⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Forty-Nine: One Drink Too Many

December 25, 1961

I woke up the next morning to the smell of something being made in the kitchen. I debated on going out there a few moments before deciding I would. A quick glance beside me told me that Brian was still sleeping, so I slipped out of the room as silently as I could.

I found Queenie in the kitchen. She was in a robe with an apron draped over the top of it, bustling around to different sections of the room. When she saw me, she smiled.

"Good morning, love," she said, going across the room to give me a hug. "Would you like to help any?" She smiled.

"Well, I'm not sure what kind of help I could be, but I'll certainly give it a try."

She laughed. "C'mon over here, you can help me with this pie."

I smiled happily and followed her.

After I'd washed my hands and Queenie had told me exactly what to do, she returned to what she had been doing when I'd came out.

"So, Donna, how have you been liking Liverpool?" Queenie asked me after a moment.

"I've been loving it." I smiled fondly, thinking of everyone I'd met in Liverpool.

"Well, that's good then? What do you want to do after school?"

People loved to ask me this, didn't they? I thought. "Uhm—well, I'd love to become a writer of some sort. I couldn't really see myself doing anything else, I guess."

She looked over her shoulder at me. "A writer?" she asked amusedly.

"Uh—yeah." I laughed. "I don't seem like the writing type, I know."

"No, I think it's cool," she assured me. "I think you'd be a fantastic writer."

I smiled at her. "Thanks."

She returned to her work.

"Well, would you have a look at this?" I turned to see Brian leaning on the counter. "You a master yet?" he asked jokingly.

I laughed. "Hardly."

"She's doing wonderful," said Queenie with a loving grin at me.

Brian nodded. "Will we have any breakfast?" he asked. "Or are those pies the breakfast?"

Queenie rolled her eyes. "Just about to start on that."

Within the next hour, more food was prepared and everyone else had slowly woken and migrated into the kitchen, eager to eat their breakfast of pancakes and muffins and eggs and all that.

It had been years since I'd had a "normal" Christmas such as this. It wasn't big and extravagant, but it wasn't small and forgettable. It was just in the middle: just right.

There weren't too many people around. Harry and Queenie announced that they had some neighbors coming over for dinner. There weren't too many presents under the tree. Everybody had three or so: even me. Everyone had a stocking filled with a few little things: even me.

I hadn't felt this happy in what felt like years.

Each stocking had some candy: individually wrapped chocolates, chewing gum, and a box of lifesavers. They all had another little chocolate orange (which had proved to be a nice little treat), some socks, and some little pens. My few little presents had been another fleece blanket, a little leather notebook with a little box of five mechanical pencils, a jacket, and some books. I guess they'd asked Brian what I liked when they went out to buy some stuff.