All the Difference (16 page)

“Relax, Nikita. Before you go all ninja on my ass.”

“Scott?” Molly heard the letter opener clatter to the floor, and switched on the lamp. Her voice shook. “What are you doing in my house? And why are you in the dark?”

“I—I still have my key. I—well, you never asked for it back. And I was afraid that if you saw me, you'd leave.” Scott moved around the coffee table, bracing the small piece of metal on his palm as if testing its weight. He had an unsteady smile on his face as he watched Molly shiver beside the door.

“Well, this doesn't really make me want you to hang around, you know.” Molly tried to keep her voice calm. “And about that key—” She stuck out her chin and set her jaw to stop it from trembling. All she'd wanted was to change into pajamas and fall into bed. “I think I'd like that back now.”

“No, please.” Scott pushed the key deep into the front pocket of his jeans. He was wearing a hooded sweater, so painstaking in its casualness it had to have been expensive. It hung from his muscled shoulders like a superhero cape worn by a child at play. His hair was carefully swept away from his face, and for once he didn't brush an absentminded hand through it. But an uncharacteristic stubble marred Scott's jawline, extending down his throat, and he scratched
at it, as if unused to its presence on his face. The scrape of his fingernails against his skin was the only sound in the house, the muffled noise of the squall beating at the door outside.

“I need to talk to you, baby. We have to”—he looked around the room, as if waiting for the walls to complete his thought—“talk.”

He paused, silent, watching her. He was waiting for her reaction.

“What do you want, Scott?” Molly's voice caught, her mouth suddenly parched. “It's one o'clock in the morning. I'm sure whatever it is could've waited until there's daylight.”
And witnesses,
she thought. It felt too weird to have him there. Scott cocked his head and walked over to where Molly stood. His green eyes took in her entire face, stopping to rest on her hair and lips before looking directly at her again. She was still shivering.

“I couldn't wait until then. I need you to let me back in, Molly. Let me be with you. I want you to let me be a, a”—he took his time with the word—“dad.”

“Well, glad to see you've come around, Scott,” Molly said, and the words came spitting out of her mouth. “You've got a few months' worth of ultrasounds and doctors' appointments to help pay for, then.”

“I know,” he said, and his voice was soft. He reached up with his free hand to smooth her hair over her shoulders. “I screwed up by avoiding you.”

Molly looked up at him, her face wrinkled in confusion.

“But I was hurt, Molly. First you dump me in front of fifty people, then you come out of nowhere with news that you're carrying my baby? What guy can handle that all at once?” Scott looked at the floor, then took a deep lungful of air. “Listen, and please just hear me out. Do you remember how I told you about my mom taking on that new job at the firm she's at now?”

“Yeah.” Molly said the word with distaste. Midnight visits from ex-boyfriends weren't exactly on her bucket list. “That was back when you were little. What does that have to do with us?”

“I told you that life changed for my family after that,” Scott said. “How we suddenly had more money than we knew what to do with. How there were all these new toys piling up in my room, and all of a sudden I was in that . . . that Friends school in Jenkintown.”

Molly knew that Scott's parents had paid almost thirty thousand dollars a year for his education there. What's more, they'd cut a check for much more than that to Penn State right around the time Scott was applying to colleges. He'd shown her a picture once of a wing in the business building that bore their names. He'd never known what it was like to take on a second job just to pay his student loans.

“But I never told you that I never made real friends once I transferred into that school, Molly, because I didn't know how. I never told you that for years I walked to class alone, ate by myself at lunch, then came home to sit in front of the TV while the cook got dinner ready.”

“Okay . . .” Molly shifted her weight from one swollen foot to the other.

“Molly, my parents were so busy working to make a great life for me that they forgot to actually live a life
with
me. I had a tutor help me with my homework. Our housekeeper took me to karate. I was lonely and probably depressed, and nobody ever said a word.”

Molly couldn't read any expression in Scott's face other than an uncharacteristic pleading in his eyes. He looked at her without blinking, the pupils shifting back and forth, his green eyes
wet and imploring. Molly was aware that the baby had grown still inside her belly.

“I'm ready to be responsible for my own child, Molly. I want to try to be a father. I want a family—a good family.” Scott shook his head. “Molly, I can't lose you.”

Molly didn't answer right away. Panic gripped her chest, squeezing, forcing the air to move too quickly out of her lungs. She spoke her next words with care.

“Scott, this baby is the reason why I decided to
not
be with you. You think fifty-dollar bills are something to be given away like Tic Tacs. You act like appointments and deadlines are just
suggestions
. God, Scott. You think scrambled eggs come that way.” The sound of Molly swallowing echoed in the room. “And you get mean. You get snappy when you get angry, and speak before you think, and lash out before you even know what you're hitting at. I just . . .” Molly shook her head. “I just can't.”

Scott took a step closer. Molly moved backward. The front wall of her house pressed against her back.

“But you're wrong, Molly.” She felt her breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. “That's why I'm here. That's what couldn't wait. I need you to realize that you were wrong.”

“But you showing up at one a.m. doesn't change my mind, Scott,” Molly said. “Something in my gut tells me it's just not right. That you and me together isn't good for any of us.”

Molly saw Scott watch her as she placed her hand on her belly. She summoned up the rest of the courage that was still balled up inside her. “I don't want to be with you anymore.” She hoped she was telling him the truth.

Scott dropped his hand from the wall. “So what are you going to do, Mol? Huh?”

Molly shook her head. She didn't have an answer for him. She didn't even have an answer for herself.

“I don't get it,” Scott said, and the tone of his voice climbed higher. “You act like such a hipster, with your weird music and reusable grocery bags. You're in this empty house, all high and mighty because you're living by yourself, but sometimes it makes me think that maybe
you
think you're too good for me. That you think you're too good for any man.”

Molly sputtered in surprise. She looked at the tall man standing in front of her, so at ease in his expensive clothes, the angles of his square face even more defined in the shadows dancing through the room.

“Me? Too good for
you
?”

Scott backed away from Molly. She stood straight from where she'd been leaning against the wall and squinted at Scott. He was pacing across the living room rug.

“Maybe that's what our problem was, Molly. You think you're better than me. That you don't need me or my money or my family, right?” He held his arms out wide. “Is that your MO, to prove that? That you're better off alone?”

Molly could feel tears prick at the backs of her aching eyes. She stared at Scott, a numb kind of shock now joining the adrenaline in her bloodstream.

Scott stopped to face her, and his next words felt like the cold gusts hitting the windowpanes behind her. “Do you really want to end up as alone as you're trying to be?”

Molly had to fight an immediate urge to throw open the door and race back out into the rain, into the squall, to get away from Scott, from the doubt. But this was her home. This was her life,
and the happiness of her baby, and she had to defend it. So she remained standing where she was, shaking. Breathing.

“Is that all, Scott?” Molly willed the tears to stay where they were. “You just wanted to drop by with some kind words and a casserole?”

Scott sighed. “I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't mean to make you upset.”

He planted his feet a little wider on the living room floor, nearly blocking Molly's view of anything else but him.

“But, Molly, you can't do this.” Scott looked at her, waiting for a reaction she refused to give him. “You're my second chance.” He let his words sink in. “I can't be left behind again.”

Molly's legs felt as if they were liquefying beneath her. She put one hand on the door to open it, then stopped.

“Does Monica have anything to do with this?” Molly's voice sounded too high, too shaky behind the tears.

“What?” Scott stepped back, the surprise on his face genuine. “What does my mom have to do with this? She doesn't even know you're pregnant.
I
can't tell her.”

Molly inhaled in one sharp breath. When she spoke, she said the words slowly, evenly.

“Scott, I think you need to go.” She opened the door and stepped clear out of Scott's path. “And please don't show up here like this again.”

Any swagger he had left fell away from Scott's tall frame, and his shoulders slumped, making him seem like the hurt little boy he must have been decades earlier.

“Molly, please don't do this.”

“Scott,” Molly said, “I have to.”

Scott moved past her. Molly couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. He stopped, just inches in front of her.

“Please don't do this to me, Molly.” His eyes sought out hers until she met them. “You can't leave me alone sitting in an empty house again. Not when we could be together. Not when we could have a family.” He picked up Molly's left hand and touched her bare ring finger before looking back up at her. “Not when I haven't had enough of a chance to prove that I can be worth it.”

Molly pressed her lips together to keep from speaking.

Scott tried to laugh, but the sound fell flat in the quiet room. His mouth hardened into a straight line above the angular set of his jaw, and he looked over her body, his gaze stopping at her swollen belly. “I miss my old Molly.”

He brushed past her into the rain, bumping her shoulder into the door frame as he walked out of her house, and took each stair to the walk with such measured strength she could hear the reverberation of his footsteps.

Molly shut the door and checked the dead bolt twice to make sure it was in place. She rested there for a moment, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down, for the quaking in her muscles to quiet. Scott had told her everything tonight she wished he'd said months ago, but Molly didn't know if it was possible for a grown man to achieve in weeks the maturity he'd avoided for years. She moved toward the couch like she was walking through muddy water and sank into the cushions, avoiding the space where Scott had been just moments ago. Only then, alone on the sofa, did Molly allow herself to cry.

June

Yes

M
olly used the heavy box in her arms to help push open the thick door to her townhome, then dropped the carton with a thud onto the mopped wood floors. She opened the closet door, carefully kicked her flip-flops off so that they landed squarely on a mat inside, then placed her bag in its designated cubbyhole underneath the entranceway table. A tidy pile of mail sat on top of the table, but Molly ignored it, choosing instead to look around at the casual grace of her little home: the dark beams of the ceiling, the light paint over the original crown molding and baseboards, the tall windows that illuminated her simple furnishings. In the quiet of the day, the air of her home was so still the sound of the door shutting didn't even make its usual echo around her empty dining room. The calm of the space around Molly was at complete odds with the turmoil roiling inside her swollen belly.

It was a miserable time to get the month's bills. She tucked the stack of envelopes inside the box on the floor. The container held
the last of her personal possessions from her former office at Shulzster & Grace, and she'd refused any help carrying it as she trudged through the heavy glass lobby doors for the last time. These were her most precious items: her bachelor's degree from Bryn Mawr and her master's—of which she was so proud—from UPenn, a letter of praise from the very first client she'd ever represented, and a copy of the last letter Bill wrote in recommendation of her promotion. The other two items she'd saved were a framed photo from her first ultrasound appointment and a trophy given to her by her goddaughter, Kailey: a gold-colored plastic woman with pom-poms cheering atop a pedestal that read “Girls Rule!” Kailey had given it to her for Christmas years ago and Molly had kept it on her desk at every position she'd had since. Eight years of PR success now lay in a cardboard carton at her feet.

Molly walked into the kitchen to pour a glass of water, groaning when she saw that, as usual, Scott had left the sink full of dirty dishes. She'd worn a tank top and shorts for the day's mission, and even with her thick hair pulled back into a high ponytail, she was too aware that she was sweating like a pig on a spit. She was glad she'd gotten permission to enter the office on a Saturday to empty out her belongings. At least this was one humiliation she hadn't had to suffer in front of everyone who used to respect her.

From her bag, Molly's phone whistled a tweeting sound. She fished it out while taking a sip of water.

“Hi, Mom.”

“How goes it, sweetheart?”

Molly blew air out through her nose, shaking her head at no one in particular. “Well, I'm officially unemployed. I got all my stuff out of the office today.”

Emily made a
tsk
ing sound. “That fiancé of yours is going to love this.”

“You're telling me.” Molly felt a lump gather in her throat, making it difficult for her to talk. “This is like a dream come true for him.

“It could be worse, I guess.” Her throat caught. “They did offer to extend me a short severance, so I'll still have my health insurance until the baby's born, and then Scott can add us on to his.”

“Well, that's good,” Emily said. “See? There's a silver lining after all.”

Molly shook her head again. “But, Mom. I lost my job. And the thing is, I could've prevented it. I got lazy, and overwhelmed, and let stuff slide.” The pitch of her voice climbed. “When has this ever happened to me?”

“Molly, honey, everybody makes mistakes.”

“Not me, Mom,” Molly said, more loudly than she'd intended. “
I
don't make mistakes. Or, at least, I never used to. Lately, it seems like all I do.”

“Molly, what do you mean? What other mistakes have you made?”

The line was quiet for a moment.

“Nothing,” Molly said. She was more subdued now. “I didn't mean anything by it. Getting pregnant probably wasn't the best move to make, though.”

“But that's said and done,” Emily said. Her tone was brusque. “So let's move on.”

“Okay, okay.” Molly laughed. “You don't have to get all tough love on me.”

“A mother has to do what's necessary, sweetheart.” Emily
chuckled now, her tone brighter. “You'll find that out in a few short months.”

There was another pause. Molly was having a difficult time sorting through her thoughts.

“What does Dad think of all this?”

“Oh,” Emily said, “you know your father. He's got himself starting another project to worry about instead. I think he's building a new mantel for the fireplace this time.”

“Not a bad coping mechanism,” Molly said, smiling. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was later than she'd thought. Scott had been due to get home from his charity golf outing an hour ago.

“Hey, Mom? I better go. It's almost lunchtime.” She sighed. “I should get started on making my man a meal like a good housewife.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

“It's not nineteen fifty-two, Molly,” Emily said. “You can cook a damned meal without it being a statement against the women's movement.”

“I guess so,” Molly acquiesced. “But right now I feel like I've taken a couple steps back in life.” She knew she was wallowing, and she could sense Emily losing her patience from the house in West Chester.

“It's not a race, Molly. You can take a couple of missteps and still come out ahead.”

“I suppose. Just call me out if you find me cooking pot roast and potatoes on a Sunday, now, because it means I'm this close to playing backgammon in my spare time.”

“Cut it out, child,” Emily scolded, but she was chuckling. “That's exactly what your father and I have planned for tonight.”

Molly laughed, glad her mother couldn't see her cringe. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Molly, you'll figure it out.” Emily's tone was warm. “Your dad and I raised you to chase after what you wanted, so don't you dare think you should stop now. Just keep in touch with your contacts and start over after the baby's born. Don't let this hiccup keep you from that.”

For a moment silence hung in the air, then Emily continued. “No matter what Scott tells you, remember: it's not nineteen fifty-two.
You don't have to.
”

Molly bit her lip and looked toward the closed front door. The ornate stained glass window set above the entrance to her kitchen was dark. It caught her eye, and she made a mental note to scrub it clean so that it would reflect light again the way it was supposed to.

“Well, go enjoy your pot roast, okay?” Molly said. “Give Pop my love.” She laughed. “And tell him not to hammer too hard.”

Molly pulled the phone away from her ear before catching herself. “And, Mom?”

“Yes, Molly?” Emily never hung up before she did.

“Thank you.”

Molly clicked off her phone and stood in her kitchen for a minute longer, turning to brace her hands on the counter and look out the window over the sink. The sky was as cloudy as the thoughts in her head. Other than two weeks over a Christmas break in college, Molly hadn't been unemployed since she first started busing tables at a Red Lobster while in high school. Even back then, when she had to soak her uniform every night in vinegar and water to get the smell of seafood and spoiled butter out of her clothes, she had loved making her own money. She still got
a rush whenever she saw a paycheck made out in her name, and felt satisfied when she could check off bills paid each month. She'd worked to buy her first car, had kept up on the insurance, and had never had a credit card balance that she couldn't pay off right away. Molly still held the same attitude toward her finances. Unfortunately, she now lacked a job to pay those bills.

Molly looked around at the soft gray-blue walls and granite countertops. She made note of the cups lined up in straight rows in the glass-fronted cabinets, of the plates stacked with precision along the shelves. Her life had always been something she could keep organized, tidy. But she wasn't a PR specialist anymore. She had nowhere to go on Monday. It was one more piece of her life that had slipped out of her control, and Molly felt at a loss, like a huge abyss had opened up at her feet and she was about to step into it. It was as if she didn't have an identity to call her own anymore. She'd fallen off the grid.

Molly's feet ached, so she set her glass down on the counter and turned away from the window. She walked into the living room to put some music on the speakers and scrolled through the artist list on her phone in search of songs that were comforting and familiar before settling on some Fleetwood Mac. It reminded her of her father, and she needed that sense of security right now: green flannel shirts and carpentry dust, warmth and solidity. With a jolt of surprise, Molly realized that her father had all the characteristics of a tree. She couldn't help but laugh at the image. But Jack
was
stable, and rooted. A person knew that, even if he was quiet, he'd always be there when needed. She understood why her mother, who often reminded Molly of an anxious bird, flitting about, cackling at predators—always moving, always preparing—had settled into Jack's arms. He gave her shelter, and she provided
him with purpose and entertainment, a reason to build trust. It was why they worked, and they loved each other for it.

Molly felt the baby shift in her belly and ran her hand over her stomach. She knew how important it was for her own child to have parents who could be that confident in their love for each other. Her thoughts shifted to her own current instability.

“Fired,”
Molly breathed. “I got
fired
.” Because she'd dropped the ball and shirked her duties. Everything she'd worked so hard to get, trampled on like it was last week's gum wrapper. Molly had never been more ashamed of herself in her life. Stevie Nicks' nasal voice started singing “Landslide,” and Molly sat back down on the kitchen barstool and put her head into her hands.

“Oh, mirror in the sky,” she heard Stevie sing, her plaintive question ringing though Molly's thoughts, “what is love?”

She hadn't wanted to tell Jenny—poor Jenny, who was one of the most consistent workers at S&G and got laid off anyway, and who would give anything to have her old job back. Jenny could barely speak after Molly told her what happened.
But God bless the girl,
Molly thought. She certainly hadn't said one mean word to her. Her old friend had just taken it in stride, blinked hard once, and given her a hug. Jenny's resilience, Molly understood, was going to make her a very good mother one day.

“And what about me, little one?” Molly spoke to her belly, rubbing her hand over her protruding belly button. “I'm not so sure right now what kind of example I'm going to be to you if I can't even hold on to my dream job. What are you going to think of me?”

Molly heard footsteps and looked up to see Scott walk into the kitchen. She hadn't noticed him come in through the front door and knew by the bemused expression on his face he'd heard
her talking to herself. He placed a pink bakery box on the island and reached for her.

“That baby's going to think he's the luckiest—or she, if it's a girl—kid in the world to have a mama who loves him enough to make raising him her sole job.”

Scott wrapped his arms around Molly and pulled her against him. “I brought you those chocolate cupcakes you're always raving about. I knew you'd be hungry after packing up your stuff,
especially
since you insisted on refusing the help of a certain strong, able-bodied fiancé.”

Molly gave the pink box a long look and loosened Scott's arm from her waist. “I wanted to do it by myself.”

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, so she didn't understand why she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. “No need to bring a pity party with me.”

“What pity party? This is perfect.”

Molly rubbed her hands over her face, then back over her head, smoothing her ponytail. Now she knew why.

“Scott, we've been through this a thousand times. I lost my job. That doesn't mean I want to not have a job. It just means I need to find a new one.”

Scott blew an exasperated sound between his teeth and dropped his arms from around Molly's swollen belly. His khaki shorts were smeared with dirt, and the hair that was normally swept back from his face now flopped into his eyes. Molly could smell the clubhouse rail whiskey on his breath, sickly sour and sweet, like cherries left to spoil on a countertop.

“Yeah, okay, Molly. And you explain to me how you're going to go on interviews and land a job with a belly out to there.”

He reached into the fridge for a beer and cracked the top with
the opener he kept on the refrigerator door. Molly's eyes fell on the dull spot the magnet had made on the fridge's finish and realized how much she hated that bottle opener.

“Molly, had you even thought about that? I think all that hear-me-roar mojo bouncing around in your head crowded out the common sense. No one's going to take on a woman who needs maternity leave two months after she's hired—I think even Ms. Steinem could've told you that. You're not going back to work right now.”