Hold Me Close

tomorrow

We work on it. Learning when to listen.

Well, Alexia claims she has always known when to listen, but since the nonchalant comment is uttered during a very vulnerable conversation about Scarlett's memorial next month, I assume it's just a defence mechanism. Or something to lighten the mood.

Maybe part of it is coping with the darker times.

It's hard because we have both been through so much, done it all in our own way. Where our paths differ, we clash. Where they have been similar, we seem to... Well, we're trying to talk more.

There's a lot to know about Alexia, and a lot that she must find out about me. Though this part of our relationship is still growing its roots, it seems to brighten the flowers blooming elsewhere. Fragrant and beautiful. Flowers we water and tend to with diligence.

Mum's visit passes through quite seamlessly. Alexia wears a vintage t-shirt from the Olympics, explaining away the clear sucking up by calling on her Catalan pride. From what I hear, both sides were pleasantly surprised. I'm grateful to my mother for being civil. I suspect that she doesn't mind who loves me – maybe even praises the woman who can. I'm sure I heard her complain more about Jaimie moving (which was months ago) than anything to do with my new girlfriend.

I'll take it.

November slowly ebbs into the final month of the year. Alexia approaches the time hasty and restless, ready to reach 2024, ready to get back on the pitch. I prefer to take a step back, being granted time off to visit Lize for Sinterklaasavond.

Last year, I prioritised football. I was scorned by losing out on the Ballon D'or. Now that I have it, I realise that I feel no different.

My cousin picks me up from the airport with two empty seats in her present-filled car. Seeing me alone, she frowns. "No girlfriend?"

"She wanted to squeeze in as much of her physio programme as possible before I force her to take a break over Christmas." Lize laughs at my fond exasperation at the thought of Alexia in the gym, red-faced and determined to catch up with me before I 'get too far ahead'. "Where's the husband?"

"Distracting Noa so that she doesn't notice me sneaking these inside." I take in the boxes stacked along the backseats. Lize, with a sigh, explains that Jaimie insisted on getting Noa brand new ski gear in Ajax colours, complete with a badge plastered on each ski. It was delivered to Papa's house in order to not raise suspicion.

"And what did you get her?" I ask with a smirk.

I think about how Jaimie must have sounded over the phone. Hysterical, I presume. "I want my daughter to be happy," Lize starts, which means more than that.

"You want to piss Jaimie off," I correct.

"No one cares about the Arsenal thing as much as her. She's the one dating an Arsenal player!" I would say it's overcompensating, but my sister would slap me like she did in April. I don't particularly want that to happen again. "I got Noa what she really wanted, which is another Arsenal shirt."

"Who's on the back?" We're turning onto a main road, so I allow Lize's hesitation, giving her the benefit of the doubt. But she's gripping the steering wheel like she doesn't know how to drive, and a bad feeling creeps down my throat and into my stomach.

"Listen, Flootz, she's only little. She doesn't get it yet."

"Who is on the back, Lize?"

I'm not one for arguing with children, but Noa gets an earful about why she can't put my name on the back of such a monstrosity when I walk through the door of the doomed household my cousin seems to be running.