All the Difference (3 page)

“Sooo.” Jenny was still standing close beside Molly, craning her neck to look in the direction of the kitchen. Her blond hair tumbled down her back in a waterfall of curls. Jenny was a petite woman with the tiny features of a porcelain doll, complete with big blue eyes and dark lashes as thick as paintbrush bristles. The only feature that didn't fit her doll face was the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Jenny had given up trying to conceal them long ago, for which Molly had been glad, because the endearing speckles were the best hint of the personality that lay beneath them.

“Do you think tonight's the night?” Jenny continued. She pointed her chin in the direction of the people huddled in the adjacent kitchen. A low wall separated the two rooms, and they could see the men joking with each other. As they watched, Scott threw his head back in laughter, and then, as if he could sense Molly's eyes, he turned to smile at her, raising a flirtatious eyebrow. For a brief second, Molly felt like she was the only person in the room. Scott turned back to Dan, and the sensation disappeared.

“Oh, Jenny,” Molly said. She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I don't know. He hasn't been acting any differently. You'd think if he were planning something he'd seem anxious, or on edge, or . . .”

She gestured in the direction of the kitchen, where Scott was raising a full shot glass with one of her friends from work.

“God, I remember back when it was you two. Dan was driving me nuts.” Molly paused. “Scott seems completely chill.”

Jenny smirked. “Molly, it's Scott. I don't think that man's been nervous a day in his life.”

“Yeah, he has,” Molly was quick to say. She looked at her boyfriend. “He just hides it well.”

Jenny threw her a sharp glance. “I didn't mean that the way it sounded,” she said. “I meant, you know, how Scott's just so laid-back about some stuff, that's all. I never imagined you'd end up with someone quite so type B.”

Jenny was quiet for a moment, then continued. “But we had some awesome times, the four of us, when you guys started going out. Scott's fun. And I think Dan's taken him on as some sort of goofy big brother.” She shrugged. “I guess I just want him to be more of that man who's going to ride in on a white horse with a rose between his teeth for you.”

Molly snorted. “Are you serious? Liam didn't even do that back when he and I were dating. And he was about as close to a knight as I was going to get.” She laughed as she thought of her ex. “Even when he was galloping away.”

Liam and Molly had been a few months into their relationship when his college girlfriend moved back to town. The pair had known each other since childhood—they'd skinned their knees on the same playgrounds, competed on the same swim team in high school, volunteered to build houses together in Haiti during their college breaks—and when Stephanie had asked him for another chance, wanting to see if their history meant they could have a future, Liam felt obligated to see it through. By honoring his old girlfriend, he had to hurt his new one, and yet Molly had never begrudged him his decision.

Molly mumbled now through a mouthful of dark chocolate. “I like lilies, not roses, anyway, you know that. Scott is not a fairy tale. He's just real, problems and all.” She swallowed the candy. “Though a horse would be kind of cool . . .”

The women stood in silence for a moment, each picturing the scene. Jenny shook her head.

“Drink?”

“Uh.” Molly hesitated. She concentrated on unwrapping the last chocolate while she thought. Jenny glanced at the candy dish, now almost empty, and frowned at Molly in a silent question. Molly was just about to answer her, to finally tell someone and make it real, when she spotted Scott in the kitchen, joking with a woman she didn't know, and stopped.

“A drink sounds good.” Molly looked up and smiled. “But I'll get it. Let me go to the bathroom first. This skirt's so tight I've got to make room for anything else going in my body.”

An hour later, Molly was holding a short glass of scotch that she'd watered down excessively in a successful, if unappetizing, attempt to pass the drink off as her usual choice. She took a sip from it and tried to hide her grimace. She thought of the pregnancy test, now wrapped in tissues and stuffed into the very bottom of her bathroom wastebasket, and put down the glass. How ironic, she thought, that at the one moment in her life when a woman could really use a stiff drink, she wasn't supposed to have one. Her head felt heavy, her eyes fuzzy and dry from fatigue. She wished she could just go back to bed and start over. The day, the year, all of it.

She leaned against the wall of the dining room to watch the crowd in front of her. Jenny and Molly had a wide circle of friends they'd made through their work at Shulzster & Grace, a big public relations firm in Philly, and by eleven thirty most of them were singing along to Janelle Monáe's “Tightrope” and drinking one of Dan's champagne cocktails.

Scott was happy, the life of the party, dancing in the center of a group in front of the fireplace. His hair was flopping in glossy clumps around his cheekbones, and another button on his
shirt was opened to show off his smooth chest, now shining with sweat. The women around him laughed, each preening until he grabbed her hand for a spin around the floor. He moved well to the music, by all appearances oblivious to the attention on him, but careful to dance with each person in turn. Molly watched Scott empty his champagne glass and reach for another full one on the mantel. It looked like she was going to be starting off this new year the same way she did the last: trudging to Wawa for some Gatorade and a hoagie. Molly yawned. This time, though, it'd be a little harder to get off the couch herself.

Molly eased her way closer to her boyfriend, catching Scott's eye to laugh at his terrible attempt at the robot. She felt the familiar pull as his gaze singled her out, drew her in. She thought she could smell his cologne mingled with the scent of candle smoke and sweat, and watched him looking at her, separating her from the rest of the people in the room. Without thinking, Molly placed her hand over her stomach, protecting a secret she'd only just found out she was keeping. She watched Scott, in the center of the room, at the center of attention, from her spot on the edge of the crowd.

Molly's thoughts strayed to a recent fight they'd had. It had been the end of November. Scott had cajoled her into going to his parents' house for Thanksgiving, even though her favorite aunt was flying in from Minnesota. She hadn't seen Aunt Cookie in two years, and she only planned on being in town for a few days before heading home to Minneapolis, but Scott insisted that if he and Molly, as a couple, were supposed to be getting more serious in their relationship, it was about time they spent the holidays together. And since they planned to stay with her parents for Christmas, he'd thought it was only fair they spend
Thanksgiving with his. Which
was
fair—Molly just missed her aunt Cookie.

Thanksgiving found Molly sitting in a cavernous dining room in Montgomery County, making small talk about sweet potatoes.

She remembered how miserable she'd been, how uncomfortable and long the hours were. No one who lets herself be bullied is going to be happy with what happens next. Molly was used to huge, chaotic, loud holidays with her big family. That afternoon, it was just Molly, Scott, and his mother seated around a quiet table draped with russet-colored linen, sipping their chardonnay from hand-cut crystal. They asked each other to please pass the fresh cranberry sauce while Scott's father threw tantrums in front of the Cowboys game in the next room. No quiet dog under the table waited for a dropped crumb. There was no teasing or jostling for the last piece of pie. It was just the three of them, a small turkey from the caterer resting on heirloom china, and Sade playing in the background. The Sade is what put Molly over the edge.

So she sneaked off to the bathroom to read texts from her brothers, even though each quip, every update about Uncle Frank's whiskey intake, and one voice mail from her goddaughter Samantha sank Molly more and more into a homesick funk. Scott, of course, had noticed, and they'd gotten into a huge argument about it on the car ride back to the city. Scott said she was being selfish. Molly thought he'd cornered her. When Scott parked his car in front of her house, he was still shouting while Molly got out on the sidewalk in tears. He'd sped his fancy little car away before she could even slam the door.

They'd spent two weeks apart, although Scott had left daily voice mails. At first the messages were kidding, trying to blow the
whole affair off as a silly misunderstanding. And then her silence must have gotten to him, because he quieted down. He began to apologize for yelling. With a gentle voice, he said he regretted taking her away from her family on such an important day. She started to think that maybe she was just overreacting, that she'd been responding to an ultimatum that wasn't really there.

So one day she picked up the phone. He came over, and they curled up on the sofa together to talk. He was humble and chagrined, and she'd felt understood. He smelled like soap and fresh cologne, and had brought her a large bouquet of red dahlias and a thin bracelet of white gold. She was comforted by how gentle he was with her. When he placed his arm around her shoulder, she let him. When he leaned in to brush his lips against hers, she didn't resist.

That was six weeks ago. Molly felt the contents of her stomach roll over inside her. She remembered how they'd ended up lying together that evening, under a blanket beside the lit fireplace, their clothes scattered around them, heads on throw pillows that had fallen off the sofa. She recalled feeling satisfied but strangely guilty, like she was a kid who'd stolen a cookie out of the jar right before dinner. She hated him. She loved him. And neither one of them had bothered to get a condom from the bedroom.

A sudden clatter of applause and cheering brought Molly back to the present. Jenny had turned on the television, and the host was counting down the seconds until midnight. Molly blinked her eyes hard and stood up straight. She worked her way through the throng of people in front of the big fireplace over to Scott, who was draining the last drops from a glass of champagne.

It was time, Molly thought. She would tell Scott, and they would take the new year to let the news settle, figure out what
to do next. She wouldn't rush life this time, wouldn't plan, would allow all the jagged edges of her fears to soften up on their own. It would be okay, Molly thought. So she didn't know what would happen next. She was having a baby. It would be okay.

Molly saw Scott catch her eye. He flashed a wide grin and set his empty flute on the cluttered mantel. He patted his pants pockets, like he was afraid he'd misplaced his wallet, before reaching his hands out to Molly to draw her closer. She saw that his chest was still slick with sweat, and he swayed just a bit in his British-made shoes.

“. . . nine . . . eight . . . seven!” Dan and Jenny were bouncing up and down a little, noisemakers at the ready.

“Hey, babe, you found me!” Molly saw Scott's eyes crinkle in the way that always made her heart skip a little bit, and smiled back at him. He leaned down to her ear and raised his voice.

“I have something I want to talk to you about. I've been looking for you.”

“. . . six . . . five . . . four!”

Molly caught a glimpse of the fawning women Scott had been dancing with earlier and cocked her head with a thin smile. “Looking hard or hardly looking?”

“Huh?” Scott squinted.

“. . . three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Molly's friends threw handfuls of confetti in the air, making her cringe at the sight of the mess, and started blowing their noisemakers. Couples kissed and friends hugged each other. Jenny and her college roommate began singing a very drunken version of “Auld Lang Syne” while the televised crowds in Times Square danced in the streets.

Scott moved closer to her, and she felt his arm snake around her waist, once again drawing her in.

“Oh, never mind,” Molly said. She wrapped her hand around Scott's neck to move his head toward hers. “Come here.”

She took a deep breath.

“I actually have something I need to tell you, too.”

Scott's lips brushed Molly's, and a familiar warmth spread through her like the heat she'd feel from a fresh cup of tea, though a spiked one, hot toddy–style. He pressed her body to his, hands on her hips, pulling her tightly against him. His fingers moved up the sides of her body and along her bare arms, trailing until they came to rest on her hands. He clasped them in both of his and moved them down to rest against his heart. Molly raised her eyes to look at her boyfriend through the haze the candle smoke had created and saw that his green eyes, murky now through the cloud of alcohol, were focused only on her own. It was going to be okay.

“Molly,” Scott said.

She took in his face, startled by the expression she saw there, and opened her mouth to respond. Scott shook his head at her, and placed a light finger against her mouth. The sweat from his skin felt cold against her lips.

Before she could move, Scott dropped down on one knee. His lips were moving, but Molly couldn't hear what he was saying. One of his hands grasped both of hers, and the other held a small, black velvet box. The box was open, and inside something glittered in the candlelight, flashing against the black silk. People around them started to catch on and back away, creating a small clearing around the pair. Molly looked at Scott's earnest face, at the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, then down at the brilliant diamond ring on display.
Wowza,
she thought.
That
thing is big.

She opened her mouth again, started to say something, then closed it. Molly looked up from Scott's face and met Jenny's eyes. Her friend was standing beside Dan with her arms crossed against her chest, watching her with an expression Molly couldn't read. Molly's own face felt slack, blank. She could hear the tinny sounds of the revelers in Times Square cheering through the television.