Page 39 of Across the Universe

“I can understand that.” Frankie picks up her tea and takes a sip now that it’s cooled. “I’ve felt that between me and Ed at various points, but thankfully we’re on firm ground right now, which is good news, especially because we’re going to be parents before the year is out.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jo says. “I agree wholeheartedly. Now is the time to be on the same page and to be sure that you’ve ironed out any misunderstandings. And I wish Bill and I had something that felt like we were working towards a common goal, you know? That might make it easier for us to team up rather than to face off, which is how things feel lately.”

“Honey,” Frankie says, as she sets her teacup down on the saucer. “I’m so sorry. And I didn’t mean to rub it in that things are going well for me and Ed at the moment.”

“No!” Jo shakes her head vehemently. “Don’t you be sorry for that. I’m thrilled about everything that’s happening in your life, and I don’t want you to feel bad about it or to stop telling me good things because you think I’m not in the mood to hear them. I am. Always.”

Frankie smiles at her sadly and then glances at her watch. “Sorry to drink and run,” she says, taking one last swig of her tea. “But I locked up the studio to come next door, and I have my next group arriving here soon for the tap class.”

“Go, go,” Jo assures her, waving a hand. “Thanks for coming over to listen to my news. I appreciate you.”

Frankie pauses next to Jo’s chair, looking down at her friend fondly. “I’m really proud of you, Joey-girl. You’re doing good things.” Without warning, Frankie leans down and puts a kiss on top of Jo’s head before she walks back out onto the sidewalk, leaving a tinkling doorbell in her wake.

Jo looks out at the street as cars drive past slowly, pulling up to the curb to park as people go inside the butcher, drop kids off atMia Perlafor the upcoming tap class, or as women gather their things and head into the Stardust Salon for wash-and-sets. She lifts her coffee cup with both hands, holding it in front of her chest and smiling distractedly at the waitress as she buses the other tables nearby.

Joishappy for Frankie—she most definitely is—but there’s a part of her that aches for the time when her own life was full of happiness and promise. Full of unborn babies, making holiday plans with extended family, and rife with decisions about things like what color to paint nurseries or where to vacation in the summer. Things now are… decidedly more sedate. The kids are becoming more and more self-sufficient with every passing day, and since they live in a vacation paradise, they rarely need to go anywhere else. There are no more babies to be had, and her family gathers for the holidays back in Minnesota without her.

All of this hits Jo as she sits there in the cafe alone, watching people go about their own lives on the street outside. She sips her coffee as she thinks all these thoughts, sips and feels sorry for herself. But just a little sorry, because she still knows how good she has it: her kids are healthy, her husband is on the way to living his dreams, and she herself is on a path towards personal success and fulfillment.

She just wishes that she was also on a path to happiness in her marriage.

* * *

“Josephine Booker?”

Jo stops in the cereal and oatmeal aisle at Publix, her hands on the cart as she turns her head to see who has called out her name. It takes a moment, but she quickly realizes exactly who it is: Vicki, the woman who came to the Fourth of July party at her house the previous summer with Jeanie Florence.

Jo’s smile falters almost imperceptibly, but then she brings it back in full force, turning her entire body to face Vicki.

“Hi, there,” Jo says. “Vicki, right?”

“The one and only,” Vicki says, one hand resting on her own cart as she lets her body coil into a slinky pose that is surely a killer one when she’s talking to an available man, but is lost entirely on Jo. “How are you?”

Jo glances into the basket of her cart: a head of lettuce; a package of chicken drumsticks; two gallons of orange juice, which her kids drink like water; a loaf of fresh bread; two wedges of cheese. Her eyes flick back to Vicki.

“I’m great,” Jo says with false confidence. “Just doing a little shopping here while the kids are at school. How are you?”

Vicki rests an elbow on her cart handle and casts a glance up and down the aisle like she’s about to impart some great confidence to Jo. “Well,” she says in a lowered voice. “I’ve been dating a pilot, and girl, let me tell you that he is afirecracker.”

“I thought the guys were trying to set you up with one of their coworkers?” She frowns, remembering this topic being bantered around in her backyard the summer before. “One of the older, single astronauts?” She immediately cringes at her own choice of words; calling a potential date for a woman ‘older’ is a surefire way to let the woman know that you think she is, in fact, also old. But Vicki doesn’t visibly react to the unintentional slight.

Vicki waves a hand and laughs knowingly. “Dated him and discarded him.” She shoots Jo a knowing look. “At a certain point in a man’s life, if he’s still single, there is areason, honey. And I discovered the reason.” She pulls a disgusted face.

“Oh,” Jo says. She isn’t terribly curious what that reason is and is about to steer the conversation in another direction, but Vicki goes on.

“He hates women,” Vicki says as she inspects the manicured nails on her own right hand. “I’ve never had a man treat me so badly.”

“That’s terrible…” Jo is awed by this admission; she’s been lucky in love, and has never once been treated terribly by a man. “I’m so sorry.”

Vicki turns her attention away from her nails and waves the hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. We had some fun while it lasted, but you should never leave a man’s house in the morning with bruises—unless that’s your thing.” She winks.

Jo is completely taken aback by this; what kind of woman would want to be bruised by a man? Her mind is reeling at this thought, but she doesn’t formulate a thought or a question before Vicki moves on.

“Anyhow,” Vicki says, reaching for a box of corn flakes on the shelf as she raises her heels and arches her back. She tosses the cereal into her basket and pivots back towards Jo. “My pilot is just the thing to keep me on my toes, and I’m still living with Jeanie, so life is pretty good.”

“How is Jeanie?” Jo asks, the single crease between her brows folding in slightly as she watches Vicki for a reaction.

A seasoned pro, Vicki does not let even a hint of emotion pass over her face. “Oh, she’s fine. Just dandy. Works a lot for a young gal—can’t be good for the skin, you know?” She reaches out and taps Jo’s bare upper arm with the back of her hand like they’re two old pals, just joshing around. “But she seems happy. Goes to work. Stops off at The Black Hole on her way home for a beer with her coworkers… you know the drill.”

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