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The house glowed golden in the mid-March eight o'clock sunshine, with old-school terracotta tiles and flickering candlelight; the windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the conversations and the dinner was already half-prepared. The hum of chatter spilt from the kitchen, where every aunt seemed to be in charge of something different and every cousin tested whatever was being served.
Outside, the March air was cool and sharp, but inside, it smelt of garlic, roasted lamb, and a sharp red wine. It was a classic Catalan Birthday - rich, loud and family-filled.
Mariona, the birthday girl, moved easily through the familiar chaos, one arm securely looped around her daughter. Maya was perched happily on her mother’s hip, her small hand tangled in the collar of Mariona’s beige jumper. At almost two, she was happy to wave and babble at anyone walking by.
“Ai, que guapa!” her great-aunt exclaimed for the third time that night, pressing a soft kiss to the toddler’s cheek as she shuffled across the hall. Maya blinked solemnly, then broke into a wide grin, her shyness turning into Mariona’s neck.
Lia watched from the living room; she was sat talking with Mariona’s cousin Ines. She’d offered to help earlier in the kitchen, chopping a few vegetables and arranging platters, but the older women had practically chased her away. “Estàs de vacances, carinyo, seu, gaudeix,” they’d insisted.
Now, she sat watching her wife and their daughter - Mariona laughing easily with her brother, Maya gleefully trying to grab the shiny buttons on his shirt. There was something so natural about it. Mariona was with her family, in her own language, her hands animated as she spoke. Warm and open, her voice low as she joked about how Maya had inherited all her appetite.
Pretty soon, someone called Lia and Ines over. “Vine, seu ja,” came Mariona’s uncle’s voice from the long makeshift table. “El menjar és apunt!”
The clatter of chairs and plates filled the room as everyone took their seats. The tables stretched nearly wall to wall, a cheerful chaos of mismatched chairs, crockery, overflowing dishes, and small vases of spring flowers.
Mariona had already settled into her chair halfway down; Maya still balanced expertly on her lap, not enough chairs for her own spot. Lia slid into the seat beside her, running a hand down Mariona’s arm as she sat. She smiled her thanks as Uncle Alejandro passed her a plate of lamb and roasted vegetables.
“Vols vi, Lia?” asked one of the aunts, already uncorking a bottle of Rioja.
Lia hesitated, her smile flickering just slightly. “No, gràcies,” she said, politely waving it away.
“Segura? Només una miqueteta,” came the insistence, the bottle already hovering over her glass, liquid already threatening to spill into it.
Mariona’s hand intercepted smoothly, her tone light. “She’s driving, tía,” she said, voice playful. “One of us has to stay sensible.”
The aunt laughed, easily distracted. “Ah, you’re right. Just a glass for you then.”
“Better make it two; it’s my birthday after all!” Mariona teased, accepting the pour. Lia nudged her gently under the table with her knee, amused.
Around them, conversation flowed - bursts of laughter, overlapping stories, and the occasional clink of a fork against a plate. Someone started talking about the football season, and naturally Mariona was drawn in.
“The match on Sunday,” her cousin was saying, “Pffft! That challenge was brutal. How did you even-”
Mariona laughed, shaking her head. “Eh, luck, adrenaline and good pain killers,” she said, thinking about her poor foot that had become a stomping ground for one of her opponents.
On her lap, Maya had grown restless, drumming her metal spoon against the edge of the makeshift plastic garden table. Still in conversation, Mariona distracted her with little pieces of bread, offering them from her fingers while half-listening to her cousin.
Maya babbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Més pa-pa” before her mother could break another piece off fast enough.
“Already two languages," one of the aunts said proudly.
“Sometimes three,” Lia smiled gently, face full of pride. “She’s adding Swiss German a little too!”
Mariona grinned, catching the end of the conversation. She rested her chin briefly on Maya’s head of curls as she spoke. “Catalan, English and Swiss German.”
They ate slowly, plates were refilled again, and again, conversation drifted from family gossip to politics to who made the best turrón, the Mallorcan way. The soft clink of silverware mixed with bursts of laughter and the occasional cry from a child who wanted some attention.
At some point, Maya grew tired of sitting still and twisted awkwardly in Mariona’s lap, reaching toward Lia. Her little legs slipped between Mariona’s, and she fell slightly between them before she was pulled across onto Lia.
“Mama,” she said sleepily, finding her spot in her mother’s lap. She nestled comfortably against the curve of Lia’s body, little arms dangling off the sides of the chair. It was a small, tender moment; these were the things Lia dreamed of for years before becoming a mother. It was love in its purest form.
Someone at the end of the table noticed first - a cousin with a glass of red wine halfway to her lips. Her brows wiggled slightly before she nudged an aunt next to her. Then her mother glanced over, and another aunt.
The talking lulled for a second as people paused their conversations, replaced mainly by the soft scrape of cutlery against their plates. Mariona noticed the shift a moment too late - how every pair of eyes seemed to flick toward Lia and Maya.
What she hadn’t realised was that as Maya had snuggled down, Lia’s loose blouse had pulled gently across her stomach, and it was just enough for the faintest curve beneath the fabric.
“Carinyo…” one of the aunts began gently, her tone warm and teasing. She reached her hand across the table to touch Lia’s.
At the touch, Lia suddenly looked up from where she had been fixated on Maya. Her eyes widened when she noticed everyone’s gaze.
“Are you pregnant?”
A wave of silence followed, quick and bright. Hopeful. Then the world seemed to narrow to the heat in her cheeks. She looked at Mariona; she wasn’t sure whether for permission or reassurance or both. The Spaniard grinned in response, her hand gently finding a spot on her wife’s thigh beneath the table.
“Sí, tornam a esperar un altre bebé!”
The room erupted instantly as Mariona laughed. It’s definitely not how they were planning to tell everyone, but it would certainly do.
The noise was loud, joyous, Mallorcan. Hands clapped, glasses were refilled, and someone whooped, “Una altra nina per a la família!” while another demanded to know how far along she was.
Mariona laughed, her eyes with their natural crinkle as she smiled, the relief and delight flooding through her. It was her birthday; they were celebrating with her whole family in the home where she grew up, and she had just announced Lia would be having another baby.
A cousin leaned over to tickle Maya’s chin. “Tu serás la germana gran!”
Maya blinked, unphased, her head resting gently against Lia. She was tired.
“Li ho hem intentat dir, però no entén per què la mare té panxa.” Mariona grinned her signature grin, reaching to run her hands through the toddler’s light curls.
“Ja ho entendrà quan tengui un bebè petit plorant dins ca seva!” The Spaniard nodded in response, a slight laugh escaping her. Though the thought of 2 babies and a wife to love under her roof made her do nothing but smile.
After lots of questions, when someone finally stood to toast to the new baby and to the mothers, Lia looked around the table - at all these people who had welcomed her so easily into their own - and she herself felt that same warmth rise through her chest.
Mariona leaned close, pressing her lips to Lia’s temple. “I love you,” she murmured.
Lia smiled, her voice soft enough for only her to hear. “Happy Birthday!” Their eyes stayed locked together, full of love, until someone broke their trance.
“Time for ensaïmada!” An aunt appeared from the kitchen carrying the pastries dusted in a thick layer of sugar. “First, the song for Mariona!” She placed the plate in front of the brunette; a lone candle sat on the top.
Maya’s eyes lit up at the sight of something sweet. Immediately attempting to slide off Lia’s lap and into Mariona’s.
“You’re going to help me, huh?” Mariona grinned, pulling the toddler onto her knees. She knew exactly what she really wanted.
Maya nodded, eyes burning holes into the mountain of sweet treats as the Catalan birthday song started acapella.
“Tell Mama, per molts anys,” Lia attempted to prompt Maya before she dove into dessert.
After the chaos of the announcement and the birthday song had softened into something gentler - conversation resettled, glasses refilled - the warm Mallorcan buzz of laughter filled every corner of the room.
Lia had just handed Maya another tiny bite of pastry when she heard her name drift from across the table. It was Tía Rosa, one of Mariona’s older aunts - silver-haired, with wide brown-rimmed glasses, and the kind of soft authority that made everyone listen when she spoke. She leaned forward slightly, chin resting on her hand, and her gaze fell affectionately to Lia’s stomach.
“Mira-la, ja tens panxeta,” Rosa said, her voice carrying easily. “I cap de noltros no se n’havia adonat… deu ser que no miram gaire bé.”
The table murmured agreeingly, with a little chuckle, several heads turning to look, though the energy was playful and excited, not prying.
Lia laughed shyly, glancing down at herself. Her blouse, though loose, did little to hide the subtle curve when she was sat. Living in London most of the time, they could get away with it, but spending Mariona’s birthday in Mallorca was always going to pose a challenge. “A small one; I’m about 16 weeks,” she admitted in English before switching to her soft, careful Catalan. “Crec que el mes que ve ja se notarà més.”
Rosa smiled knowingly, wagging her finger. “És el més bonic, aquest moment. Quan encara és un secret, però el cos ja ho sap.”
Lia’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, it feels like that,” she said quietly, “this is the first time we have told anyone.”
Another aunt, younger and louder, chimed in from further down the table, “Jo vaig engreixar-me com un peix globus!” The table erupted with laughter. “Però si estàs radiant, Lia. Tens aquella llum. Sempre estàs guapa, però aquesta és una llum diferent.”
Mariona, sitting beside her, reached under the table to squeeze her thigh, her face split in an affectionate grin. “They love you more than me.”
“Maybe,” Lia teased, knowing that was never possible, but she wasn’t offended.
“You give them our babies; there is no easier way to win over the Spanish family” the Spaniard winked, passing another piece of pastry to Maya, who was happily smearing powdered sugar around her mouth.
Tía Rosa wasn’t finished. She had that tender, storytelling tone that mothers of grown children often carry. “Quan jo estava embarassada de la Marta, recordo el primer cop que vaig sentir-la moure’s… una papallona dins meu.”
The whole table had quieted a little. Rosa’s eyes softened, and she looked directly at Lia. “És una cosa que no s’oblida mai, Lia. Cada criatura que regales a la família és un petit miracle.”
Lia’s lips parted, not knowing what to say for a second. “Thank you,” she said softly, genuinely touched.
Mariona looked between them, her eyes filled with love, the kind that didn’t need words. The Spaniard’s hand drifted down and rested briefly on Lia’s knee, thumb brushing slow invisible circles there. Lia smiled immediately. She didn’t look up and didn't need to. Her ever-affectionate wife always had a way of making her feel loved even without words.
Then, as if to dissolve the tenderness before anyone could get too emotional, her cousin Jaume, ever the joker, piped up, “Mentre no siguin bessons…”
The table erupted. A full wine glass wobbled dangerously close to the edge. Mariona groaned and leaned her head back with theatrical despair. “No diguis això, home!”
“Podria ser!” he shot back, delighted with himself. “Amb dues mares tan fortes, és clar que en vindran dos de cop.”
More laughter, but a little louder this time. Someone muttered something about tempting fate. Lia shook her head, one hand instinctively finding her belly as she smiled. “No, no, there is only one in there,” she said, laughing too, but she was calm and certain.
When the laughter died down, Rosa reached across the table, her hand navigating half-empty wine glasses and scattered cutlery before closing gently around Lia’s. “Sigui com sigui, estimada, serà molt estimat. Això és el que importa.”
“Es nadó més estimat de tota Mallorca!” Mariona cheered, the wrinkles by her eyes filled with happiness. A few cheers followed, someone tapping the table in agreement. Then she leaned closer to Lia, lowering her voice so it was meant for her alone. “See? You will always have a place here.”
Lia leaned her head briefly against her shoulder, breathing her in, smiling. “Only because you all make room.”
Mariona didn’t hesitate. Her arm tightened around her, just enough to be felt. “Always,” she said.
As plates were cleared and the evening naturally spilt into the living room, Mariona was completely in her element. She drifted easily between relatives, laughter following her from one corner to the next, passing Maya from arm to arm as if she were one of Mariona’s many Champions League trophies. Every so often, she leaned back to Lia, murmuring quick translations when the family slipped into rapid Mallorquí, keeping her in the loop.
It was over some coffee that the teasing started again.
Uncle Toni, settled opposite Mariona on the couch, leaned forward with a familiar, mischievous grin. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, and incredibly Spanish-looking. “Escolta, Mariona,” he said, lifting his cup, “digues la veritat. Com vas convèncer una dona com aquesta per casar-se amb tu?”
Groans and scoffs rippled across the sofa. Even Lia shook her head, cheeks warming as she smiled into her cup.
Mariona leaned back, folding one arm behind her head as if weighing the question seriously. “Jo també m’ho pregunto cada matí,” she replied, deadpan, her other arm slipping easily around Lia’s shoulders.
Her mother, María, who had been watching with open fondness, clicked her tongue. “Amb paciència i molt de menjar,” she said.
“Exacte,” Mariona agreed, grinning. “I made her pa amb tomàquet until she had no choice but to stay.”
Lia laughed, setting her cup down carefully. “That’s not true,” she said, eyes bright. “It was the croquetas… and your piano playing.”
That earned more laughter, but Toni wasn’t finished. He leaned in again, eyes dancing. “De debò. Mira-la. Tan maca, tan elegant. I tu… sempre amb aquells cabells despentinats i les sabates brutes de gespa.”
Mariona lifted a hand to her chest in mock offence. “Eh! Aquestes sabates m’han donat una vida!”
When the laughter subsided, Mariona’s tone softened. “Però, si vols la veritat… sóc jo la que ha tingut sort.”
The group quieted just a little, listening to what she had to say.
Mariona angled herself slightly towards Lia, finding her eyes, that familiar shared look that had happened numerous times over the years. Her voice was steady and warm. “She’s the best person I’ve ever known. She makes everything calmer. Kinder. I used to think I didn’t need that. I thought football was everything, but then she came, and everything made sense. She’s the best wife, a wonderful mother, and a great role model for our babies… I love her, and thank God she loves me too!”
Lia blinked quickly, embarrassed and touched all at once, her hand sliding to rest over Mariona’s thigh, fingers squeezing gently. Mariona was always very open with her family about their relationship; she was used to these declarations of love by now, but it still caught her off guard.
A whistle cut through the moment from the far side of the room. “Això sí que és amor!” Jordi called.
Rosa clapped her hands once, satisfied. “Molt bé, Mariona. Ja pots veure per què la Lia t’ha triat. Tens cor.”
Lia turned then, pressing a quick kiss to Mariona’s cheek. “You’re still messy and full of grass stains though,” she whispered.
Mariona grinned, lowering her voice in reply. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
Lia laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
On a chair in the far corner of the room, Maya had settled into Rosa’s lap, half-asleep now, her head tucked against the older woman’s chest. Rosa’s hand moved slowly through the child’s hair, gentle and soothing, her gaze drifting between different conversations around the room.
She leaned down, lips close to Maya’s ear, her voice low enough to be just for her.
“Ho saps, tu, com s’estimen, ses teves mares?” she whispered with a quiet smile. “Molt. S’estimen d’una manera que omple sa casa sencera.”
Maya didn’t answer, but Rosa didn’t expect her to.
“I tu tens molta sort,” Rosa went on softly. “Perquè aquest amor no s’acaba… ara es fa més gros.”
Her eyes lifted briefly to Lia and Mariona. They were pressed close together, shoulders touching, Mariona’s hand resting protectively over Lia’s knee while Lia spoke softly, her free hand absently tracing the rim of her mug. They weren’t performing for anyone, and weren’t even aware they were being watched. It was the quiet, everyday way they leaned into each other, the ease of it, that said everything. Rosa held the sight for a second, a small, knowing smile tugging at her mouth, before she looked back down at the child in her arms.
“Ben aviat l’hauràs de compartir,” she added, barely above a breath. “Però no passa res. N’hi haurà per tots.”
Rosa watched them again for a moment, the quiet way they fit together. The child’s breathing had slowed now, heavy and even, her body warm and trusting in Rosa’s arms.
Rosa smiled to herself and bent close, her voice barely a whisper.
“Ses teves mares t’estimen més que res en aquest món,” she murmured. “Més que es sol, més que la mar.”
Maya stirred slightly, a tiny frown passing over her face, and Rosa’s hand stilled on her back.
“I t’estimaran sempre així,” she went on, softer still. “I es teu germanet o germaneta… l’estimaran igual. Exactament igual.”
She paused, pressing a light kiss to Maya’s hair.
“No et llevaran res,” Rosa added gently. “Només en sumaran.”