STARGIRL, alexia putellas

10. celebratory 'lunch'

The next day, I found myself bracing for a special kind of torture that even the worst of training sessions couldn't prepare me for: a family lunch. And not just any family lunch, but a gathering of my loud and delightfully judgmental relatives. The grand event was taking place at Abuela Carlotta's house, a cosy, colourful little place that had seen more family drama than a telenovela.

For this formidable gathering, I was joined by my older sister, Leticia, who was a pro when it came to lecturing and exasperation. As we drove in her car, she took the opportunity to launch into her favourite topic – me.

"Isabela, why are you always so distant from the family?" Leticia's voice had that mix of concern and scolding that only she could master. "It's been ages since you've come to Abuela's. She misses you."

I sighed, focusing on the road ahead. "Leticia, you know how busy I am with training and everything. Plus, it's not like I'm doing it on purpose."

Leticia gave me a sideways glance that screamed, "I don't believe you." In her mind, I had become the black sheep of the family. My nomadic football life was a constant source of frustration for her, especially since she was the one who bore the brunt of the "family responsibility."

"Isabela, it's not just about training," she said, her words dripping with that sisterly judgment I knew so well. "It's about making an effort, about showing that you care."

I briefly entertained the idea of telling her that making an effort had become my life's main occupation, but I decided it wasn't worth the argument. Instead, I just offered a noncommittal "Hmm" and turned up the music to drown out her well-intentioned nagging.

As we pulled into Abuela Carlotta's driveway, I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with dread. The place hadn't changed much since I'd last been here, and the familiar scents of cooking wafted from the open windows.

My step-dad, Jorge, greeted me with his infectious cheerfulness. "Isabela, mi niña, so good to see you!"

"Hey, Jorge." I hugged him, thankful for his more laid-back approach to life. He was like the anti-Leticia.

My dramatic abuela Carlotta burst into the room with a flourish, as if she was the star of her own telenovela. "Isabela, mija, you're here! The family is complete once again!" She embraced me and kissed my cheeks over and over, her loudness emphasising my presence.

Leticia leaned over to me, her voice lowered. "Please, just try to make an effort today. Abuela has been looking forward to this."

We walked into a scene that could only be described as "typical family lunch." Abuela Carlotta was orchestrating everything from her spot at the head of the table, directing family members to take their seats, pour the wine, and make sure the food was spread out just right. She was the epitome of a dramatic matriarch, her voice a commanding presence in the room. Domenico, my quiet and forgetful grandfather, was seated next to her, nodding along with whatever she said. They made quite the pair – the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

My mother, Fernanda, was gracefully circulating through the room, a hostess to the core. Her eyes lit up as she greeted me with a warm hug and a motherly kiss on the cheek. Despite her nurturing and charismatic nature, she had inherited the family's judgment gene, which meant I would probably get my own lecture at some point during the meal.

Jorge was at the grill, charring some meat with a cigar in his mouth and a gleam in his eye. He was the family's comic relief, always ready with a joke and a laugh. He greeted us with a sizzling spatula in one hand and a playful smile on his face.