All the Difference (22 page)

“Is that the same coffee from yesterday morning?”

Scott waited a beat before he looked up from his screen. “Huh?”

Molly sighed. “Did you wash out the pot this morning? You didn't do it yesterday.”

“Oh, shit, no.” Scott peered into his mug. “I was wondering why it tasted a little thicker than usual.”

“See?” Molly said. “That's exactly what I mean.”

“Were you talking about something?” Scott's forehead wrinkled into a question mark, and he lowered his phone to focus on Molly.

Molly's heart slammed itself against her rib cage now. Dismayed. She was so dismayed. About the coffee, yes. But it was also the towels, the clothes, the crumbs, the constant, constant mess, and she wanted to rip the mug out of Scott's hand and throw it against the wall, or smash his stupid phone to bits. She wanted to be destructive for once, to stop being so good all the time, to do something that would make Scott sit up and notice that this was all wrong.
Him,
she thought. Her entire life had been reshaped to wrap around Scott. Molly fought the urge to raise her voice and was completely unsuccessful.

“I'm
always
talking about something.” Molly's voice was high-pitched, shaking. “I'm talking about how it's not right that our floors are your laundry hamper. Or how I'm tired of cabinets crammed with empty Pop-Tart boxes and overflowing trash cans I can't lift because you don't empty them.”

Her chest was heaving, and she had to stop to catch her breath.

“Shit, Molly, calm down,” Scott said. “I was just trying to drink my coffee.”

But Molly had started, and after months of keeping silent, she wasn't finished. It was all so little, but it wasn't. It was huge and it was changing her life and he had to know. Scott was watching her with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open just a bit.

“Scott, this”—she gestured wildly at the mess surrounding them—“isn't me. This isn't how I want my house and my life to be. And I don't want our relationship to be like this. We don't have a housekeeper, Scott. And I don't want to do it all.”

“Molly, where is all this coming from?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you! This isn't new. I've talked to you about all of this before. I don't want to bring my baby into a world filled with candy wrappers in the couch cushions, or floors that are so dirty our socks stick to them when we walk. I don't want my child to think it's normal to have to take a bowl out of the sink and wash it before getting breakfast in the morning.” Tears pricked up in Molly's eyes.

There was a moment of silence while Scott regarded her. Maybe she just wasn't meant to live with somebody else, Molly thought. Maybe she was the one with the problem. The olive color of Scott's eyes had deepened while she was talking. When he took his turn to speak, his voice was calm.

“So,” he said, “why don't you go cry to Liam about it?”

“What?” Molly stared at him.

“I said, go find Liam. See if he cares. Hell, sleep with him if that's what you really want to do.”

“Why are you bringing up Liam?”

“Oh, don't give me that, Molly.” Scott turned to her. “I swung by McGillin's last night with my friends after work. I saw you getting all cozy at the bar with your old boy toy.”

Scott watched Molly stutter as she tried to reply. “So are you cheating on me now, Molly? You get what's best of me, then run around behind my back with that tool?” He was glaring at her, the pupils of his eyes dancing to look at hers, but his tone wasn't angry. It was hurt.

Molly stood in place. She couldn't move. “You didn't speak to me. I didn't see you. Why didn't you say something?”

“Because I didn't want to have to punch the guy's face in, that's why.”

“So you just hung around the bar and watched me talk with him?”

“Nah, I didn't hang around watching you,” Scott said. “We went to a strip club instead.”

He set his coffee cup on the butcher block island with a clatter, splattering the dark liquid all over its surface. Molly watched the stain spread across the wood.

“God, I can't even see you without picturing the way you were looking at him. You don't appreciate any of what I've given you, Molly. The attention. The love. And yeah, I'll say it, the life you lead because of me,” Scott said. “You don't
respect
it. And I've had it, Molly. You need to back off.”

Scott straightened and took a step toward her. “You're a control freak, Molly. Do you know that? Everything has to be perfect according to your crazy standards. You have these, these
rules
. It's suffocating.”

“
My
rules?” Molly sputtered.

Scott's words felt like the stab of a knife into her lungs. She knew she should walk away, stop this from getting worse, but some stubbornness in her made her keep pushing. So Molly forged on, even though she knew they were spiraling out of control. Because she loathed the way he felt her up every time she walked past him, how he licked his lips instead of using a napkin after eating if he thought no one was watching, the insults he said were jokes, how he messed up her home and her confidence and didn't seem to ever, ever want to make any of it better. As much as she
cared for him, it all felt like she was acting a role in a movie Scott was directing. So now that there was so much fear in her heart she couldn't find her way around it, Molly did the only thing she knew how to do. She focused on what she thought she could change.

“You leave dishes in the sink, all the time. We're attached to other houses, Scott. You can't leave food in the sink like that, or we'll get bugs. Same goes with the spills on the floor, and the counters. It shouldn't take this much effort to follow city health code.”

“It's a few dishes, not a freaking landfill, Molly,” Scott said. “I'm not going to do everything you want me to.”

“Everything? Scott, I'm the
only
one who does anything around here. The groceries are in the fridge because of me. We have electricity because I write the bills. I clean the floors and do the laundry and make the meals. If I had any idea this was how you were going to be . . .”

Molly was so worked up she was sweating through her pajamas now. She could feel the cotton of Scott's T-shirt sticking to her back.

“What, Molly? What would you do?”

Molly was silent.

“This isn't just about a couple of dirty dishes, Mol, and you know it,” Scott said.

“Then what else could it be?”

He just looked at her. “Tell me, what choices do you have?” Scott asked.

Again, she couldn't answer him.

“Go ahead, Molly,” Scott said. “Leave me. If you hate me so much, think I'm such an
awful
guy, then break it off. In fact, run to Liam and see how well he can take care of you. How long do
you think you'll be able to stay in this house once the landlord figures out you'll never be able to buy it?”

A strange kind of desperation filled Molly, making her feel like she had to cling to the moment, hold on, make the argument last. Because she didn't know what was going to happen after this. She didn't know what to do. This was the father of her baby. This was the choice she had made. And she couldn't let it all fall apart in front of her. She needed time.

There was a vein pulsing on the side of Scott's neck. Molly couldn't stop staring at it.

“You can't just—” Molly couldn't get any more words out. Scott's voice dominated hers.

“What? What can't I do, Molly?” Scott took a step toward her, towering over her with all the lean strength in his tall frame. Without thinking, Molly backed up and knocked her head into the refrigerator. A wine bottle that had been on top of the fridge fell to the floor, shattering into thousands of splintered shards. The wine splattered onto every visible surface in the kitchen. Scott was planted in front of Molly, facing her. She couldn't move. She watched wine drip off of her cabinet onto the countertop, leaving burgundy streaks in its wake, like blood seeping from a broken nose.

“Molly, don't you think I'm scared, too?” Scott pulled back. He ignored the mess and looked at Molly. “You're not the only one whose life is changing.”

“But . . .” Molly tried to argue with him, but came up with nothing.

“But what? You act like I knocked you up on purpose. You've been with me for years, but suddenly want me to be somebody I'm not. And now I see you trolling the bars for better options? You paint me as the bad guy, Molly, but I think you've got it wrong.”

“That's not how it was, Scott,” Molly protested. “You know me better than that.”

Molly didn't try to stop the tears from coming. They were deadlocked, she and Scott, just pushing back and forth in the tight space of their relationship, and neither one of them was going to get anywhere unless somebody stepped out of the way. Forgetting that she was Jack's daughter, Molly yelled louder than she'd ever heard herself.

“Scott, this isn't what I signed up for!” She was searching his eyes, looking for some softness. She wanted him to tell her he would make it all right. “Is this really what you want?”

“It ain't all sunshine and rainbows, Molly,” Scott said, “so you can spare me the drama. But I'm not listening to your orders anymore.”

Molly's head was bowed into her chest. She hadn't meant to get to this place. She hadn't planned this out. Her sobs broke over her huddled upper body like waves beating a beach's sandy floor. She couldn't fight to the surface, couldn't catch a breath. The waves kept pushing her down, and she had forgotten how to swim.

Scott backed away from her in a sudden movement and strode out of the kitchen. On his way out, he knocked his fist into the wall beside the doorway. Chunks of drywall crumbled from the dent he left behind and fell to the floor in a tinny waterfall of noise. Scott stopped for a moment, as if surprised by his own strength. Then he walked away without looking back.

Molly stayed, glued in her place against the refrigerator door, holding her breath. Her heart was still beating so hard that she began to feel faint, and she stared at the hole in the previously blank canvas of her kitchen wall. The stained glass above the doorway looked ridiculous above it, an intricate masterpiece,
ornate and decorative, framing the glaring blemish. Molly took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, but every nerve in her body was on alert, waiting.

She noticed Scott's dirty mug lying on its side on the island, and at the sight of it, Molly shook her head hard, stood up straight, and began to clean. She was still shaking as she wiped away the spilled coffee and a few stray grounds from the rim of the cup. Her fingers trembled as she scrubbed the tan ring of an old stain clinging to the inside of the mug's white ceramic surface. She pulled the trash can over from the wall, shoved down the contents inside to flatten them, and began scooping in dustpans full of broken glass, willing her legs to work as she did. Pulling a plastic basket filled with cleaning supplies out from under the sink, Molly washed the cabinets, scrubbing them one at a time, the handles, the undersides. She mopped the floor and stood, wobbling slightly, on a stool to wipe wine stains from the tops of the doors. She did not slow down until each dish was in its place and every surface gleamed.

At one point, Molly caught sight of herself in the microwave door. Her hair was hanging around her face in knotted masses, and red blotches covered her face and neck. She had to use the bathroom again, but she could hear Rush blasting now from her speakers in the living room. She was allowing Scott to trap her where she was, barefoot and pregnant. Molly looked around her clean kitchen, searching for something, anything, that was out of place or needed an extra scrub. She was stuck in place, afraid to walk away.

September

No

T
hey just didn't look right.

Molly blew out a hard breath of air in frustration and stepped back to stare at the nursery curtains again. One side was crooked, she knew it, and she wouldn't be able to leave the room until she straightened it out. Molly used a hand to knead a muscle in the small of her back, trying to work out a cramp while she scrutinized the window treatments. She'd been so excited to find brand-name curtains on eBay in exactly the same off-white, green-polka-dotted pattern she'd wanted, and, proud of her thriftiness, had purchased ribbon from a craft store to use as tie-backs. But she hadn't been able to get one of the ribbons to tie properly. Her patience was evaporating as quickly as the late-afternoon light, but with one final, stubborn yank, she managed to straighten the bow. Satisfied, she let herself walk out of the room. She was shivering with nervous excitement. This had to
be like running your first marathon, and Molly was ready for somebody to fire the start gun already. There was only so much training a girl could do.

Molly heaved herself down the stairs with as much speed as the weight of her belly would allow. She had to brace her body against the banister as she did so, unsure of her balance this far into her pregnancy.

“Mom!” Molly called out toward the kitchen. “I'm going to run back to my house to grab another box of the baby's things. Should I just meet you at the restaurant?”

“Honey.” Emily's voice moved back down the hall. “I don't like you traveling by yourself! Why don't you let your father go with you?”

“Mom, I'm perfectly capable of driving a half hour into the city.” Molly rolled her eyes at the wall and dug her keys out of the diaper bag she'd started using as a pocketbook.

“But what if something happens?”

“Then I'll call you and drive myself to the hospital! It's not like I'm going to have the baby on the Blue Route,” Molly replied.

“It's happened, Molly,” her mother said, and sighed. “Fine. Have it your way.”

There was a pause.

“But we're going to pick you up at your house before dinner.”

The sound of the mixer started, making a familiar churning sound from its place on the laminate countertop in the back of the house. Emily was making a chocolate cake for Molly's birthday.

“Fine,” Molly sighed under her breath, and shut the front door behind her.

There wasn't a sound in the house other than the echoes of Molly's movements. Her footsteps rang off the spare mopped floors as she padded up and down the stairs, gathering the last of the baby gear into a large plastic bin. Molly had left most of her dishes, cutlery, and pots and pans where they were, neatly arranged behind the pristine white doors of her kitchen cabinets. Her books remained sitting on the numerous shelves lining the tan-colored wall of her bedroom. She wouldn't be needing any of them once the baby was born, so she'd decided to leave them behind and list the house as-is on websites directed at students and staff of the local universities. She hoped for graduate or law school students as potential subletters, people too overwhelmed with their studies to even consider trashing the place, or a single professor with an eye for cleanliness and simple dinner parties. It was hard enough to leave this home behind. It'd been her first baby, and she wanted to leave it in the care of someone she could trust.

Molly closed the top of the bin and pushed it with her feet to the base of the stairs. Her lower back was throbbing with an awful kind of pain, and she knew she'd been overdoing it. Her parents had made plans with Jenny and her a month ago to go to dinner for her birthday, even though Molly had begged them not to make a big deal of it. But they'd insisted, because a birthday is a new beginning, Emily said. And one never,
ever
, she pronounced, ignores a chance to start fresh. So Molly would let them decide on Victor Café, of all places, the Italian restaurant famous for its opera-singing waitstaff. The last thing Molly felt like doing tonight was eating a massive meal of garlicky pasta and
being serenaded by earnest young tenors, but her parents had been so excited to do something nice for her.

She grabbed her jug of water and walked over to the couch, collapsing into the deep cushions with a sigh. A small part of her wondered if she'd be able to lift herself back up when the time came, and she hoped her family would arrive sooner rather than later. Molly leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes for a moment, just a brief second, but it was long enough for her to fall off into the deep doze of the exhausted.

Another muscle spasm woke Molly just as a loud knocking started at the door, both of them jarring in their intensity. The cramp wrapped itself around Molly's abdomen, making her gasp with the pain of its intense grip.

“Oh, no,” Molly said aloud. In an attempt to maneuver up and off the couch, she rolled to the side, making sure both feet had firm contact with the floor before pushing herself upright off the back of the sofa. The knocking came again, louder and more insistent this time. She knew that her parents, aware of the obnoxious sound the doorbell made, would avoid using the buzzer, but she wondered if she'd slept so long that they'd been out there a while and were impatient. It wasn't like them to knock like their fists were potential battering rams. Molly slowly made her way across the floor, grunting with each step. A deep sense of dread had spread through her body, as if her muscle aches were connected somehow to her intuition telling her not to open the door.

Molly swung open the door anyway, took one look at the person on the other side of the threshold, and fought the immediate urge to slam it shut.

“Scott.”

He was leaning against the doorway, exasperation etched
into the tan skin of his face, as if he'd had to wait for hours. Scott looked like he was dressed for sailing, but that was a hobby not usually associated with someone terrified of water more than three feet deep. Molly looked at his slim-cut jeans and boat shoes. He was even wearing a lightweight blue sweater bedecked with jaunty nautical stripes. A vague sense of curiosity worked its way through her alarm. It looked, she thought, like Scott's mother had taken him for a doll and started dressing him.

“Jeez, Molly, you took forever.” Scott ran his hand through his tousled hair. “Do you have a second? I need to talk to you.”

“Scott, this might not be the best time,” Molly replied. She placed a hand on her belly. “Also, I just don't want to see you. I told you I'd talk with you when I was ready. You need to give me some space.”

“Molly, just let me in. I promise, I come in peace.” He held up his hands, palms out to her in surrender, and took a step forward. “Honest.”

“Fine.” Molly ushered him through the doorway, looking around at the empty sidewalk outside before closing the door. She wondered when her parents were supposed to arrive. “But you're not sitting down.”

She remained at the front door, one hand on the doorknob, at the ready to allow her ex-boyfriend's exit as soon as she could. Scott had been nonstop with the attention in the last few weeks. He called once a day and texted even more. His outlandish attempts to win her approval were beginning to make the space-age cradle look pedestrian. Molly's other hand rested on her lower back, willing away the pain that still throbbed against her kidneys.

Scott sighed and started to sit down on the living room couch
before he registered her pointed glare and stood up straight again with uncharacteristic speed.

He rubbed his palms along his jeans.

“I know I've been a little pushy, Molly,” Scott said.

Molly snorted.

“And that's why I wanted to come by. I need to apologize. I've been going about this the wrong way.”

“Well, better late than never.”

“I know, okay? And I'm sorry. I just started to get scared. I realized that if we weren't together, you know, as a couple, there was a very good chance I'd rarely get to see this baby, and I didn't know how to talk to you rationally about it.” He winced. “During daylight.”

Molly shook her head in surprise. “But that doesn't make any sense. What's with the sudden paternal instinct?” She regarded her ex with an odd feeling of sadness. “Are you confused? Did your parents put you up to this?”

Scott threw his arms wide.

“I'm not confused, Molly. And, um, I never exactly, uh,
told
my parents about the whole baby thing.”

“Scott!”

“What?” Scott's hand was plowing through his hair, forming rows in his backswept mane like a tractor in a dusty wheat field. “Finding out about the pregnancy threw me off, and then you not wanting to be with me? I felt like a loser. You think I'm going to advertise that? My mom would've been crushed. You had all the cards in your hands, and I was reduced to just being the sperm donor.”

Molly's jaw dropped.

“Cards? Sperm donor?” she asked. “I'm not playing a game,
here, Scott. We're not good for each other, which is why we broke up. I happened to have gotten pregnant. One had nothing to do with the other. The breakup would've happened eventually, whether I had a baby growing in me or not.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Wait. Let me finish.” Molly heard herself speaking the words she'd practiced saying, but found her confidence in them faltering with Scott standing in front of her, begging to make it all right. “There's no game here. I have to go about my life. And I have to start my family with the people who actually want to be in it.”

“Molly. Come on. You can't mean that. All those years.”

Scott's expression was downcast, and his eyes were so wide and imploring that Molly almost felt her resolve start to shift. Almost.

“I made this decision a long time ago, Scott.” The next words slipped out of her mouth more easily than she could have anticipated. “And I'm sticking to it.”

“We had fun times together, you and me!”

Molly choked out a laugh. “Scott, we fought half the time we were together! We want none of the same things. We couldn't even agree on what radio station to listen to in the car, let alone any of the big decisions. Did you know I'm planning to breastfeed the baby?”

Scott's face contorted in disgust before he could catch himself. He shook his head. “But can't I have changed my mind, Molly? I mean, look at you. You're awesome.” He waved his arm in her direction in a sweeping arc. The gesture made her feel, once again, like she was on a stage, like this was all some sort of strange show. She just wanted to sit down.

“You're all independent, and you've got this good job. This whole house is baby-proofed already and you've got all this gear.”
He paused and looked around the room. His gaze stopped to linger on the plastic bin by the stairs. “Wait. Why did you pack it all up?”

Molly set her lips in a line, her refusal to answer obvious.

“You're doing this on your own,” he continued. “It's kind of a turn-on, you know. This Wonder Woman act? You not needing me anymore makes me realize how much I want you.”

It was Molly's turn to shake her head. Another cramp had formed along her spine, exploding outward, and she leaned over a little as the ache got worse, wrapping from her back around her sides with a kind of fiery insistence she'd never felt before. She felt a pressure low in her torso, forceful and determined in its strength. She wanted Scott out of her house.

He had moved closer to Molly, and now he sidled in front of her, his arms outstretched in a gesture of apology. “Please, Molly, give me a chance,” he said. “I'll still love you.”

Molly took a step back. A hot wave of agony clamped itself around her abdomen, reaching for her belly button like the claws of a crab bringing in its prey. The heavy weight pushed against her bottom, and with a shock, she realized that this pain wasn't going to go away. Molly felt the pressure build, and she caught her breath.