Page 12 of Supernova

Frankie blows her a kiss as she crushes her cigarette on the sidewalk. "I'll call you," she mouths to Jo, who nods and waves as she walks over to her blue station wagon, which is parked at the curb.

"I like her, Francesca," Allegra says, walking next to Frankie as they amble past a hair salon and a dress shop. "I'm so happy you're making friends here,amore mio."

But Frankie has stopped in front of an empty window next door to a cafe. She's peering in at a huge room with a mirror that runs the length of one wall. There is no sign over the shop, and no indication of what it is or was supposed to be. It's just an empty space. "Me too, Mama," Frankie says absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the wooden floors inside. "Jo is a great friend."

The things her friends had said during their girls' only holiday party the week before come rushing back to her now as she looks at this empty shop. Frankie imagines herself in a leotard, dancing and teaching small children how topliéandpirouette. She can almost see herself standing in front of the mirror, facing a gaggle of hopeful little girls wanting to be sugarplum fairies and prima ballerinas. In her mind’s eye, Frankie can even picture a piano in one corner, with a smiling older woman playing for her as she sings and practices her vocal scales.

“I need to get this meat home, Francesca,” her mother says, interrupting her daydream. “And we still need to stop at the bakery.” Allegra nudges Frankie with her purse. “Let’s go,la mia perla,” she says, using a sweet name that Frankie’s always loved.My little pearl, Frankie thinks, smiling down at the top of her mother’s head as they walk side by side to the convertible together. She’s always loved being her mother’s little pearl—even when she didn’t think she deserved to be.

Christmas is full of food and music and shouting and laughter at Ed and Frankie’s. They've grown used to traveling for theholidays and sitting politely at Frankie's sister's or Ed's parents' house while children tear into gifts and someone else put turkeys and side dishes in front of them. But being at home for the holidays and entertaining Enzo and Allegra gives everything a relaxed and happy feeling, and Frankie is actually proud of the way Florida is decked out with lights on palm trees and gorgeous sunshine at the end of December to provide her parents with a whole new experience. Allegra in particular seems charmed by the tropical Christmas atmosphere.

The tree glitters in one corner of the living room, thanks to Frankie's friends having helped her get it decorated for the holiday, and as Frankie sits on the carpeted floor next to the couch, one arm propped on her husband’s knee as he has a glass of Scotch with her father, she looks around at the detritus of Christmas Day. There is a pile of wrapping paper and ribbon in one corner, and on the stereo console is a stack of holiday albums that she’s working her way through. Her mother has been making Italian Christmas cookies for the past two days, and now several plates of colorful cookies cover the coffee table, as do a collection of empty wine glasses.

Tiredly, Frankie pushes herself to standing. Her mother is in the kitchen, humming to herself as she cleans, and Frankie picks up a stray curl of ribbon, running it through her fingers as she looks around at the joyful mess of Christmas. In a flash, she can see it all with children running through it, and the vision burns her eyes with tears. Wouldn’t everything be better with kids? Wouldn’t their lives, rather than being halved with the chore of raising little humans, be doubled or tripled with the love and tears and laughter? A part of Frankie knows that she could try harder to make this happen, but she’s scared—scared that too much happiness is something she doesn’t deserve.

“Hey, baby?” Ed says, looking over at her as she stands next to the Christmas tree. “You okay?”

Frankie’s dad looks at her with concern in his eyes. “Francesca?”

Frankie’s face flushes; she’s been caught in a moment that she’d meant to be a private one. “Oh, yes,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. I was just going to help Mama.”

And so that’s what she does. Frankie puts on rubber gloves and scrubs pots and pans while her mother wraps up leftovers. The men’s voices fill the front room as they discuss Kennedy’s assassination, Johnson’s policies, and the Mets.

“And what will you do here, Francesca?” Allegra asks conversationally as she slides a container into the refrigerator. “While your husband goes to space, what will you do?”

Frankie’s hands still in the water and she turns her head slightly so that her profile is to her mother. Her lungs fill with air as she inhales. “What do you mean, Mama?”

Allegra makes atsk tsksound with her tongue. “My Frankie isn’t a girl who sits around smoking cigarettes all day. You need something to do. You need babies.”

Frankie feels the balloon in her chest pop like someone’s taken a pin to it. “These things take time, Mama,” she says in a pinched voice. There’s no need to snap at her mother on Christmas, though she’s grown increasingly tired of Allegra’s inquisition about her fertility, which essentially started on her wedding day. “We’re working on it.”

Allegra walks across the kitchen and lowers her voice, glancing at the open doorway as if she’s about to spill state secrets that she can’t afford to have anyone hear. “You have to try harder, Frankie. Even if he’s tired, you just—“ Allegra makes some horrifying motions with her hands that Frankie doesn’t even want to try to decipher. “You justmakehim interested.”

“Oh, god,” Frankie says, looking at the bubbles floating in the water of her sink. “Mama, no. Please. We are trying.”

Allegra throws both hands in the air and makes a face as if to sayThen where are my grandchildren?Frankie rolls her head around on her neck and silently prays for this line of inquiry to end.

“He’s leaving for a month, Francesca,” her mother hisses, making meaningful eye contact. “It’s Christmas. Your father and I sleep soundly. Do you understand me?”

“Anyone with their faculties about them would understand you, Mama. I got it.”

They finish cleaning in silence while the men’s conversation peters out, and when Frankie goes to turn off the lights on the tree, she stands there in the empty living room, listening to the sounds of her parents bickering in the bedroom about which side of the bed they’ll sleep on (Why not just their usual sides? Frankie wonders, shaking her head), and her husband going through the motions of his evening routine.

Frankie takes one last look at the house across the street, with its own tree lit up in the front window, and then turns out the lights.

It’s going to be a long month.

SIX

frankie

Ed is in Seattle.He calls Frankie nearly every night with brief updates: it's cold; it's raining; all he can do to chase away the cold is to drink cup after cup of hot coffee, which Seattle seems to have an abundance of. Of course he misses her, but she can hear in his voice that he's thrilled and exhilarated to be working on the project he's been asked to join, and she's happy for him. To have an exciting, important career and then to be rewarded for your hard work and expertise must be incredibly rewarding, and Frankie is proud of him.

"Francesca," her father says, "hand me a four iron." Enzo Lombardi is standing next to the golf cart wearing plaid pants and a golf glove on one hand. He's chomping on a cigar and looking as much like the other retirees on the rolling green course as he possibly can, though Frankie knows him well enough to see through it all and right to the heart of Enzo Lombardi.

For her entire life--for his entire life, really--Enzo has been hardworking and something of an outsider. As an immigrant to America, he's always seen himself as standing just beyond the circle; looking through the window, but not quite being invited in. Enzo had retired from a long career working for the railroadand while he is incredibly proud of the years he put in working on the infrastructure of America, he also sees himself as lower on the totem pole than many other men he knows. He's never indulged in pastimes like playing sports, golfing, or joining a country club, and to see him now, dressed in the uniform of an upper-middle class retiree, tugs at Frankie's heartstrings.

"Okay, Papa," Frankie says as she slides out of the passenger seat. She's dressed in a pink minidress and white Keds, and while she has no interest in actually swinging a club, she's having a nice day on the course with her father so far, and she's thrilled to see him taking part in an activity where he can both get exercise and be around other men his age.

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