All the Difference (7 page)

Molly raised her eyebrows.

“It kind of hurts, I gotta say, that you won't want to take my name, but I won't try to change your mind. When it comes to our kid, though, I just . . .”

Scott paused, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Look, do what you want with your name, Molly. But you can't mess with my kid's. I'm not down with that.”

Molly knew she was about to repeat herself, and also knew that no matter how often she asked, the answer would stay the same. “But three years ago, you were all for it. I thought we were on the same page.”

“Well, yeah, Molly, of course I told you that.” Scott laughed. “I wanted to see you again.”

Molly's mouth fell open before she could catch herself. Scott wasn't laughing anymore.

Scott took another swallow of his beer, his eyes locking with Molly's over the bottom of the raised bottle. “Can you even imagine what my parents would say to that? I can hear my mother now, complaining about how she'd be mortified to show her face at the club ever again.”

Molly took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. She hadn't meant to start an argument. But a shift had occurred somewhere without her realizing it, and she needed to figure out where they—or at least, one of them—stood now. To know that her pride in their identity as this super-modern, forward-thinking couple was really just based on a couple of quick assurances from an eager Scott was more embarrassing than she wanted to admit, or get used to.

“Scott,” she said. “This baby is going to be both of ours. You can't ask me to just not give our child any part of myself—my name is my heritage, and I want this baby to have that.”

“Molly, your last name is Sullivan, not McShaunnessey-O'Connell-McBoyle.” Scott ran his hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his head in a quick, jerking movement as he did. “And didn't you say Immigration changed your ancestors' name, anyway?”

Scott's voice had gotten louder, and they both heard his
words ring through the air around them. When he spoke again, his tone was soft, and he looked at her with eyes that were narrowed, and almost pleading.

“Are you telling me that I can't have a son carry on my name?” he asked.

Molly stayed quiet.

“Or what if this baby's a girl, Molly? What if she gets married one day and wants to hyphenate
her
last name? You want our poor kid to be Mrs. Sullivan-Berkus-Smith?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe our girl will keep her name if she gets married?” Molly was sputtering.

“I want us all to be a unified team, Molly,” Scott said. “That's not a lot to ask. I want her teachers to know we're both her parents, that we're married. I want people to hear of us and know right away that we're a family. The
Berkus
family. What's so wrong with that?”

Molly blew a breath of air, hard, through her lips. One hand was covering her swollen belly. She felt disoriented for some reason. Her feet wobbled on the ground beneath her like it was the deck of a boat she'd boarded by accident. She looked up to meet Scott's eyes.

“Why should you get to choose?” she asked.

Scott was watching her. “Why should you?”

There was a silent moment while his question lingered, unanswered.

“Look,” Molly said. “We don't have to talk about this anymore right now. I get your point. But I'm really surprised.”

She picked the scarf up from the floor. “I'll go take my shower, if you can order dinner. Please? Anything that's just . . . easy.”

“I'll get that curry you like, with extra summer rolls just for you,” Scott said, and placed a take-out menu on the island. “Easy.”

He met Molly's eyes and smiled, just one corner of his mouth turning up in a gesture that was almost rueful. Molly shuffled out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs.

Once she was standing under the faucet of her shower and felt the hot water cascading over her, scouring away the dregs of the afternoon, Molly let herself replay the discussion in the kitchen. When they first started talking about their future together, in the midst of the heady fog of a new relationship, Scott had been as gung ho and adamant as she about last names. He had seemed so bold to her, so excited to set a standard, even in the face of tradition. It attracted her to him even more. But that was early on in their courtship. That was when there was still a chance that she could walk away.

Molly shook her head back, allowing the scalding water to wash over her face. The soap stung her eyes, but she stayed there, inhaling the steam, letting the water run where it wanted.

A claw of fear had begun tugging at the back of her brain, releasing a trickle of doubt that was now coursing through her veins. She could tell herself that the baby's last name wasn't the real issue. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd signed a contract only to keep discovering more fine print she hadn't noticed before, that she'd agreed to make payments on something and was just realizing now that the interest fees were going to bankrupt her. Molly wet a washcloth, rubbing it over her skin, and felt the tiny bulge that protruded right below her navel. She wondered if the baby could hear them, if he or she was a witness to the world it was about to join. It's the youngest of us who are always the ones hardest hit in a war between two grown-ups
,
she thought. Molly feared the strength of the ammunition that could be created by her and Scott's failings.

The sparkle of the diamond on Molly's left hand caught her eye. She'd forgotten to take it off before her shower, and now it was covered with an oily film from the soap bubbles. She tried to wipe the steam off of the gems and held her hand out to get a better look at them. She couldn't imagine how much the ring had cost Scott. He'd been so happy with it: the setting showcased a round center stone, about two carats big. On either side of the diamond rested three smaller stones of blue topaz—because he'd proposed in December, he said, though Molly suspected he'd thought it was her birthstone—in decreasing size. It was a cumbersome, heavy ring that seemed to get caught in every knitted sweater and doorjamb her hand touched. She liked to keep it off of her finger, tucked away in its black silk-lined box, when she was home, but Scott got hurt when he didn't see it on her. Molly turned the ring around on her finger and rinsed off the bubbles.

She felt badly about her quiet reaction to the ring when he'd first proposed, but her first thought when she saw it had been
Does he know me at all?
It was a ring for royalty, not for a middle-class girl from the outskirts of West Chester. And certainly not for one who still wore the white gold earrings she'd bought with her babysitting money when she was fifteen.

Molly stood in place as the water turned cool, the last of the soap bubbles swirling into the drain. She didn't know why she was surprised. She thought about the expensive watch Scott wore with pride, the red Porsche he leased with help from his parents. Scott was the first to have the newest phone, the best tablet, the TV with the flattest screen. Even his sunglasses had the designer's name splashed on the temples. It was all that he had been raised to
know. Molly looked at the huge ring on her hand and swallowed hard. It was jewelry for a different type of life. She guessed now she'd have to look for a yellow wedding band to match it.

Molly wrung the water out of her heavy hair and stepped out of the shower to plug her phone into the small speaker set she kept in her bathroom. She turned on Tori Amos, letting the swell of the piano in “Girl” envelop her as she toweled dry. It'd been a few very long weeks. While Jenny was loading her belongings onto the office elevator, Molly was being asked to take over some of the responsibility for the marketing department. There was no pay increase for the extra work, but it meant she could keep her job. Her workload had doubled, and she found herself trying to fend off rumors of her pregnancy, juggle all of her new tasks, and get through an entire workday, all without falling asleep mid-step. But the new duties also meant the door to advancement had cracked open just a little wider. She didn't want word of an impending maternity leave getting in the way of a chance at the next opportunity. Molly had worked to be at this exact spot in her career by now, even if it was a lot busier than she'd anticipated. Molly could do busy. She just couldn't do chaotic.

As Amos' vibrato filled the room, Molly closed her eyes and reviewed her to-do list. She wanted to help her best friend find a new, good job. She needed to manage her assignments at work and come to some sort of truce with Scott. She also had to have a baby, tell her parents about that baby before it was born, and get married at some point. Molly opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed a healthy pink from the shower, but they couldn't hide the swollen skin and dark circles under her eyes. She wondered, just for a moment, if joining her life to another person's had to mean handing her life
over
to that person. Molly was afraid of how much of herself she would have to siphon off in order to create this new family with Scott, and if she could expect any of it to ever be replaced.

The noise of this worry pulsated in her brain along with the music, and through the din, Molly heard the doorbell buzzing. She would figure that part out when she could, she knew. The smell of green curry wafted under the closed door of the bathroom, and Molly felt her stomach roll over with sudden hunger. She would deal with her problems one at a time, as she always did. But first, Molly decided, first she was going to get dressed and eat some dinner.

“Molly, come on. We have to do this.” Scott was tugging Molly's hand through the doorway of the Rittenhouse hotel.

“No, we don't,” Molly said. She looked back over her shoulder at the dark evening outside. The valet was speeding away from the curb in Scott's Porsche. “But you know what we can do? A movie. Popcorn. We can go home.”

She pretended to turn around and start back toward the door. “I have the original
Rocky
on DVR. You know you want to.”

Scott smiled down at her and placed a hand on her back to ease her through the expansive entrance of the building. He loved this sort of event, Molly knew. Scott's parents had convinced the pair to have an engagement party, even though Molly had threatened Scott with streaking naked through City Hall if he made her agree to it. No one, not even their parents or Jenny, knew what was hiding under the folds of the A-line dress Molly was wearing tonight, and a huge fete thrown by one of the wealthiest of Philadelphia families was not where either one of them wanted to announce their surprise plus-one.

Molly concentrated on the floral pattern woven into the thick rug of the lobby floor, absorbing the uncertainty spreading through her as she stepped across it. Molly looked up at Scott, who strode beside her with the confidence of a man used to crowds parting for him. His hair had been combed back from his clean-shaven face with precision. The aroma of the expensive cologne his mother had given him for Christmas hung around him like the fog that precedes a frost. As they walked, Molly felt the fingers of his large hand reach around hers. His eyes swept the expansive rooms around them, making sure they were noticed as they entered, calculating the impact he had on those who saw him. When he looked down at her, his green eyes locked on to hers with intensity, and Molly felt her cheeks go warm as a smile broke across her face. She turned away from him and looked ahead once again, waiting for her pulse to slow down.

Berkus parties were always a little uncomfortable at first for Molly, but tonight she felt like a kid standing on the side of a pool before one of her early swim lessons. She knew that she had to jump in—her parents wouldn't let her get out of learning, no matter how much she hated the water—but she knew the water would be icy-cold, and she was terrified of the dangers she couldn't see. So she'd stood on the side of the pool, afraid to surrender her body to the chill, wishing they could've just signed her up for soccer camp instead. Right now Molly felt like she was looking around for a life vest. Someone was going to have to shove her in.