⇾𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Chapter Eight: Grandfather Epstein

January 12, 1967

I was woken up when I felt someone pulling a blanket over me. My eyes fluttered open and John stopped in the middle of his action, looking at me in attempt to read my face.

I frowned. "What time is it?"

"Uhhh—." He dropped the blanket and fumbled to look at his watch. "2:30."

I sat up from where I was laying on the couch and looked around. "Where's the cat?"

"Er—outside, I think."

"Let him in."

"But I just let him out."

"Does it look like I care?"

He was undoubtedly confused, but did as I asked anyways. "How're we gonna tell everyone?" I asked him stiffly as Boots rocketed in the house and jumped up next to me. I watched in amazement as he sniffed at my stomach and then nuzzled up against it. When I looked up, I saw that John had noticed it too, keeping his eyes trained on my belly until I felt flat-out uncomfortable.

"Smart cat," he commented.

"Answer my question." His eyes flicked up to meet mine, finally.

"Well, it depends." He pursed his lips. "Who all have you already told before me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Just Jane, Paul, and Trixie."

"Well, then, that means we've got the rest of the band, and Brian...Brian." His brow glazed over in worry.

"Yes, Brian," I repeated. "What's so bad about that?"

He shrugged. "Brian just scares me."

"Well, he shouldn't. John, we're grown adults. What the hell can he do?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"Exactly."

He looked around as if he was searching for something, then he sat down on the coffee table. I rolled my eyes. "Sit down on the bloody couch. I'm not gonna kill you."

"R-right." He moved over tentatively, keeping a close eye on me.

"Don't you trust me?" I smirked.

"I dunno. You're kinda scary."

"Maybe it's just an Epstein thing."

"Or maybe it's a hormone thing."

I frowned. "Of course you had to pull that."

"Only out of admiration." He smiled innocently. Then, he paused, sighed. "I dunno how we'll tell 'em."

I shrugged. "We should tell Bri first."

"Good idea."

"Call him over for dinner."

"R-right now?"

"No, next week, you moron. Yes, right now."

"Oh, o-okay."

"He's not going to kill you either, John. Don't worry, I won't let him."

"Of course." He stood up and went towards the phone, but seemed to debate whether or not to pick it up.

"For God's sake," I said, sitting Boots aside carefully and standing up.

"Wait, I've got it."

"Go feed the cat and get over yourself."

"I don't like pregnant Donna. Pregnant Donna's mean," he said teasingly.

"Sorry," I responded as I picked up the phone and began to dial Brian's number.