⇾𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Chapter Three: Terrified

January 10, 1967

"Donna, you have to tell him," Jane said sternly as we were pulling out of the parking lot.

"I know I do," I said annoyedly. "I just need a few damn days. I haven't even fully grasped it myself."

She nodded. "I know."

"Then leave it be." My hormones got the best of me. Jane returned her eyes to the road and I sighed. "I'm sorry," I said to her. "You're trying to help and I'm just being a stubborn little jerk."

Jane shook her head. "No, you're completely fine. I get it. I'd be scared too."

I thought back to when Dot had told me she was pregnant in Hamburg six years ago. It seemed like a century ago. I remember how scared she'd been when I told her she had to tell Paul. I only now knew how she really felt. She had been terrified—and so was I.

~~~

When I made it back home, I was trying to let the news sink in, but it wouldn't. I knew it wouldn't until I told John. Now that was something else I had to worry about—how John was going to take it.i needed to give myself a few days to handle it before I told him. As of now, only Jane knew, and no one else would until I told John. I sat my purse down on the counter and went to collapse on the couch, already exhausted.

I didn't have much time. Perhaps about an hour. Boots came and jumped up on the couch next to me.

"Hello, buddy," I said to him, my voice quivering. He meowed and nuzzled his face into my hand as I stroked him. I looked down at my stomach curiously, putting a hand to it. Boots, upset that I was no longer petting him, nuzzled again my hand too, sniffing at where I was touching my belly. We stayed that way for a good while.

What was I going to tell John? I'd gotten a prescription to help with the morning sickness, so I could just tell him it was a stomach flu and have done with it. I didn't really know what else to do if I didn't want him to know yet. It hadn't settled with me yet, so I didn't need him trying to bombard me with anything right now.

With what little time I had, I decided to call around to find a midwife.

I had managed to get an appointment for the eighteenth mere minutes before I heard John calling out to me. I quickly wrote down the address for the place and stuck the paper into my back pocket, pulling Boots across my lap.

"In here," I said to him. It was only 4 p.m. and he never got off this early anymore. That made me happy.

"Hey," he said happily when he came through the doorway and saw me with the cat. He leaned down to kiss me on the forehead. "How'd everything go today?"

Come on, Donna. Don't sound suspicious.

I nodded. "It was fine. It was just a stomach flu," I responded as evenly as I could. For a minute, it looked like he didn't believe me when he dropped his car keys onto the counter and turned around with a skeptical look. "I've got the medicine for it and everything," I said. Lying felt horrible.

"Well, then, maybe you'll be back in the studio soon?" he asked hopefully.

I smiled, relief flooding my body. "Yeah, maybe."

John removed his jacket and came to sit next to me. "It's been quite a while since we've had a day together, hasn't it?"

"What're you talking about?" I asked with a laugh. "We had one yesterday."

He put a teasing finger to my lips. "Shh, shh, Donna, you're spoiling the moment."

"What moment?"

He moved his hand so that he was petting the cat too. "The moment of silence."

We stayed silent a moment, but then he began to talk again. "Were the doctors nice to you?" he asked.

"Of course they were," I responded. "How was the studio?"

"Oh, same old, same old. We were recording Paulie's 'Penny Lane' ba-da-dup-duh-duh-daaa." He put his hands up jokingly as if he were holding a trumpet.

"Right," I replied.

"How about we turn on the telly?" John asked me.

"Knock yourself out. I'm not watching anything, clearly."

He stood up and went over to turn it on.

"What would you like for dinner?" I asked him, gently setting a now-sleeping Boots aside and standing up.

"Whatever's easiest," John said with a smile at me. "Look, Donna!" I whipped my head around and saw him smiling at the TV screen. "The Monkees!"

I rolled my eyes and laughed, pulling out some spaghetti noodles.

"Spaghetti alright?" I asked him. He was enthralled in the show on TV and didn't hear me. "John?"

He jumped and looked at me. "Pardon?"

"Spaghetti?"

"Yes, yes, that's good," he said with a smile and I went to work on the food.

When I'd put the pot full of water onto the stove, I hopped up to sit on the counter and looked over at him as I waited. He turned to look at me.

"Did I ever tell you that you're beautiful?" he asked, grinning dopily.

"Maybe once or twice." I blushed.

"Well, this is me telling you again."

"Why, thank you." I smiled gratefully. He returned his attention to the TV, and for a split second I had the courage to just speak up and tell him.

"John?" I asked, smiling faintly.

"Hm?" he asked, looking over at me with the curiosity of a little child.

The words I had to say died in my throat. He continued to look at me imploringly. "You okay?" he asked.

I blinked a few times, then nodded. "Yes, of course, I am."

"Did you need to say something?"

Donna, just say it. Say it, say it.

"I don't have any butter." I nearly slapped myself straight in the face. "I hope that's alright."