coloured hooks for backpacks, and the baskets of toys tucked in corners.
The teacher, smiling warmly, greeted them again and explained in Catalan, “The children each have a place with their name written on it. They can find it and sit there.”
Maya gasped as though she’d been given a treasure hunt. She tugged both her mothers toward the tables, her hair bouncing with each step.
“Look, Mama!” she said, circling one table, her eyes flicking across the cards. “There are letters!”
She traced one with her finger, lips moving silently as if the letters were a puzzle. Not hers. Another. Still not hers. Her excitement only built with each attempt, like the anticipation of a gift waiting to be unwrapped.
Then she stopped abruptly, pointing at a card with triumph. Her little finger jabbed at the letters one by one, her voice loud with certainty.
“M-A-Y-A. That’s me! That’s my name!”
Her whole face lit up, so radiant and ready. Maya looked up at them, seeking confirmation, her grin wide and toothy.
Mariona bent down to her level, eyes gleaming. “Sí, princesa. That’s you. Your spot!”
Lia’s hand lingered around her eyes, pride tangled with the threat of tears. “You found it all by yourself!”
Maya picked up the card carefully, showing it to them in great detail, then set it back down with deliberate importance. She climbed into the small chair, legs swinging, utterly at home already. “This is my chair. Right here.”
Her parents stood close, watching her claim her space in the little world that would soon become hers.
“Don’t worry,” she added suddenly, looking at Lia, who was trying to discreetly wipe her eyes. “I’ll come home later. It’s fine.”
Mariona chuckled, sliding an arm around her wife’s shoulders, murmuring, “See? You’ll have her back this afternoon.”
But Lia only shook her head, smiling through it, her heart too full. Their daughter had walked into this new chapter with her chin high and her eyes bright, and in that instant, they both knew she was ready.
The walk back home felt heavier, their hands linked in silence until Mariona finally said, “She didn’t even hesitate. She’s going to love it all.”
“I know,” Lia whispered, her throat tight. “But I wasn’t ready to let her go.”
Back at the house, the kitchen was in its typical chaos. Sofía was crouched on the tiled floor, fitting puzzle pieces together, while Mateo sat in his little beanbag chair gnawing determinedly on a toy. The house felt quieter without Maya, though it could never be silent.
Àvia sat at the table with her mug of coffee, waiting for them, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Bé?” she asked as soon as they stepped in. “How was it?”
Mariona grinned, flipping her shoes off by the door. “She was perfect. Just like we thought. She walked straight in, found her name on the table, and sat down like she’d been doing it all her life.”
Àvia laughed, the sound deep and familiar. “Ai, aquesta nina.” She glanced at Lia, adding warmly, “You both give her confidence.”
Lia’s lips curved into a small smile. “She was so confident! I think I cried more than she realised.”
“Oh, that is tradition.” Àvia waved her hand dismissively, her eyes dancing. “But you should have seen her mama on her first day. All of us thought she would be the brave one, no tears, no fuss.”
Mariona groaned and leaned on the counter, hiding her face with one hand. “Mare, please…”
But Àvia pressed on, clearly delighted. “She cried the whole way there! Tot el camí. Her father had to carry her into the classroom like a sack of potatoes. And then, once inside, she wrapped her arms around the teacher’s leg and wouldn’t let go. ‘No vull escola!’”
Lia gasped, laughing so hard she nearly spilt the juice she was pouring. “You?!” She looked at Mariona, eyes wide; it seemed so out of character for her wife.
Mariona peeked out from behind her hand, her cheeks pink. “I don’t remember it like that…”
“Of course not,” Àvia teased, “but I do. We all do. Your aunt Marieta tells the story every year when school begins.”
Sofía looked up from her puzzle, wide-eyed. “Mama cried?” she asked, interest piquing.
“Yes,” Àvia said, a smile betraying her amusement. “Cried and cried. And now she brags about being the brave one.”
Mariona scooped Mateo from his chair to avoid answering, kissing his chubby toddler cheek. “Traitors, all of you.”
Lia leaned against her, still giggling. “Well, now we know where Maya gets her drama from.”
Mariona made a mock-offended sound, but her eyes were soft. “She was brave. More than me.”
Àvia reached across the table, laying her hand over her daughter’s. “That is the gift. You and Lia give her something so special. She knows she is loved, so she is free.”
The room quieted for a moment, the weight of her words settling gently between them. Mariona squeezed her mother’s hand before pulling away, reaching down to tousle Sofía’s curls.
“Well,” Lia said, clearing her throat, “at least if Maya tells stories about her first day, they’ll be nothing like yours.”
Mariona shot her a look, playful but warning. “Leave me alone!”
The laughter slowly ebbed, though the warmth lingered. Àvia reached for the last sip of her coffee, her eyes twinkling as she glanced toward Sofía, who had abandoned her puzzle in favour of pulling every wooden spoon out of the drawer, lining them up like soldiers across the tiles. Mateo, meanwhile, had discovered that trying to poke his mother in her eyes whilst she tried to avoid it was a fun new game.
“Look.” Àvia said, gesturing toward the chaos with a fond shake of her head. “Your distractions are already here. You don’t need to sit and pine for Maya - these two will make sure you don’t have the time.”
Mariona chuckled, bouncing Mateo on her hip. “A handful and a half, Mare.”
“A double handful,” Lia corrected, rescuing a spoon from Sofía before she used it to tap against the cupboard door.
“Exactly.” Àvia pushed back her chair and stood, smoothing her skirt. “So spend your day with them. Make it special. Maya will come home with lots of stories, and you’ll be glad you had these hours just with Sofí and Mateo.”
Lia glanced at Mariona, their eyes meeting briefly. It was true. It was easy to get lost in the ache of letting go, to forget that the little ones still needed all of them, their attention, their love.
“You’re right,” Lia admitted softly.
“Of course I am.” Àvia bent to kiss Mateo’s cheek - earning herself a poke - then pressed a kiss to Sofía’s curls as the little girl giggled. Finally, she turned to Mariona, giving her arm a squeeze. “I’ll be back later, before it’s time to collect her. Enjoy the day, és un regal!”
The quiet after Àvia’s departure didn’t last long. Within minutes, the sound of clattering spoons was replaced by the familiar chaos of the living room floor. The rug became their kingdom, scattered with toys - bright blocks, Mateo’s sturdy little cars, and Sofía’s beloved miniature kitchen set that she insisted was ‘la cuina de veritat’.
Lia stretched out on her side, propped on one elbow, watching Sofía bustle about like a tiny hostess. The little girl carried a pink plastic tray, setting down two mismatched cups in front of her parents. “Cafè per tu, Mama. Cafè per tu, Mama,” she announced solemnly, though the cups were suspiciously empty.
“Moltes gràcies,” Mariona said gravely, pretending to take a sip. She pressed her lips together in mock delight. “Mmm, perfect coffee.”
Sofía’s chest puffed with pride, and she quickly returned to her kitchen to whip up more invisible treats.
On the other side of the rug, Mateo sat cross-legged in nothing but his soft cotton romper, his hair sticking up in tufts. He clutched two little cars, smashing them together with sound effects that grew increasingly more elaborate with every crash. When Mariona leaned over and slid an animal figurine into his path - a plastic cow with a slightly bent horn - Mateo abandoned the cars instantly, seizing the cow with a delighted squeal.
“Perfect,” Mariona said, her plan coming together. She reached into the basket to gather more of the animals, spreading them across the rug like a teacher laying out her lesson. “Hora de classe. Animal class.”
Lia raised an eyebrow but smiled, leaning forward to watch. Her wife’s lessons had benefited her over the years also.
She held up the cow for both children to see. “Això és una vaca.”
Mateo slapped the cow against the floor. “Ca!”
“Close enough.” Mariona kissed the top of his head and picked up the next figure. “And this one, Cavall.”
Sofía, abandoning her kitchen for the moment, trotted over on her knees, her curls bouncing. “Ca-vall,” she repeated carefully. Then, with a mischievous grin, she climbed right onto Mariona’s lap, pointing at the lion figurine in her hand. “And this?”
“This is Lleó.” Mariona roared dramatically, shaking her head like a mane. Sofía shrieked with laughter, nearly tipping them both over.
Mateo wasn’t about to be left out. He crawled forward and used Mariona’s thigh to pull himself up. Soon both children were clambering over her, one in each arm, their toys abandoned in favour of climbing, bouncing, and tugging. The animal figures were added to the game, Sofía pressing the lion to her mama’s cheek, Mateo poking her shoulder with the cow.
“Ai, ai, ai!” Mariona yelped theatrically, collapsing onto her back as though defeated. “The jungle has won. Mama is finished.”
But her laughter gave her away, warm and loud as the children sprawled across her chest and stomach, squealing with triumph. Lia laughed too, shaking her head as she reached for the lion, tucking it gently into Mateo’s chubby hand.
“You’re not just the teacher anymore,” she teased. “Now you’re the playground.”
“Better than any playground,” Mariona replied, her voice muffled under Sofía’s giggles and Mateo’s determined bouncing on her stomach. She wrapped her arms around them both, holding them close even as they wriggled and climbed.
Lia leaned back on her hands, simply watching for a moment. This was it - the heart of their life. A sun-drenched rug, toys scattered like confetti, and their children piled in a heap on Mariona, who looked as though she’d never been happier to be conquered.
No sooner had she declared victory in the ‘jungle’ Sofía spotted the battered wicker basket by the corner of the sofa - the one stuffed with scarves, hats, plastic jewellery, and a pink tulle skirt that had seen better days. Her eyes lit up like lanterns.
“Mama, wait! I make you princesa!”
Before Mariona could protest, Sofía was already digging into the basket, tossing fabric and plastic bangles everywhere. Mateo, thrilled by the chaos, clapped and added his own commentary: “Bah! Bah!” His little hands kept grabbing anything that landed too close.
Mariona sat up slowly, brushing back her ever-messy hair. “Princesa, eh? Why do I feel nervous already?”
Sofía emerged with a sparkly tiara, the plastic gemstones catching the sunlight. She tried, with very serious focus, to wedge it into her mama’s hair, tongue poking out in concentration. The tiara tilted sideways, threatening to fall.
“Perfect!” Sofía declared proudly.
Lia snorted from her spot on the rug, placing a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. “Amor meu, you make a beautiful princess.”
Mariona crossed her eyes dramatically at her wife. “Do I?” She turned her head slightly so the crooked tiara slipped forward, and Sofía squealed, fixing it again with both hands.
But then Mariona leaned closer to her daughter, lowering her voice, up to something. “You know, princesa de veritat is Mama.” She tipped her chin toward Lia.
Sofía’s eyes went wide. “Mama?”
“Of course,” Mariona said, smoothing Sofía’s hair with one hand. “She’s always been the princess. Even before you were born, people called her that.” There was a subtle smile on her lips, a private little nod to the years when Lia’s kind, classy presence had earned her the nickname whispered from stands and supporters.
Sofía gasped with delight and turned immediately to Lia, the tiara still wobbling in her small hands. “Mama! You wear it!”
Lia blinked, startled. “Oh no, I think-”
But Sofía was already clambering across the rug, pressing the tiara firmly onto her mother’s head. It nestled against Lia’s brown hair with surprising elegance. She gave a helpless laugh, cheeks warming. “Well,” she said softly, glancing at Mariona, “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”
Mariona’s grin was wide and genuine. “See? Perfect fit. My princess.”
Sofía wasn’t finished. From the bottom of the basket she produced a floppy little crown - cardboard, covered in peeling gold foil from some old Three Kings celebration. She shoved it toward Mateo. “And tu, príncep!”
Mateo, too young to resist, let her plop it onto his head. The crown - too big - slid down his forehead until it covered his eyes. He beamed anyway, clapping his hands as if he understood the great honour placed upon him.
It didn’t take long for Sofía’s imagination to stretch even further. The princess costume, the prince’s crown - now all they needed was a noble steed.
“Mama”, Sofía announced, tugging at Mariona’s arm, “you can be the caballito!”
Mariona froze, halfway into propping herself up on her elbows. “Ai, no pot ser,” she groaned, feigning protest as Sofía tugged harder. “Do you know how old I am? I’m anciana already.” She pressed a hand to her back as if it ached. My bones will turn to dust.”
Lia laughed outright. “Anciana? You’re thirty-six, amor meu.” Her voice was fond, teasing. “I think your bones are safe for a few more years.”
Sofía wasn’t interested in excuses. She was already climbing onto Mariona’s back, her own tiara bouncing on her curls. “Giddy up, Mama!”
Mariona shot Lia a helpless look from the rug. “I swear, amor, I’m too old for this.”
But her protests were betrayed by the grin that stretched across her face as Sofía settled onto her back. She began to crawl forward on hands and knees, making exaggerated clopping noises. Mateo squealed with laughter, clapping his hands against the floor, and even tried to follow them on all fours.
“Faster, Mama, faster!” Sofía commanded, bouncing lightly.
“Ai, cavall cansat,” Mariona panted after one go around the kitchen island. She dragged her knees across the rug as if she might collapse at any moment. “This poor horse is getting old.”
Still sat on the floor, Lia leaned back against the sofa, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “I should film this,” she said between breaths, “to show her when she's older. She won’t believe how much of a clown you were.”
When Mariona finally ‘trotted’ to a stop, Sofía slid off dramatically, landing with a giggle. “I want a real horsey,” she announced seriously, as though that was the logical next step to this pretend play.
Mariona, still on her hands and knees, looked immediately to Lia with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“Oh no,” Lia said quickly, pointing at her before she could speak. “Don’t you even think about it.”
Sofía pouted, her little brows drawing together, something that worked on Mariona but not Lia. “But Mama…”
“There are lots of horses in Langnau, where Grosi and Gropi live,” Lia said gently, softening her tone. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her daughter’s ear. “Next time we visit, we can go and see them. Maybe even ride one if Grosi finds someone who will let us.”
Sofía’s pout melted into wide-eyed wonder. “Really?”
“Really,” Lia confirmed, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.
Mariona collapsed onto the rug beside Mateo with a dramatic sigh, sprawled out like a horse who had finally been put to pasture. “Saved by Grosi’s horses,” she muttered, though her smile was warm, her eyes lingering on Lia.
Mateo crawled onto her stomach, plopping down with all his toddler weight, and Mariona groaned loudly for effect. “Ai, cavall mort!”
That set both children off into fits of laughter, the kind of breathless, contagious giggles that filled every corner of the living room. Lia, watching her three loves pile together in the middle of the rug, felt the quiet ache of happiness - the kind that reminded her how special the simplest moments could be.
By the time midday rolled around, Sofía had declared that it was no ordinary lunch they were about to eat. No, this was to be a ‘royal feast’, one fit for a princess, a little prince, and of course their horsey.
In the kitchen, Lia moved between the counter and the stove, pulling together something that would hopefully resemble a ‘feast’. A platter of sliced fruit, little sandwiches, and a pot of pasta sat waiting.
Mariona leaned against the counter, pretending to sneak a taste of the fruit, but really she was watching Lia with a grin that was both adoring and mischievous. “The royal chef is hard at work,” she murmured, stepping closer. Before Lia could react, Mariona slid her arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“Mario,” Lia laughed softly, shaking her head. “If you distract the chef, we will all go hungry.”
“Impossible. The chef is too beautiful to resist.” Mariona spun her gently, stealing a proper kiss, slow and lingering, her hand curling at her wife’s waist.
“Ewww!” Sofía’s squeal carried across the room. She was standing on her chair at the table, nose scrunched, hands planted on her little hips. “That’s so yucky!”
Mariona broke away with a laugh, though not before sneaking one last peck just to make her point. “Oh no, the princess has caught us,” she teased, lowering her voice dramatically. “Quick, another kiss, before I disappear.”
“Stop,” Lia scolded softly, blushing but smiling all the same.
Her attempt at seriousness was ruined by Mateo’s clapping from his high chair. He squealed with delight, spoon still in his hand, as though cheering them on. That made Mariona swoop in again with a noisy kiss on Lia’s cheek.
Sofía groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Grooooss!” she declared. “The princess says no more kissing!”
“Then the princess will go hungry,” Mariona said, sneaking a grape off the platter with a smirk.
“Mario,” Lia warned, though her eyes softened with fond amusement.
As Lia set the last plate on the table, Sofía was still eyeing her mothers suspiciously, her tiara slipping slightly over one ear. She wrinkled her nose and asked with all the seriousness a four-year-old could muster, “Why are you always kissing together?”
Mariona, without missing a beat, leaned down to Sofía’s level, her grin wide and unrepentant. “Because she is my wife,” she said simply, warmth threading through her voice, “and I love her very, very much. When you’re big, maybe you’ll find someone you love just as much, and you’ll want to kiss them too.”
Sofía gasped as though this was the most scandalous suggestion she’d ever heard. “Ewww, no! That’s not true. I will never do that.” She crossed her arms tightly, tiara wobbling in certainty.
Lia bit her lip to keep from laughing, exchanging a quick glance with Mariona, who was already struggling to hold back her grin. Mariona bent to brush a kiss against the top of Sofía’s head, which only made her daughter groan louder.
“Well,” Mariona said, reaching for her phone and pretending to fiddle with the screen, “I’d better record those words and save them. Just in case, when you’re fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen, and you come running home telling us all about a boy or girl you want to kiss… I can play this back and remind you what you said.”
“Mama!” Sofía squeaked, embarrassed. “Noooo, delete it!”
Mateo squealed with laughter in his high chair, banging his spoon like a judge’s gavel. Lia finally gave in and laughed too, shaking her head and sitting down with them all. “Don’t be mean,” she murmured at Mariona.
“I’m just covering our bases,” Mariona corrected smoothly, stealing another kiss from her wife’s cheek, just to prove her point. Sofía groaned again, collapsing into her chair with dramatic despair.
“Look, Sofí,” Lia said as a distraction, “a royal feast, just for us.”
Sofía gasped, ignoring the previous conversation.
“Mama is the knight,” she decided firmly, pointing at Mariona. “And Mama is the big princess. And I am the little princess. And Mateo is the baby prince.”
“Ai, gràcies,” Mariona muttered with mock injury. “From horse to knight. At least I’ve been promoted.”
The children dissolved into giggles again as they tore little pieces of their sandwiches. Lia spread cheese on slices for Mateo while sneaking glances at Mariona, amused by the seriousness with which she played along.
It was between pieces of tomatoey pasta that Lia leaned casually toward her daughter. “Did you know, Sofía,” she said seriously, “that Mama has actually met real kings and queens before?”
Sofía froze mid-chew, eyes wide as saucers. “Real ones?”
“Real ones,” Lia confirmed, nodding solemnly. “The King of Spain. The Queen. Even the princesses.”
“Mama?!” Sofía gasped, spinning in her seat toward Mariona, as though her mother had been hiding the most enormous secret of all. “Is it true?”
Mariona shrugged, spearing a tomato slice with her fork. “Well… yes.” Her tone was deliberately casual, almost teasing. “When I played football for Spain, sometimes the royal family would come to the big matches. They shook our hands. They said nice things.”
Sofía nearly toppled from her chair in astonishment. “You really met them!?”
“Yes,” Mariona said with a small laugh, clearly amused by her daughter’s awe. “Many times, actually.”
“Were they wearing crowns?” Sofía demanded.
“No, reieta, not crowns,” Mariona said gently. “They were dressed very nicely, though. It was an honour to meet them.”
Sofía pressed both hands to her cheeks, as though her world had just shifted on its axis. “Mama met real kings and queens,” she whispered, half to herself, eyes sparkling with wonder.
Lia chuckled, reaching to squeeze Mariona’s hand under the table. She knew her wife well enough to see the flicker in her eyes - the complicated relationship Mariona had always had with such things, the Mallorcan pride that would never allow her to swoon over things like the Spanish monarchy. But she also saw the softness there, the willingness to let her daughter revel in the magic of it.
“See, princesa,” Mariona said finally, leaning across to tap Sofía’s nose, “it’s not about crowns or castles. It’s about respect. About how we treat people. Even kings and queens are just people, like us.”
Sofía tilted her head, considering this, though the shine of excitement didn’t fade. “Mama,” she said, pausing a little bit - lowering her voice like it was a secret, “when you saw the queen… was she pretty?”
Mariona paused, fork halfway to her mouth, then let her eyes slide deliberately to Lia. “Hmm,” she said, lips curving slowly into a smile. “She was fine. But no one is as pretty as your Mama.”
Lia blinked, cheeks flushing pink despite years of hearing Mariona’s casual declarations. Sofía gave a loud, delighted laugh and clapped her hands as if it were obvious.
“Well, of course, Mama is the prettiest of all!”
Lia reached across the table, brushing a crumb from Sofía’s cheek. “I think you’re the prettiest too, princesa,” she said softly, stealing a glance at Mariona, whose eyes were twinkling.
“And the princesses?” Sofía pressed, ever curious. “Were they funny? Did they have horses?”
Mariona chuckled. “Maybe they were funny. They smiled a lot. As for horses…” she pretended to think, tapping her fork against her lip. “They probably had them, but I didn’t see any. No horses at the football stadium.”
That sent Sofía into another fit of giggles, the image of royal princesses bringing their horses to a match clearly tickling her imagination.
“And you went to the palace?” she asked next, relentless in her questioning. “Was it big? With lots of treasure?”
Mariona leaned back in her chair, considering her answer. “Yes. The palace in Madrid is very big, with many beautiful things inside. Gold, paintings, statues… but our home is more lovely.”
Sofía tilted her head in question, tiara wobbling. “Really?”
At almost four years old, Mariona didn’t really expect her to understand why a royal palace would not be someone’s dream residence.
“Really,” Mariona said, catching Lia’s gaze. “Because it’s where all my treasures live.”
Lia smiled, almost reverent.
As expected, Sofía didn’t quite grasp the weight of it, but she seemed satisfied, grinning wide as she announced, “Then this is the best castle in the world!”
Lunch tapered off in that slow, happy way family meals often did. Mateo’s energy began to flag first, his peach-stained fingers dragging lazily across the highchair tray, his eyes glassy with sleep. Lia scooped him up, pressing her lips to the warm crown of his hair, and murmured, “I’ll take him up for his nap.”
Upstairs, the quiet of the nursery wrapped around Lia as she rocked Mateo gently. His small, warm body moulded into hers, his little hands clutching at her shirt. Almost immediately, one hand drifted upward, finding her hair as it always did, twiddling a strand between his tiny fingers. He had done it since he was a newborn - wrapping, pulling gently, letting the soft strands slip through his hand. It was his comfort, his way of keeping her close.
“Hola, mi amor,” she murmured softly, brushing her knuckle gently across his cheek. His skin was warm and impossibly soft, like the petals of a flower. She traced the curve of his jaw and the little dip of his dimple, then ran her knuckle back up again. He blinked up at her with his curious blue eyes, steady and calm, drinking her in as if the world outside didn’t exist.
“Not such a baby anymore, are you?” She whispered, her finger still stroking his face in a slow rhythm. “Two years old. Running through the house, terrorising your sisters…”
Mateo sighed, the sound muffled against her, and hummed softly as if he agreed. His fist tugged gently at a lock of her hair, twirling it around and around. Lia’s chest tightened, her heart impossibly full.
Downstairs, the living room was a scatter of toys and a nest of cushions where Sofía had plopped herself, tiara still perched precariously on her head. Mariona was stretched out comfortably on the rug beside her, letting her daughter arrange a mismatched assortment of plastic cakes around them.
After a moment of quiet play, Sofía tilted her head, her little eyes squinting as though she was puzzling out a mystery. “Mama,” she began, “how much do you love Mama?”
Mariona smiled instantly, no hesitation. “Més que res al món,” she said. “More than anything in the world.”
Sofía’s face lit up, enjoying the answer, but her questions didn’t stop. “Why do you love her?”
Mariona sat up properly now, taking the question as seriously as it deserved. “Because she is kind. Because she is strong. Because she makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. Because she makes every place feel like home. And,” she tapped Sofía gently on the nose, “because she gave me you, ni Maya, ni Mateu.”
Sofía’s eyes grew rounder. She wriggled into Mariona’s lap, tiara wobbling as she settled, her little hands playing with the collar of her mother’s shirt. Her questions hadn’t run out yet.
“You also love Mummy because she is very beautiful, right?”
Mariona smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Sofía’s forehead. “És veritat, sí. It’s true - she is very beautiful. The most beautiful.” Then her tone softened, becoming more serious. “But that is not why I love her most. Beauty is nice, petita, but what matters is that she is a good person. Her heart is even more beautiful. That’s what makes love stay.”
Sofía nodded slowly, as though she was filing this away. “But… when did you know? When you saw her smile?”
Mariona’s eyes glimmered with memory. She took a breath. “Do you want to know the real story?”
“Yes!” Sofía sat up straighter, the tiara now sliding completely sideways.
“It was after a very big game,” Mariona began. “The Champions League final. We played in Eindhoven, but the afterparty was back home in Barcelona. Lots of people, lots of music. And there, through a friend - you know Tía Ana, Maya’s godmother?”
Sofía’s face lit up. “Tía Ana! She brings me sweets.”
Mariona chuckled. “Sí, that one. Ana introduced us. And Mama didn’t know many people there, but she knew Ana. Tía Ana told us to talk. So we talked, even though my English was bad. We danced, even though I can’t dance. But somehow it all worked; she understood me. We talked and we danced for hours. And then, when it got later and the music got too loud, we went outside together.” She paused, her gaze going distant as though she could still feel the Barcelona air on her skin. “And there, under the lights on the terrace, I kissed her. And at that moment, I knew.”
Sofía’s mouth fell open, her eyes huge. “Like… like in a movie?”
“Better than a movie,” Mariona whispered, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “Because it was real.”
Sofía pressed her hands to her cheeks, overwhelmed with the romance of it all, before collapsing into Mariona’s chest with a dramatic sigh. “That’s the best story.”
Footsteps sounded softly against the wooden stairs, and Sofía turned her head just as Lia appeared. She took in the scene - Mariona sitting cross-legged on the rug with their daughter perched in her lap, tiara sliding askew-and smiled knowingly.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, stepping closer.
Sofía beamed. “Mama is telling me about your first kiss!”
“Oh?” Lia raised her brows, settling onto the rug beside them. “And what do you think of that?”
“It’s like a movie,” Sofía declared with great seriousness, clutching the tiara with both hands so it wouldn’t fall off completely. “Did you know Mama was the one too? Did you feel it?”
Lia looked between her daughter’s wide-eyed wonder and Mariona’s faintly smug grin. “I knew she was someone very special. But you know, cariño, sometimes knowing takes time. That night was wonderful, but it was the next morning, when we were tired and quiet, when Mama just held me… that’s when I truly knew.”
Mariona pressed a kiss to Lia’s temple at that, her voice low and full of memory. “And I never wanted to let you go.”
Sofía wriggled in delight, tiara bobbing. “And then what happened? What happens next in your story?”
“Well,” Lia said, folding her legs beneath her. “Not long after, Mama brought me here, to Mallorca, to Àvia’s house. I couldn’t understand many people, and Àvia and everyone couldn’t understand me… But Mama made me feel at home. I enjoyed my time here very much, even if I nodded a lot without knowing what anyone said.”
Sofía giggled at the thought of her mother nodding along, clueless. “So then you decided to get married and have Maya?”
Mariona barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Ai, princesa… if only it were so fast.”
Both women laughed, leaning into each other. “Not three weeks,” Lia said warmly. “Four years. We didn’t get married until four years later.”
Sofía’s eyes widened. “Four years? That’s like my whole life!”
“It felt like forever,” Mariona agreed, giving her daughter’s waist a playful squeeze. “Because for one whole year, Mama was living in London, and I was still in Barcelona. We had to fly to see each other whenever we could. Sometimes weeks apart.”
Sofía’s mouth fell open in shock. “That’s sad.”
“It was hard,” Lia admitted softly. “But we loved each other enough to wait. And then Mama moved to London so we could be together every day.”
“Every day,” Mariona echoed, her eyes soft as they met Lia’s.
“And then you got married and had Maya?” Sofía pressed, clearly eager to return to the well-known happily-ever-after part.
“Not right away,” Lia teased gently, brushing a curl off her daughter’s forehead. “But one day, yes. We stood with our friends and family, and we promised we’d always love each other. And some time later… We had Maya, you, and then your brother. All the best parts of our story came from that first kiss.”
Sofía rested her chin in her hand, thinking hard, as though committing the timeline to memory. “So it took a very long time.”
Mariona kissed the crown of her daughter’s head. “All the best things take time, princesa.”
Sofía wriggled upright again, her eyes sparkling. “And when you got married…” she smiled, bouncing a little on Mariona’s lap. “Was it like… like a princess wedding?”
Lia and Mariona exchanged a look, soft laughter rising between them.
“Well,” Mariona began, brushing a strand of Sofía’s hair behind her ear, “it wasn’t in a castle. No crowns, no royal guards. But it was our kind of fairytale.”
“In Mallorca,” Lia added, her voice turning gentle. “On a vineyard, it’s actually not far from here. We rented a big house, and all our friends and family came - people from football, from my life in London, from everywhere we’d lived.”
Sofía’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘O’. “Lots of people?”
“Many,” Mariona nodded. “All sitting outside together at one very long table in the courtyard. There were fairy lights strung in the trees, like stars had come down just for us. We ate dinner under them, and everyone laughed and toasted, and we danced until our feet hurt.”
Lia smiled at the memory, her hand slipping into Mariona’s without thought. “There was so much love, Sofí. Everyone was there for us, and it was beautiful!”
Sofía leaned back against them, sighing happily as if she could see it all. “That does sound like a princess wedding.”
“It was better,” Mariona whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “Because it was ours.”
Not done yet, Sofía leaned against Lia, legs folded up like a cat settling in for a story. “What was it like when I was born?” she asked again, her voice softer this time, as though she knew it was something important.
Lia and Mariona exchanged a look. That look they had shared so many times since their first daughter, since their first kiss, since every new miracle had arrived in their lives. And now here was Sofía, like Maya this morning, old enough to ask about her own beginning.
“You were born right here at home,” Mariona began gently, her arm curving around Lia’s shoulders, drawing her closer into the memory. “In your bedroom. You didn’t want to rush - you made us wait all through the night and morning. But when you finally came…” She paused, her throat tight. “The sun was shining, and the whole room felt golden.”
Lia’s eyes softened as she picked up the story. “We’d already been given one little miracle with your sister. And then - another little girl, another wish come true.” She smiled down at Sofía, brushing her fingers through her daughter’s hair.
Sofía’s eyes shone. “And I was small?”
“So small,” Mariona said with a tender laugh. “Tiny hands, tiny feet… but loud lungs.” She made a little cry-noise to demonstrate, which made Sofía giggle. “The whole house knew you were here.”
“And we were so happy,” Lia added, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “So happy to have another baby girl to love. From the moment you were in my arms, we knew we would love you forever!"
Sofía squirmed a little, shy with the weight of it all, but her grin betrayed how much she loved hearing it. “I’m glad I came,” she whispered again, more certain this time. She leaned her head against Lia’s shoulder, a contented little sigh escaping her lips. “Okay,” she murmured, clearly happy with the answers to all her questions.
Lia smiled down at her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “I think we should have a little quiet time now,” she said softly, glancing at Mariona, who nodded with a gentle smile. “How about we watch a movie together? Just the three of us, cosy here in the living room.”
Sofía’s face lit up immediately. “Yes! Can we get blankets too?”
“Of course, petita meua,” Mariona said, reaching over to gather a soft throw from the sofa. She draped it around their little trio, tucking Sofía snugly between them. Lia adjusted a cushion behind her daughter’s back.
They flicked through a couple of options on the TV. Deciding between the three of them, though ultimately it was always going to be Sofía’s choice. So, of course, a princess movie was decided upon.
The movie began, the flickering light from the screen dancing across their faces. Sofía’s tiny hands alternated between clinging to the blanket and holding her parents’ hands, while Lia and Mariona exchanged quiet smiles, watching their little girl’s joy.
For a while, everything stilled into one of those perfect slices of family life - Lia’s head resting on Mariona’s shoulder, Sofía’s delighted squeals punctuating the movie, and the distant silence of a sleeping Mateo upstairs.
They were halfway through the film when the knock at the door broke the cocoon. Sofía scrambled up, stumbling a little because her leg was asleep. “It’s Àvia! I’ll get it!”
Mariona was quicker, easing off the floor and reaching the door first. Sure enough, her mother stood there, smiling wide, carrying the faint scent of her garden and summer sun with her.
“Hola, família,” Àvia greeted warmly, stepping inside. Her eyes swept instantly to Sofía, who was bouncing on her toes. “And how is the day?”
Sofía grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the living room with all the urgency of a child desperate to share every detail at once. “We had a royal banquet! And Mama said our house is the best castle in the world!”
Àvia laughed, allowing herself to be tugged along, before meeting Mariona’s gaze over her granddaughter’s head. There was warmth there, and a knowing glint, as if she understood exactly what it meant to spend a day waiting for a firstborn to come home.
Sofía settled happily beside her grandmother on the sofa; she leaned against Àvia’s side. Together, they watched the final act of the princess movie, Sofía whispering commentary as if her grandmother couldn’t possibly understand the story without her expert narration.
Lia and Mariona lingered for a while, watching the scene - Sofía’s small hand tucked into her grandmother’s, the screen reflecting in both their eyes - before slipping away to gather their things, ready to collect Maya.
“She’ll be a terror for Àvia,” Mariona said with a laugh as they began their new routine of a short walk to school, picturing Sofía’s endless chatter.
“She was already halfway through explaining the whole movie again,” Lia agreed. Her eyes softened, her voice lowering. “But she looked so happy. I think she enjoyed having us all to herself for the afternoon.”
Mariona hummed, squeezing her hand. “She’s silly, all those questions…” she said fondly. “But she’s ours. All three of them, silly in their own ways.”
The school appeared fairly quickly at the end of the street, its gates already buzzing with parents waiting for dismissal. Lia’s chest tightened in anticipation, but Mariona tugged her gently forward, steady and sure.
Inside the classroom, the hum of children’s voices mingled with the scraping of little chairs on the tiled floor. Maya spotted them instantly, her face lighting up, something that made Lia’s heart swell.
“Mama!” she grinned, darting across the room before either teacher or classmates could stop her. She flung herself into their arms, caught easily between them both, her laughter bubbling against their cheeks.
“She had a wonderful first day,” the teacher said warmly in Catalan, approaching with a reassuring smile. “Confident, kind, very eager to learn. You should be proud.”
Lia’s eyes stung again, though this time with relief. She bent to kiss Maya’s hair, breathing in the scent of crayons and playground dust. “We are,” she whispered.
Mariona brushed a strand of hair from Maya’s forehead, her grin irrepressible. “And were we right? Was it fun?”
“The best!” Maya declared. “I made a picture, and I have a friend, and tomorrow I’m going back!”
Hand in hand, the three of them left the classroom, Maya skipping between them, her backpack bouncing with each step. The chatter didn’t stop, not even for breath, her words spilling over one another as she tried to recount every moment of her day.
The school gates swung shut behind them, and suddenly it was just the three of them again, bathed in the mellow afternoon light. The cobblestones were warm under their shoes, with the faint sound of the waves from the beach down the road behind them.
Before Maya could even adjust the straps, Mariona bent down and plucked her little backpack off her shoulders, slipping it easily over her own.
“Mario”, Lia began, raising an eyebrow, half amused, “she needs to get used to carrying it herself.”
“Un dia com avui? No passa res,” Mariona said with a shake of her head, settling the bag over one shoulder. “She deserves to walk free. Tomorrow she can carry it herself.”
Maya beamed up at her, as if she’d just won a great victory, and took both their hands instead. “It was heavy anyway,” she announced. “But now my arms can swing properly!” She demonstrated, pumping her elbows dramatically, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.
Both mothers laughed, steadying her with gentle squeezes of their hands.
“So,” Mariona prompted, looking down at her daughter, “tell us everything. What did you do?”
Maya didn’t need much encouragement. “I sat at the table with Júlia and Arnau - Arnau is really funny; he can make his eyebrows move like this.” She scrunched her face up into a wild expression, making both Lia and Mariona laugh. “And we drew pictures, and I made a rainbow with clouds, and the teacher said it was very beautiful, and I had my snack at the big table, and then we went outside-”
The words tumbled from her mouth, bright and unfiltered. She told them about the slide and how fast it was, about a little boy who cried because he missed his mama, and about how she helped another girl find where her backpack went because she had already learnt.
Lia listened intently, nodding, asking small questions. “And who did you play with outside? Was it Júlia again?”
“No, it was María, but not like Mama, another María,” Maya explained earnestly, her legs skipping to keep up with theirs. “She has pink shoes, and I told her I liked them.”
Mariona caught her wife’s eye as they walked, her smile soft, her voice teasing. “I told you. Nothing to worry about.”
Their little street glowed golden in the lowering sun, the familiar façade of their house waiting at the corner. Maya tugged both their hands as she spotted it, bouncing on her toes as though she hadn’t just spent the whole walk talking without pause.
“Mama - open the door faster, I need to tell Sofí and Àvia everything!”
Mariona chuckled, digging for the keys. “Vale, vale, tranquil·la, princesa.” She pushed the door open, and Maya darted inside, the sound of her voice carrying immediately through the house.
“In here, cariño,” Àvia called from the living room.
When Maya burst in, her cheeks pink from the walk, she found Àvia seated comfortably in the armchair, a storybook open on her lap. Sofía was curled against her side, listening intently, while little Mateo stood nearby, gripping the armrest with both hands, bobbing on his toddler legs as though the rhythm of the story itself had wound him up.
“I went to school!” Maya announced, throwing her arms wide. “And it was the best day ever!”
Sofía turned, eyes widening. “You did?” Her voice was filled with awe, like Maya had just returned from a daring adventure.
Mateo squealed at the sudden energy and clapped his chubby hands together.
Àvia closed the book softly, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “Oh? The best day ever? You must tell us everything.”
Maya wasted no time. She clambered onto the sofa beside Sofía, nearly knocking the book out of her grandmother's hands, and began her tale again, words spilling fast and bright. She told them about the classroom with its little tables and chairs and about the name card she found that spelled “M-A-Y-A.” She mimicked her new friend Arnau’s silly eyebrow trick, which had Sofía in stitches.
“And the teacher said my rainbow was very beautiful,” Maya said proudly, chin lifted. “And I wasn’t scared at all. Not even once.”
Àvia reached over, smoothing Maya’s hair back with her hand. “That does not surprise me at all, petita valenta. You’ve always been so brave.”
Sofía leaned her head against Maya’s shoulder, wide-eyed. “When I’m big, will I go too?”
“Yes,” Maya said with certainty, already adopting the tone of an older, wiser sister. “But you can’t take my table. You’ll have your own.”
That sent both Lia and Mariona into quiet laughter behind them, the two exchanging a glance. Their little girl had not only survived her first day but thrived, returning home with the most infectious joy.
Mateo gurgled, tugging on the hem of Maya’s dress as if demanding his share of attention. She bent down to kiss his head. “And I’ll still come home and play with you every day, don’t worry.”
The house was buzzing too brightly for evening routines, and it was Mariona who suggested it. She stood at the kitchen counter, helping Maya wriggle out of her school shoes while watching Sofía and Mateo dance circles around the living room.
“Per què no anem a la platja?” she asked Lia lightly. “Just for a little while. Let them get rid of this energy.”
Lia lifted her head from the pile of new school books and paperwork she was looking through. “Now?”
“Why not?” Mariona smiled. “The sun’s still out. We don’t need swimsuits, only the sand and the waves.” She crouched to kiss Maya’s cheek. “Vols anar, princesa?”
Maya’s eyes widened, her voice rising into a squeal: “Yes! Yes, please, Mama, can we go?”
That was all it took. Ten minutes and a goodbye to Àvia later, they spilt onto the cobbled street, children skipping between them, towels and small shovels in hand. The short walk down toward the coast was filled with chatter, Maya telling yet another story about her day, Sofía running ahead only to run back again, and Mateo perched on Lia’s hip, tugging her necklace.
The beach greeted them warmly, as it always did. Waves lapped lazily against the shore, and the air smelt of salt and sun-warmed stone. They kicked off their shoes at the edge of the sand, the children instantly darting forward.
“Not too far,” Lia called, laughing as Sofía plopped down dramatically to begin sculpting a castle mound.
Maya joined in, her hands and mini shovel digging into the sand with the ultimate focus, while Mateo toddled behind Mariona, clutching her hand until the sand got too interesting to resist. He crouched down, squealing happily as it sifted through his fingers.
It wasn’t long before Maya and Sofía’s half-formed castle became a grand project. “This tower is for Mama,” Maya declared, patting down her pile, “and this one is for Mateo.”
“And this one is mine,” Sofía chimed in, building hers with careful pats.
Mateo, oblivious to architectural precision, crawled right through the middle, toppling walls with glee. Mariona scooped him up as he squealed in triumph, lifting him high. “El drac feroç!” she laughed in hopes of steering the girls away from any tears due to their destroyed castle.
They abandoned the castle soon after, drawn to the shallow waves curling against the sand. Lia rolled up Sofía’s trousers and held her hand as they waded in, both shrieking at the cool water rushing over their ankles. Maya barrelled in without hesitation, jumping and splashing in her yellow dress, her laughter heard over the sea.
Mariona hung back with Mateo, crouched at the edge as he slapped at the foam with both palms, squealing every time the waves pulled back. “Bravo, campió,” she murmured, kissing his damp curls.
It was simple, unplanned, but perfect. The beach was quiet except for a few locals taking their evening strolls. The children darted between sand and sea, with Lia and Mariona following along as they pleased.
“Mama! That’s Júlia!” Maya cried, pointing down the beach.
Lia turned her head to see a little girl about Maya’s size, thick dark hair bouncing as she ran toward the shoreline, a young couple following with a stroller.
Maya dashed across the sand and threw her arms around Júlia with the kind of unfiltered joy of a child after one day of school. Sofía trailed behind her sister, cautious but curious. Maya had never had a friend before, not one that Sofía didn’t know.
Within minutes the three of them were chasing each other in and out of the waves, shrieking with laughter as the water splashed around their ankles. “Come on, Sofía!” Maya called, tugging her younger sister’s hand. “We’re making a castle for the mermaids!”
Sofía hesitated for half a second, but then Júlia offered her a bright smile, and the three of them crouched together at the shoreline, digging moats with clam shells.
From a little way back, Lia and Mariona watched. Lia’s hand slid into her wife’s, squeezing softly. “She looks so happy,” she murmured.
Mariona nodded, her gaze tender. “És el principi,” she whispered. “New people, new stories. She’ll never stop talking!”
The girls worked tirelessly until their ‘mermaid palace’ was half-built, with water rushing in and out of the moat. When a larger wave came and washed it all away, the three of them squealed with outrage before collapsing into laughter, lying flat on the wet sand as though the sea itself had played a joke on them.
By the time Júlia’s parents called her back, the sky was deepening into a beautiful pinky-purple colour. Maya gave her new friend a sandy hug goodbye, promising loudly, “See you tomorrow at school!”
Sofía clung to Maya’s arm on the walk back toward their towels, her voice piping: “She was nice. But I’m still your best friend.”
Maya grinned, pressing her sandy forehead to Sofía’s. “Of course you are.”
When they got back to the towels, Lia began brushing the sand from their backs and shoulders. “Why don’t we go for dinner before heading home? We’ve all earned a treat.”
Mariona’s grin widened immediately. “La Bodega?” she asked, and Lia laughed because of course she meant their little spot tucked just off the beach, the one with wooden shutters, blue-tiled floors, and the smell of garlic and olive oil that clung lovingly to your clothes.
The girls cheered, and even Mateo, perched on Mariona’s hip, clapped his hands at the word ‘dinner’. They gathered their things, shook sand from shoes and towels, and strolled up the promenade. The familiar painted sign above the doorway welcomed them like an old friend.
Inside, the waiters smiled knowingly, waving them toward their usual corner table near the small stage. “Bones, família guapa!” one called warmly, winking at the children. “Mira que s’han fet grossos!”
Mateo received his usual fussing, Sofía got a kiss on the crown of her head, and Maya sat tall in her chair, proud to be recognised in a place that felt like family.
Without even looking at a menu, plates began to arrive almost instantly - olives glistening in their brine, thick slices of pan con tomate, and croquettes golden and steaming. The music started soon after, a small band setting the rhythm with guitars and cajón. It didn’t take long before Sofía tugged Maya toward the open space between the tables. Soon the two girls were twirling, their laughter carrying as loudly as the music. Mateo bounced in his highchair, clapping along.
Mariona leaned close to Lia over the rim of her glass of tinto de verano. “Look at them. They think they own the place.”
Lia’s smile was soft. “Maybe they do.”
When the girls came back to refuel, cheeks flushed and sandy hair stuck to their temples, they couldn’t help but chatter again about the day. Maya recounted, yet again, every detail of her classroom - the tables, the crayons, the new friends. Sofía, unwilling to be left out, piped up:
“And I made a cake in my kitchen today. And Mama said she met a real queen and king and princess.”
Maya froze mid-bite of a tortilla, eyes wide. “That’s not true. You didn’t!” She pointed her fork at Mariona.
Mariona raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I didn’t, did I?”
“You’re just saying it,” Maya insisted, wiggling in her seat. “There aren’t real kings and queens. They’re only in stories.”
Sofía giggled, delighted that she was the one with the secret knowledge. “No, it’s true! Mama said she went to the palace too!”
Maya turned to Lia for backup, but Lia only shrugged with a smile. “She’s telling the truth, mi amor. Your mama has met them - more than once.”
Maya’s mouth fell open. “Really? Like… they were real people? With crowns?”
“Not with crowns, no,” Mariona said, chuckling. “But very real.” She winked at Sofía in victory.
Sofía clapped her hands in response. “See? I told you!” Getting one up on an older sibling was always something to celebrate.
Maya slumped back in her chair, torn between awe and disbelief. “That’s… weird,” she muttered finally, but her grin betrayed her.
After their food and chatter, the music drifted into a softer tune, and the waiter came back with his notepad tucked into his apron. “Unes postres per als nins?” he asked with a grin.
Lia shook her head immediately. “Millor que no, que es nins ja han menjat massa!”
Before he could turn away, three little voices rang out in protest.
“Yes!” Maya squealed, bouncing in her chair.
“Sííí,” Sofía echoed, smacking her palms on the table.
Even Mateo added his own enthusiastic babble, clapping sticky hands together.
Lia gave them her sternest mother-look. “Els meus tresors, we’ve had plenty already.”
But Maya leaned forward, her eyes wide, her hands pressed together in a mocking plea. “Please, Mama? Just a little? I was so good today. I went to school all by myself.”
Mariona bit her lip to keep from laughing, looking between the three children and watching Lia’s resolve flicker.
The waiter winked at the children, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t worry.” And he disappeared toward the kitchen before Lia could protest.
Minutes later, he returned, balancing three small glass dishes - each holding one singular scoop of vanilla ice cream, one with chocolate sauce, another with sprinkles, and the third crowned with a little wafer. He set them down in front of the wide-eyed children, bowing slightly as if presenting treasures.
“This one,” he said in Catalan, placing the dish with chocolate sauce in front of Maya, “for completing your very first day of school.”
Maya gasped, beaming as if she’d just been awarded a medal.
“And this one,” he continued, sliding the one with sprinkles next to Sofía, “for the best dancing of the night.”
Sofía wiggled in her seat, delighted, her curls bouncing with the movement.
Finally, he crouched to Mateo’s level, setting the last dish with a plain wafer in front of him with exaggerated care. “And this one, for the most beautiful blue eyes in all of Mallorca.”
Mateo blinked at him, grinned, and immediately tried to scoop ice cream with his hands until Mariona rescued the spoon.
Lia sighed, shaking her head as she glanced at Mariona. “Sugar is exactly what I didn’t want.”
But she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips, the warmth of seeing her children so happy, so celebrated and so unbelievably loved.
When Mariona reached for her wallet afterward, the waiter waved her off. “No, no. These are from me. A gift. Tonight, you pay nothing for the kids.”
As the children dug happily into their surprise desserts - Sofía tapping her spoon against the glass like it was a drum, Maya savouring each bite as if stretching out her triumph, and Mateo mostly smearing the melted liquid on his cheeks - Mariona leaned across the table toward Lia.
Her smile was mischievous, the kind that still made Lia’s stomach flutter even after all these years. “Vols ballar amb mi?” she asked, her voice low, teasing.
Lia blinked at her, half a laugh caught in her throat. “Now? Here? Mariona, no…” She glanced at the little space between the tables where a few couples swayed lazily to the guitar. “I haven’t danced like that in years.”
Mariona was already standing, holding out her hand. “Exactly. It’s been way too long. Come on, princesa.”
Lia shook her head, but her cheeks were already warming, her lips curling despite herself.
Before Lia could argue, Mariona tugged gently, pulling her up from the chair. Lia let herself be drawn in, laughing under her breath as she was swept toward the little open dance floor.
The children looked up instantly, spoons paused mid-air. “Mamas are dancing!” Sofía squealed, clapping her hands together.
“Ballar!” Mateo echoed, bouncing in his highchair.
Mariona slipped an arm around Lia’s waist, her other hand clasping hers, moving them into an easy sway that Lia instantly remembered - the rhythm of old summers, of warm nights when it was just the two of them helplessly in love.
“You remember?” Mariona murmured close to her ear.
“How could I forget?” Lia whispered back, her eyes softening as she let herself melt into the movement. “You used to drag me up here in front of everyone all the time. Even on my first visit here!”
“And you blushed exactly like this.”
Lia laughed, tipping her forehead briefly against Mariona’s, her earlier shyness fading into something tender, something playful.
Mariona pulled her close, the music moving around them. Lia’s hand rested lightly on her wife’s shoulder, the other caught in Mariona’s grip, their bodies swaying easily to the strum of the guitar.
For a moment, Lia tried to keep her eyes on the space around them, self-conscious as a couple of older diners watched with soft smiles. But then Mariona dipped her head, her lips brushing the edge of Lia’s ear.
“Lia…” Her voice was nothing more than a low hum. “Mira això… Our life. Our children sitting there with ice cream on their faces, you in my arms, the sea just over there. It’s beautiful.”
“I love you more than I ever thought possible,” Mariona went on, her Mallorcan accent thicker, softened by the hush of the moment. “And I love them. This-” she pressed a kiss against Lia’s temple as they turned-“this is better than any life I could ever have dreamed.”
Their foreheads touched, their words soft, tender. Lia pressed a fleeting kiss to her wife’s lips before she replied, “Jo també t’estim. T’estim tant.”