Missing You...

Chapter Sixteen

Sunday, 7th December 1980

John and Paul slept through the entire morning. They finally woke around one o'clock and muddled around the apartment for a while. John strolled into the kitchen to switch on the kettle and organize some breakfast. Paul thought about offering to help, but he was extremely worried and knew he would spill hot water down himself if he tried to pour it. He settled for taking a seat at the kitchen table, anxiously nibbling his nails.

"Stop eating yourself." said John, breezing over with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

"Sorry." Paul mumbled, quickly pulling his fingers free of his mouth.

"What's up, Paulie? You look worried."

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine!" Paul cried, practically bursting into song. He snatched up a mug of coffee and took a large gulp. He didn't realize how hot it was and spat out his entire mouthful, swearing violently. John's entire body jerked backwards. His arm flew out sideways and knocked his own mug over. Hot coffee exploded out all over the table and spilled down onto the floor. 

"Dammit!" John shouted, seizing a tea-towel from the kitchen counter and frantically dabbing at the steaming puddles. "What was all that for, Paul?!"

"I'm sorry, John." Paul mumbled. He grabbed a roll of paper towels, ripped off a long string, and helped John to mop up the mess. Something very serious was playing on his mind, so spilled coffee and the third degree burns on his mouth were the least of his worries. He was planning on telling John some very important news he had only recently found out about.

"It's all right, Macs." John said, sighing heavily. "I love cleaning."

Paul laughed nervously. He sat back down in his seat, his head resting in the palm of his hand. He gazed contemplatively at John. Maybe now wasn't the right time to tell him. Paul would have to find out.

"John?" Paul said casually.

"Mmm?

"John?" Paul paused. "How good are you at receiving bad news?"

John stopped scrubbing. He sat up straight and turned to stare at Paul, his face contorted with bafflement and suspicion. "Why do you ask?"

"Because, um..." Paul hesitated, anxiously picking at a scab on his bare knee. He glanced up and saw John's face. He seemed genuinely worried and even a little frightened. Paul couldn't just leave him hanging - it would upset them both if he kept quiet. 

"Have you been hiding something from me, Paul?" John asked, arms folded.

"No!" Paul cried. "Well, maybe... I think it's... Um, yes, I have, actually."

"What aren't you telling me, then?" 

"It's quite important." Paul said, trying desperately to sound sincere. "It's going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt you. The entire thing is going to take well over nine months, and it -"

As soon as John heard "nine months" he leaped to his feet. He sat himself down across the table from Paul and stared at him with big, frightened eyes. John seized Paul's hands in his own and squeezed them reassuringly. 

"Oh, Paul, why didn't you tell me?" John whined, sounding exasperated.

"I just did." Paul said. He was having trouble processing what was going on. He couldn't help raising an eyebrow at John's oddly spontaneous behavior. "It's not that big of a deal, is it?"

"Not a big deal?!" John cried. "This is a huge deal! But don't worry, I'll help you get through it. It's mostly my fault for getting you into this mess, but we can make it work. We can keep the thing if you really want it!"