May 30, 2016 | Leicester – 7:41 P.M.
The living room was quiet except for the soft hum of the television. Evening light filtered through the thin curtains, painting the walls a faint gold. A half-finished cup of chamomile sat beside a candle that smelled of lemon and lavender, her usual comfort pairing.
Julia sat curled beneath a knitted grey blanket, her legs tucked to the side of the couch. The remote lay forgotten on the armrest. She wasn't even blinking much anymore.
On the screen, the Queen was laughing.
And next to her — sitting so straight, so composed — was Tristan. Her boy. Suit pressed, hair combed perfectly looking like a true modern day prince.
Julia's chest tightened as she watched him speak. The confidence, the grace — it all looked so effortless. It almost scared her how much he'd grown.
She leaned forward slightly, fingers absently twisting the edge of her blanket. The Queen of England. Sitting beside her son. Laughing at his jokes.
It didn't seem real.
She'd never been one for royal ceremonies or the entire family for the matter. Didn't care much for crowns or titles. But Queen Elizabeth… she'd always respected her. The entire country did. And now that same woman was smiling at Tristan like she'd known him for years.
Never once in her life did she think her son or even her would met the Queen much less get invited by her and have a whole meeting with her.
She thought of how small he'd looked that first day she dropped him off at Leicester's youth academy. How his kit was too big, how his boots made that squeaky sound on the pavement. And now — here he was. The whole country's hope. Sitting beside the Queen like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe she really did give birth to England's football Messiah. Something the fans had started calling him recently.
The cushions beside Julia dipped slightly.
"Love," Ling said softly, handing her a fresh cup of tea as he settled beside her. The steam curled between them, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and honey. "Did you ever think he'd become this big? Back when he first started kicking that ball around the garden?"
Julia smiled, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "He's always loved football. Even before he could talk properly. He used to sleep with that little blue ball, remember?"
Ling chuckled, eyes flicking toward the TV. On the screen, Tristan was mid-laugh beside the Queen, looking every inch the modern prince. "I remember," he said. "I also remember thinking it was just a phase. Thought we'd sign him up at the academy for a few weekends, get it out of his system."
Julia laughed quietly. "Yeah. We had no idea what we were signing up for." She nodded toward the screen, voice soft with disbelief. "Now look at him. Worth three hundred million. Sitting next to the Queen of England like it's just another interview."
Ling hummed in agreement, then after a pause said, "Speaking of that money…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe we should actually think about what he's been saying lately."
Julia turned her head. "You mean—?"
He nodded. "Retiring. Stepping back."
Julia frowned. "I don't like that idea, Ling. I don't want us to live off him. He's our son, not our retirement plan."
"I know," Ling said quickly. "It's not about that. We're not struggling. But he's right — we don't need to keep breaking our backs when we don't have to. He said it himself: he could give us forty million and not even notice. And he's already been sending twenty percent of his salary into your account since he went pro."
Julia sighed, shaking her head. "I told him to stop that." Her son sometimes didn't
Ling smiled, sipping his tea. "He doesn't listen. Wonder where he got that from."
That made her laugh — a soft, tired sound, but full of love.
Julia had spent over a decade as a head nurse at Leicester Royal Infirmary, holding lives together with steady hands and no fuss. Ling ran logistics at a distribution warehouse — long hours, endless paperwork, steady pay. Good, honest work. Enough to raise their boy. Enough to give him dreams.
But things were different now.
Even walking into the hospital had become awkward — whispers in the corridors, phones quietly lifted for photos, the "That's Tristan's mum" murmurs that followed her from ward to ward. She didn't hate it. But it made her miss anonymity.
(A/N: I honestly can't believe I never wrote what their jobs were. I decided on some middle-class jobs as they do own a house.)
"If we do it," she said at last, her voice thoughtful, "I want to travel. See the world. Take pictures of everything. Then maybe… settle near Liverpool. Be close when he needs us."
Ling smiled, resting his hand gently over hers. "It sounds perfect."
Julia sighed softly, her head resting against Ling's shoulder as the flicker of the TV washed their faces in pale gold. "You know," she said, her voice low, tired, "I'm not really happy with Roy. Making Tristan report on the sixth… an extra two days wouldn't have killed him. You'd think he could trust our boy enough to celebrate responsibly."
Ling's lips pressed into a thin line. Even hearing the name made him a little mad. "Trust me," he said quietly. "Barbara feels the same way. I could hear her shouting from the living room when she called you a few days ago. I've never seen her angry before."
Julia let out a small, weary laugh, though there wasn't much joy in it. "Poor thing was furious — pacing trying to hold it together but failing. All our plans wasted just went like that."
Her hand lifted to her forehead, rubbing gently at her temple. The smile that had lingered all evening finally slipped away. "I told her it's not anyone's fault. Roy's just doing his job, I suppose. But still…"
Her words trailed off as her gaze returned to the screen — to Tristan, sitting beside the Queen of England, composed and gracious, the camera lights catching the faint gleam in his eyes. He looked so grown up. So far away.
"It hurts," she whispered.
Ling's expression softened, his voice low. "He's too calm about it all."
Julia let out a soft scoff, though her eyes shimmered. "Of course he is. That boy could win the World Cup and still act like it's just another Tuesday."
Ling smiled faintly at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "That's your side of him. You hide your feelings too."
She gave a quiet hum, resting her hand over his. "Maybe. But at least I don't pretend things don't matter. He does that too often. He feels everything — he just won't show it. Thank god he has Barbara by his side."
"She's incredible," Ling agreed. "And the way she looks at him — like he's her whole world."
Julia smiled softly. "She's the perfect girlfriend. I can't wait for them to make it official. Give me some grandkids already."
Ling laughed quietly. "I'll admit, I was nervous at first. Her being a model and all — I thought maybe it wouldn't last."
"But she proved us wrong," Julia said.
"She did," Ling replied. "She's family now. Always will be."
For a while, they said nothing — just sat there, side by side, the light from the TV flickering across their faces.
On-screen, the Queen was smiling again, and Tristan — their boy — was laughing back, his voice calm, his eyes bright.
Julia's hand found Ling's. "Look at him," she whispered. "Our son."
Ling nodded slowly. "He was always going to be special."
"Yeah," she said softly. "But I never imagined this."
.
I saw a reader comment like I havent done a chapter about the two parents in a while and like their thoughts on how big Tristan is becoming and stuff. And figured a short chapter like this was perfect after Tristan meeting the queen.