All the Difference (19 page)

“What was that for?” he said, laughing. Molly didn't say anything. She just kissed him on top of his gelled, spiky hair. She and Jenny were going to have to have a chat. Dan grinned at her, then went back to his work.

July

No

“Y
ou won't believe it when you see it. It's ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, as in gorgeous? Or ridiculous, as in so over the top even a Kardashian would think it's too much?”

Molly was standing in the middle of her living room with her phone pressed to her ear, staring at what she was pretty sure was meant to be a baby's cradle. Shaped like a capital D, it looked like a piece of furniture from a sci-fi movie, and it was here, in her home, resting on its back, taking up most of the space between her coffee table and the window. The smooth shape of the crib was built from white slats of wood that looked like someone had taken a stack of gigantic china plates and chopped them in half. Inside, quilted silk lined the mattress and sides.

“I'm not really sure, Jenny. He really outdid himself this time.”

“Oh, no, Mol, that has the well-manicured fingerprints of Monica all over it,” Jenny said with a laugh. “I think they've teamed up. Scott probably went to her for advice on what to get,
and Monica was all, ‘Molly's a modern girl! What's luxurious, yet edgy?'”

“‘I know!'” Molly joined in, “‘Let's get her something from
outer space
!'”

Jenny was full-on guffawing now.

“No, it's even better than that, Jenny,” Molly said. “This has to be Scott's doing—Monica still doesn't know about the baby.” She stepped to the other corner of the room to regard the cradle from a different angle. It was still enormous.

“She doesn't what?”

“I think Scott's terrified to tell her. This is all him. With her money, I'm sure.”

Jenny's laughter quieted down until even the giggles faded. “It's really that bad?”

“It's really that bad.”

Molly picked up her bag and shut the door of her home behind her, stealing one last glance at the white cradle hulking over its spot by the window. She shuddered and looked around her quiet street from her vantage point at the top of the steps. Even with Jenny on the phone with her, she found herself having to quiet her racing pulse. Molly couldn't remember a time when she wasn't tense anymore, when she wasn't conscious of the deep pit of anxiety that lay in her stomach like a rock. She felt like she was driving alone, steering through traffic on a busy roundabout, trapped in an endless circle with no idea which exit to take. Molly listened to Jenny talk about nursery furniture and snorted. She didn't even know if she was in the right lane.

Scott had done this to her, Molly thought, but corrected herself. She had let Scott do this to her, opened the door for him to step into her head and try to take control. She thought she'd
made a decision and moved on, thought she was doing right by the hefty baby now apparently doing knee bends in her abdomen. But if life was one long multiple-choice quiz, Molly was just figuring out that the correct answer wasn't always the obvious one. And she'd never been comfortable with guessing.

Molly heard Jenny's voice fade until it sounded far away.

“Uh, Mol?”

Her voice got clearer again, and Molly realized Jenny had been looking at her phone screen.

“That crazy cradle in your living room?” Jenny asked. “It cost Scott—or his mom—six thousand dollars.” Her voice was quiet with shock. Molly peered back over her shoulder at the cradle visible through her front window.

“Tell me you're joking.”

“Um, no,” Jenny said. “Scott's trying
hard
. That boy wants to get back on your good side like I want a permanent blowout.”

Molly moved down the stairs to where her car was parked.

“It sure seems that way,” she said. “Though I kind of wonder which would be easier to maintain, you know?”

Molly said good-bye before clicking off her phone and moved across the sidewalk, taking one slow step at a time. Her body was heavy and off balance from the weight of her belly, and she trudged over to her car. Molly glanced over her shoulder once more, almost expecting Scott to be standing next to the staircase behind her, before unlocking the door and getting in. She maneuvered her silver Audi down Walnut Street and turned left onto Broad, only beginning to relax once she entered the stop-and-go test of patience that was the Schuylkill Expressway.

The sleek car had been her first purchase after she'd secured her job at Shulzster & Grace. It was a year old when she'd looked
at it, with just a couple of thousand miles on it. She'd been searching for a car that was safe for driving roads like this one, and that would last her for years. Molly didn't need fancy headlights or leather seats or windshield wipers that sensed a drop of rain before she did, but she'd fallen in love with how this car felt when it moved. She was able to tap on the gas pedal and take off like a high diver off a platform, whipping through the air, feeling like she was testing the edges of safety, flirting with danger, but still in complete control. She loved the way she felt when she was racing down the Schuylkill, sunroof open, blasting Alabama Shakes, singing “Hang Loose” to the trees and open sky.

Molly stepped on the brakes again and checked the gas gauge. Friday afternoon traffic didn't make for a journey filled with wind in one's hair and the joys of the open road, and she was hoping to be able to stretch the tank until next week's payday. All Molly saw ahead of her, though, was a convoy of red taillights. To the right below her, runners meandered along the bike path beside Kelly Drive. Boathouse Row stood beyond them, acting as home base for the college students who were rowing crew, stroking in measured time against the slight current of the water. Green forests of trees, vibrant with the heat and humidity of mid-July, climbed the hills on her left, and Molly's car started and stopped with the traffic along the road cut into the steep hillside. She tapped the brakes again.

A six-thousand-dollar cradle was sitting in her house.
Six thousand
dollars, for a temporary crib the baby would outgrow in months. Molly saw the needle on the dashboard shift downward and gulped, nerves dancing around her stomach. She'd been so worried about the baby or her parents taking away her hard-won independence, but they weren't the threats. It was the
worry that controlled her actions now. Worry, with all of its persistent digging and scraping, working in around the edges of her confidence until it started to fray. The worry had robbed her of the security she'd worked to take for granted.

If she had stayed with Scott, this child would never have had to worry, at least about money, Molly knew. And she understood that by walking away from Scott, she was asking her baby to grow up in a life similar to the one she'd had: one where he or she would work weekends at a restaurant, come home from soccer practice some nights to eggs and toast for dinner, and go to school wearing a cousin's hand-me-downs instead of trendy jeans. Molly wasn't sure of the point where, for a parent, simply taking care of your own basic needs ended and acting out of selfishness began.

Scott complained about the way he grew up, but worry wasn't in his daily vocabulary. He was a man who thought playing Ultimate Frisbee in the living room was a neat way to use lamps as goal posts. He used a bank card to take money out of an account, but rarely put funds in. His idea of a routine was making sure he got a shower before appointments and got to the clubs by midnight. And with that came an attitude that he was entitled to all the good in his life—and something was very wrong if he didn't get what he wanted. Scott was always in such need—of attention, of time, of validation—that Molly had stopped thinking about what he could give. And he could give a lot.

Molly thought of Valentine's Day last year, when she'd walked into the kitchen in the morning to find Scott standing at the stove with a spatula in his hand, looking at her with a sheepish grin as a pink pancake burned on the griddle in front of him. There was
batter splattered on the stove hood, the counters were covered with flour and crusty egg whites, and there were more dishes piled into the sink than Molly used in a week, but he was trying. Scott, in his slouchy designer sweats with an apron tied around his waist, was trying.

Molly glanced at the light that glowed now on the gas gauge and eased her foot off the brake.

It was so much to process on a nine-month deadline. Molly swallowed hard as she merged onto the exit for I-476 South to her parents' home. She glanced up to see the city skyline in her rearview mirror. The smell of car exhaust still clung to the air wafting through the vents, and through the sunroof she saw a jetliner cut through the blue sky high above her toward the airport on the south side of the city. A billowing streak of white was left in the plane's wake, and Molly watched the mist dissipate for a moment before turning her attention again to the journey home.

Two hours later, Molly was wedged into a wicker chair on her parents' back porch, hands wrapped around a glass of lemonade. She ignored the possibility that she'd gotten so wide that she might require help to get out of the chair later. Emily was walking out from the kitchen with what Molly was thrilled to see was a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Her father was settled into his seat to Molly's right, paging through the day's edition of the
Philadelphia Inquirer
.

“Ah, Molly. What kind of world are we living in? Can you believe that Congress just moved to filibuster again? Damned politicians are so busy proving how right they are they forget what they're trying to accomplish in the first place.”

Jack pushed the paper to the side in frustration, leaned forward to take a warm cookie from the china plate, and turned his attention to his daughter. Emily went back into the house, leaving the two of them alone. Jack nodded in the direction of Molly's protruding belly. “So, speaking of a filibuster, I hear Scott is trying to stonewall you on ending the relationship?”

Molly shrugged her shoulders. “It looks that way, if you go by the massive bouquet of flowers sitting on my coffee table at home right now.” She didn't mention the spaceship cradle that rested beside it. “Pop, this is driving me crazy.”

“Well, it does all seem a bit over the top, Molly.” Jack's voice was grim. He wasn't a person who acted out when his emotions overwhelmed him. Molly always wished she could have inherited that trait. Instead of his voice becoming raised, for instance, the angrier or more worried Jack got, it simply became deeper. Right now it sounded almost guttural.

“It's like he's completely ignoring what you want out of this and forcing his way on you,” her father said. “I don't like this at all.”

Molly reached for a second cookie. The fresh air of the suburbs felt good in her lungs. She could hear her mother moving around in the kitchen behind them, placing dishes into the washer and cleaning the sink. She knew Emily was listening to every word they said through the open window.

“But Scott's always been big with his gestures, Pop. He tried to buy me a puppy on our third date, you remember? I just don't know if his heart is really behind all this, or if Monica's egging him on, or what. For all I know, he doesn't want this baby any more than he wants somebody scratching his stupid Porsche.”

“But then he's just playing with you. It doesn't make sense.”

“Scott's used to getting what he wants.” Emily's voice came
sailing through the window screen in reply. “And he can't have Molly.”

Molly snorted at Emily's need to be involved and steer the conversation. At least she knew which parent she
did
take after.

“You broke up with him for a reason, Molly. Remember that.” Jack was looking at Molly with an expression so intent she found it hard to meet his eyes. “If it's the financial aspect you're worried about, your mother and I will do what we can to help you out, you know.”

Molly sipped her lemonade and shook her head. “Thanks, Pop, but if I'm going to do this on my own, I have to learn how to manage. I'll figure it out.”