Hold Me Close

signed and sealed

My second day in Barcelona starts with me knocking the glass of water on the bedside table over onto my iPad, which then begins to buzz incessantly with an incoming FaceTime call. I don't have to check to see who it is because there is only one person I know who would be so annoying to call me at seven in the morning when I have just moved countries. Sighing and deciding against having a sense of urgency, I use the t-shirt I discarded onto the floor last night to wipe the water off the iPad, and then answer the call. My sister, in bright and sunny Australia, grins at me through the screen.

"Hoi," she greets, wiping her face with a sweat towel. The Australian Open starts tomorrow, and she's probably doing some last-minute training in preparation for her first match. We both played tennis during our childhood, but I clearly wasn't as good. Somehow she managed to win the French Open last year. I almost didn't believe it. "How's Spain? Did you take up Papa's offer to stay over for a bit beforehand?" She sounds more Aussie every time I talk to her.

We grew up in Amsterdam mainly, but my mum is from Melbourne. Every summer, we went back to visit her family. We still haven't used all our miles up with Singapore Airlines. As we got older, we could only go back every two years due to Jaimie and I's increasing commitment to sports, and Mum got homesick. Like, borderline depressed. She wanted to move back, but my father didn't. He's Dutch, and the accountancy firm he's a partner at has no offices in Australia. Though I don't think that was the sole reason for it, my parents divorced when I was thirteen, and we ended up being shared across two sides of the globe. Mum has lived in Melbourne ever since the papers were finalised, and Jai moved there a few years ago to spend more time with that side of our family. It doesn't hurt that Australia has good tennis facilities, either. (That and my sister really loves having a tan.)

"Jaimie, I just got here," I remark with a frown, settling back into bed. "Nervous for tomorrow?"

"Nah, I don't get nervous." Well that isn't true. "I've just finished the most pathetic workout I've ever done. Mumma told me to call you to see if you're okay, Flootz." I hate that nickname. It sounds horrible.

"Ik ben great." Mixing both languages when we talk to each other is common. Sometimes I can only fully express myself with both, or I just get confused. "I've got meetings today, and then a tour of the training facility. A second medical examination tomorrow, and fitness testing the day after. Training with the team by the end of this week. And hopefully I can move into my flat too!" I need to buy a car, now that I think about it. María said the club has a partnership with Cupra, so maybe I can get one of those. Apparently the flat I'm renting is a popular neighbourhood amongst my teammates though, so carpooling until I buy one myself is an option.

"I meant about your girlfriend dying, shithead." Oh. That's nice. "Are you going to see a psychologist in Barcelona too?" Chelsea forced me to. I hope they won't do that here.

My grimace is noticeable. "I actually have something to tell you..."

My sister and I are very close. She is only eleven months older than me, and understands exactly what I've been through because she's probably been through it too. I don't have to explain the trauma of divorced parents that live in different continents, because she just gets it. We understand each other very well, and have been close our whole lives. It's partly due to the way we were brought up; being kept so busy that there wasn't really any time to have friends outside of school, and feeling too tired to socialise and learn at the same time anyway. Our father is a very successful man, and has accepted nothing less from his daughters. He pushes us to be the best, which is probably why Jaimie wins tournaments and I get nominated for the FIFA Best XI every year. Jaimie and I share a joint struggle of his expectations, and I suppose that makes talking about everything else easier.