Page 3 of Supernova

“Believe it,” Barbie says, picking up a small appetizer plate and filling it with a little bit of everything. “It’s a week until Christmas, my gifts are bought and wrapped, and Todd is home with the boys all evening. Mama’s ready to party.”

Barbie had given birth to her third son, a little boy called Huck, after going into labor in the middle of Jo’s “Welcome to Stardust Beach” party back in May. Barbie is small and blonde and adorable, and her figure is nicely rounded by the changes that motherhood has brought, though she regularly laments to the other women that she wants to get her old body back. She’s wearing a lightweight pink sweater and a matching skirt, and not for the first time, Jo thinks about how much the real, flesh-and-blood Barbie looks like, well, a Barbie doll.

The other women fill their plates while Frankie pours them punch, and they all take their seats to eat and chat.

“What are we playing tonight?” Jude sips her punch thirstily.

Jo had caught Jude pouring herself some extra vodka in Carrie's kitchen over the summer and eventually let Frankie know—confidentially, of course—that she had some concerns about their new friend. Because they'd all known one another for less than a year, it was hard to gauge how any of them might have acted or behaved before, but right away Jo noticed that Jude always seemed to overindulge when it came to drinking. Not long after the incident in Carrie's kitchen, Jude had fallen in her own backyard and hit her head, landing in the pool without explanation. Fortunately a neighbor had been close by and come to her rescue, but ever since that near tragedy, Jo has been hyper-aware of their friend, and Frankie knows that Jo is watching Jude closely for signs that she’s got a problem. But in Frankie’s experience, a person has to want help before you can give it to them when it comes to things like this, so she cuts Jude a wide berth.

“We’re playing Krypto,” Frankie says as she bites into a deviled egg and then pats her lips with a paper napkin. “I’ve been dying to play this one—it just came out this year.” She tries to keep her eyes off of Jude as she sips her punch, but her gaze inadvertently catches Jo’s and they share a look. It hadn't taken long for the two women to realize that there was a spark of real friendship between them, and as the seasons changed (mostly without any noticeable differences between spring, summer, autumn, and winter because, after all, this is Florida), they'd grown closer, taking evening walks together and sharing confidences.

“Oooh, I heard about Krypto,” Carrie says, plopping down in her chair and setting her appetizer plate full of vegetarian choices in front of her. “It’s all math, right?”

Carrie is their resident health aficionado, and she loves to talk to them about yoga and bean sprouts and homemade yogurt bacteria. None of it appeals to Frankie, but Carrie is totallydevoted to the idea of pickling herself from the inside with every vitamin and mineral under the sun, and Frankie sure can’t fault a girl for being dedicated to something.

“Yes, it's essentially a math game,” Frankie says. She explains the rules and jots all of their names down on her notepad before dealing the cards. “You just call out ‘Krypto!’ once you think you’ve got it, and then we all have to put our cards down and stop looking at them.”

“This sounds confusing,” Jude says, taking another slug of her punch. “Maybe we should just play gin rummy instead?”

“I really want to try Krypto,” Barbie objects. She takes a big, crunchy bite of her celery stick with peanut butter. “It’s all the rage, and if we get invited to cards night with any of the other wives, we want to be able to keep up.”

The other women murmur their agreement as they gather the cards that Frankie deals out to them.

Without even realizing it, the five families who moved to Stardust Beach at the same time—and their respective husbands, whose hiring at Cape Kennedy’s NASA station had necessitated their moves—have formed a tight unit that is still separate from the families who have been there longer. There's been talk of trying to widen their circle a bit and integrate some of the wives who've been there longer, but there's an ease to their friendship that feels a bit like finding a group of girls in your own grade in high school and then just sticking together.

“That’s true,” Jo says mildly. She picks up the cards that Frankie has tossed into her pile and she organizes her hand with concentration. “I’m just glad that we could make this happen in the middle of all of our holiday preparations.” She sets her cards facedown on the table and looks at the other women with glistening eyes. “I’m still having a hard time being away from home this year,” Jo admits. It's been well-documented amongst their group that Jo is the one who had the hardest time movingto Florida. “And, frankly, I don’t think I’m over the shock of what happened yet.”

Without needing more explanation, the other women understand immediately that she’s referring to President Kennedy’s tragic assassination the week before Thanksgiving. It had rocked the country, the world, and everyone they knew. For all of them, it is and will always be a singular moment in time--a divide of "before" and "after" that paints their lives into distinct parts.

“I know,” Barbie says with pain in her voice. “Everything since then has just felt…wrong. Thanksgiving was on autopilot. I think I ate turkey, but I’m not even sure. I was just numb. Everyone was.”

The other women nod in agreement as they sip their vodka punch.

“It felt like the whole country was attacked. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way it felt to be standing in the middle of the grocery store, holding a cantaloupe in one hand when a woman screamed and said, ‘The President is dead! Kennedy has been shot!’” Carrie shakes her head, remembering. The group falls silent as they all contemplate where they’d been when they first heard the news.

“I heard some people blame Texas,” Jude says. She presses her lips together grimly. “I know we need a place for our anger to go, but that just seems ridiculous. It’s not our fault.” Even though they’ve been in Florida for the better part of a year, Jude still insists she’s a Texan till the end, and she’d absolutely taken it personally when the president died in her home state.

“Some of Kennedy’s opponents are actually happy that it happened,” Frankie says. She leans back in her chair, wishing she had a cigarette handy. Oddly, none of the other women smoke—at least not openly. On her evening walks with Jo they usually share one or two from Frankie’s pack, and in thosemoments, Frankie is able to truly relax and let herself go. In fact, she and Jo have gotten to know one another better over a shared cigarette on a long walk than she’s gotten to know anyone in years.

“It’s always going to be that way.” Carrie’s face looks stormy. “There will always be people who don’t want progress. People who can’t stand change. But it’s coming nonetheless. And taking someone's life to halt that is just pure evil.”

“What kind of change?” Barbie blinks a few times as she holds a cocktail wiener on a toothpick.

Carrie sets her glass of punch on the card table and leans forward so that she’s looking Barbie right in the eye. “Likeeverything, Barb. Last year Russia put a woman in space. Can the U.S. be far behind?”

“Yes,” Frankie says flatly. “We can.”

“But there’s momentum building,” Carrie says imploringly. She looks each of them in the eye in turn. “Women are waking up to the fact that we’re being kept quiet and complacent, and we’re realizing that we want more. Don’t you all feel that?”

Barbie shrugs as she looks at her plate.

Jude takes another long pull on her drink, eyeing the punchbowl on the buffet.

Jo nods her head as she gears up to say something.

Frankie lifts one eyebrow and longs for the sweet release of nicotine flooding through her body.

“I finished readingThe Feminine Mystique,” Jo says, “and I came away feeling like women really need more options. We need something beyond just our roles as wives and mothers.”

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