The shellac was an iridescent, milky white that glinted when it caught the light. Mrs. Cecilia Gottlieb had purchased the nail polish from Babette's Beauty Parlour only a few weeks ago and yet the bottle had barely one more coat left in it. Mrs. Gottlieb was obsessed, infatuated, and all manner of in love with this polish. It really brought out her eyes. That's what her husband, Mr. Ralph Gottlieb, had told her before twirling her into a low dip, just like when they used to go to dance halls during their courtship. He was a math teacher and she was completely clueless. Mrs. Gottlieb took a deep inhale trying to flood her mind with that memory, it was a happy one and she didn't want to let it slip away. Mrs. Gottlieb couldn't spend much time reminiscing though, she had an appointment at the green grocer's and at the butcher's and at the pharmacist's too. Well not really a formal appointment, it was just expected that she show up and Mrs. Gottlieb knew the importance of maintaining appearances, including those that were entirely facetious.

Mrs. Gottlieb stood up from her vanity and sealed the nail polish, locking away the acidic stink of rotting bananas. For such a pretty polish it did have some rather rancid affects. Mrs. Gottlieb ran her hands along the racks of clothing in her boudoir suddenly overwhelmed by the choice. What's the point? she thought to herself as her eyes fell through the dizzying array of yellow frocks and pink tweed suits and leather jackets and cashmere shrugs and... and... Mrs. Gottlieb sunk to her knees. She could only pick one. One final outfit from the racks and racks of clothes she loved so much. This won't do. Mrs. Gottlieb huffily wiped the tears out of her eyes and rose to her feet like a filly taking her first steps. She ended up settling on a lilac boatneck dress with matching gloves and pillbox hat. If she was going out, then she was going to do so in style. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Gottlieb," the pharmacist said, pausing from his work to greet one of his most loyal customers. 

"Hello, Dr. Hirschberg," Mrs. Gottlieb replied. She had been going to see Dr. Hirschberg for almost seven years, as long as she and Ralph had been married since that's when her problems with sleep really started. Always a light sleeper, Mrs. Gottlieb was frustratingly powerless against Ralph's nocturnal motormouth. She loved him, though, so she put up with it. The Valium didn't hurt either. 

"Has he been saying anything interesting lately?" Dr. Hirschberg teased as he handed her a discreet paper bag. 

Mrs. Gottlieb gave a tight-lipped smile. "No. Just the usual." 

"Ah," Dr. Hirschberg nodded. "Well, I'll see you in two weeks. Have a nice night!" 

"Quite," Mrs. Gottlieb sniffed, making a beeline for the pharmacy door. 

***

"It's coming Ceci," Ralph looked over at her, eyes wide and pupils like pinpricks. She had never seen him like this. 

"What ever do you mean Ralph?" Mrs. Gottlieb asked, cupping her husband's cheek in her hands. He swatted her away. 

"It's coming Ceci and there's nothing we can do," Mr. Gottlieb's head lolled before snapping back against the bed frame. 

"Ralph, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"I can't, Ceci, I can't tell you. I want to tell you, but I can't," he closed his eyes and shook his head like a dog after going swimming. Mr. Gottlieb seemed adamant that he wouldn't tell her, but Mrs. Gottlieb knew with some prying she could crack this stubborn little oyster. 

"Is it something to do with work?" Mr. Gottlieb gave her a wet-eyed pout. Of course. It was always work. Ralph had lied to her about being a teacher but Mrs. Gottlieb didn't find out until after they were married, after they had moved to Jacksonville. Ralph was a mathematician, yes, but he worked for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, he wrote the sums that calculated the trajectory of rockets.   

"What is coming, Ralph?" Mrs. Gottlieb asked, more forceful this time. 

Mr. Gottlieb's chest began to tremor and seize as he groped for Mrs. Gottlieb's hand, finding her eyes through his blotted tears. 

"An asteroid, Ceci. The missiles didn't work. We launched an H bomb into space and we missed. Now that rock is going to kill all of them and they can't know. We have days, Ceci." 

Mr. Gottlieb was telling the truth. 

***

A fatty pork chop sputtered in the pan surrounded by caramelized onions and Rubenesque tomatoes. Mrs. Gottlieb did her best to not let the meat burn as she absent-mindedly folded the vegetables over and over again. Her eyes were trained on the door, brows furrowed as if she were trying to light it on fire in a futile attempt at smoke signals: Ralph come home! As long as she tried to delay plating their supper, she could no longer wait and so Mrs. Gottlieb laid the table before sitting down. She stared at her plate hoping that the secrets of the universe would be revealed to her in the charred pig. Oh God, please let this be a lie. Please let Ralph be wrong. Mr. Gottlieb was a kind man but Mrs. Gottlieb would rather have been deceived than deceased--only one of those would be grounds for annulment. Finally the doorknob turned, with the speed of an ingrown toe nail piercing the skin and the gravitas of a boulder dropped off the Empire State Building.

"Ralph!" Mrs. Gottlieb cried as Mr. Gottlieb stepped over the threshold. 

"Hi Ceci," he said softly, caressing her curls. 

"Are you hungry?" she asked through trembling lips halfway between a smile and a wail. 

"No," Ralph answered simply. 

"I made dinner."

"I'll eat then. I've always loved your cooking Ceci," Ralph slid into his seat and placed a napkin on his lap. 

Mr. and Mrs. Gottlieb were halfway through dessert when the sky caught on fire. From the double glazed windows Mrs. Gottlieb watched the atmosphere split along its seems, bubbling like ice thrown in boiling oil. 

"It's burning Ralph." 

"Do you want to go outside and watch?" 

He said it like he was proposing they go stargazing in the valley, perched on the roof of the car wishing on shooting stars bound for planets other than theirs. Mrs. Gottlieb rose from the table and grabbed her kerchief from the coat rack and tied it around her head--a floral silk helmet guaranteeing all would be well. The couple stepped outside onto their lawn and tilted their heads towards the above. Pebbles hit the roof of the Gottlieb home and rolled into the eavestrough. Across the street, Mr. Daniels' new Ford had a rock lodged in its windscreen that had been shattered into spider web fragments. The air felt like it was now made of shards of the windscreen and the smell was something no human was ever intended to inhale: the singeing of the firmament, everything, everywhere being thrusted into an incinerator. Mrs. Gottlieb was in hell.  

"Tell me it's not true Ralph," she pleaded. "Tell me you lied." 

"...Ralph?"