All the Difference (2 page)

A short while later, the doorbell was buzzing like a wasp caught in her door frame. Molly patted some gloss onto her lips and ran down the stairs, the polished hardwood slippery against her bare feet. At the bottom, she paused for a moment to let her nerves settle themselves, then opened the door to greet her boyfriend.

“Hiya, sweetheart.” Molly reached up to plant a kiss on Scott's lips and glanced at the wrought-iron clock that hung over the fireplace mantel. “Nice of you to appear.”

“Oh, hey, I'm not that late, am I?” Scott's gaze traveled the length of Molly's body and he wiggled his eyebrows in a hopeful leer. “Though if I'd known you were going to look this good, I wouldn't have stuck around my parents' house for so long.” Scott placed his hands low on Molly's hips, guiding her back into the living room, and leaned down to nuzzle his nose against her neck. She had to tell him, she knew.

“How did I get so lucky to land you?” He mumbled the words against her skin. “You even
smell
good.” Molly felt the muscles in her neck constrict, and slipped out of his arms.

“It's the same perfume as always,” she said, keeping her voice bright. “You know me.”

“That's what I love.” Scott tucked his finger under Molly's chin and held her gaze for a moment. “I always know what I'm getting with you.”

No, she thought, she didn't have to tell him yet. Not yet.

Scott rummaged for something in the pocket of his sport coat. “Oh, and hey, my mom wanted me to bring this to you. Said she forgot to give it to you at Christmas.” Scott pulled out a small gift and presented it to Molly on an open palm. She recognized the trademark robin's-egg blue of the box, though she'd never seen it outside of a magazine ad before.

“But why would she do that?” Molly, her forehead furrowed, glanced up at Scott before untying the white bow. “She already gave me so much.”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and slouched against the wall. “You know my mom. She tends to overdo it a bit. Compensation
for my forgotten childhood and all.” He used a finger to dangle the silver heart locket in front of Molly. “Besides, you know she adores you. I think she sees you as her prodigy, Miss Executive.”

Molly opened the locket to find pictures of her and Scott already cut and placed inside. She swallowed hard. The glossy necklace was more ostentatious than her usual style, but she knew she'd wear it. Monica would expect to see it on her the next time they got together. Molly laid the necklace back in its iconic container. The bauble must have cost more than Molly's monthly rent. She wondered how many gifts were going to be lavished on her once Monica found out she was getting a grandchild.

Scott brushed past Molly into the room and turned to face her. “Yo, how do I look?” Scott threw his shoulders back and placed his hands on his hips in a male-model pose to give her a good view. “Pretty hot, right? You going to be proud to have me as your date?” He watched Molly look him over, his smile faltering as he waited for her approval.

“Tonight is a big night, after all, Molly.” He paused. “For you, I mean, what with all the champagne and fireworks and that stuff you women seem to like so much. I'm just hoping to make some fireworks of our own later,” he said, lowering his voice, “if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, God.” Molly groaned and clutched her stomach with a hand before she could stop herself.

“What?” Scott's dark eyes were wide behind his thick lashes. “What's wrong? You need some water?” He pronounced it “wooter,” as only a born-and-bred Philadelphian would do. He looked uncomfortable.

“No, I'm fine. Just forgot to eat dinner, that's all.”

Scott laughed. “You? Forgot to eat?”

“Weird, I know,” Molly said. “I was cleaning.” She and Scott looked at each other for a moment before Molly cleared her throat. The words she needed to say seemed to be lodged in her windpipe.

“Let me just grab my lip gloss and my pocketbook, and I'm set to go,” Molly said. She started for the stairs. “Can you turn off my iPod? I don't want the battery to run down while we're out.”

“Gladly,” Scott shouted from the kitchen. “What were you listening to this time, anyway? Your folksy stuff or your emo music?”

“Not sure you could quite call Liz Phair either,” Molly called back. “In fact, she'd probably keel over in front of her NOW poster just to hear you say that.” She was tidying the hair products in her bathroom cabinet and couldn't hear Scott's response. “The woman's an indie icon,” she continued. “Have you never heard
Exile in Guyville
? She did a song-by-song response to the Stones'
Exile on Main Street
. You should really give it a listen sometime.”

“I'm good,” she heard him mumble in the silence that followed as the speakers over the fireplace downstairs went quiet. Scott called up again, his voice louder this time as he stood near the front entrance. “Unless you've got some Poison on that iPod, I'll be in the car. And don't be late!”

Molly stared in disbelief in the direction of the stairs. No one ever needed to remind her to be on time.

“Me, late?” she yelled.

“Mol, I'm kidding! But I don't want Jenny getting all salty with me again. Besides,” Scott's voice turned singsongy, “tonight's a big niii-iiight. It's New Year's Eve, baby! Let's get this show on the road already!”

Molly heard the hard click of the front door when it shut behind a whistling Scott as she slipped into a pair of metallic red stilettos. She'd chosen to wear them because she knew they played off of the deep charcoal silk tank she'd paired with a black leather skirt, but now it seemed like a ridiculous ensemble for an expectant mother to wear. Molly glanced in the mirror just in time to see herself turn pale. She forced herself to keep looking. She'd gotten her collarbone-length brunette hair treated with the subtlest of red highlights at a salon off of Rittenhouse Square that week, ignoring the absurd fact that she was paying three hundred and twenty-five dollars just to emphasize the deep green of her eyes. Silver chandelier earrings peeking through the curtain of hair and a cascading chain necklace added sparkle that reflected off her skin. She brushed a wisp of her long bangs off of her forehead. No one else had to know, she thought. At least, not yet. Not before she'd had a chance to understand what she had to share.

Molly prided herself on her stability—the way she was able to maintain her job, and friendships, and family connections with an ease that rarely left her floundering. Her relationship with Scott was the only facet of Molly's life that she couldn't keep consistent, and the positive pregnancy tests in her trash can weren't going to make it any easier. They'd have a few good months as a couple, then separate for a while before falling back in together with the same intensity as before. It was the same pattern each time. It reminded Molly of Velcro—they kept getting tangled together despite themselves, snagging all sorts of detritus along the way. Every time she tried to remove herself from Scott, every time there was a problem that didn't seem like it could be fixed, another hook appeared, bringing her back,
until Molly finally decided to just let herself stay attached. After all, her persistence was the trait that had gotten her so far ahead in her PR career. She assumed it had to eventually work in her personal life as well.

The sound of a Porsche's horn echoed from the street outside, and Molly hurried down the stairs. She snatched her coat from one of the hangers that were evenly spaced along the bar in her front closet and pulled it on. The car horn beeped again. Flipping the switch on the tabletop lamp beside her, Molly glanced around her first floor once to ensure every object was in its proper place. She stepped out into the dark to meet Scott, shutting the door on the warm light behind her.

Scott found a parking spot in Old City in record time, despite the early party crowds clogging the narrow streets on their way down to Penn's Landing. The crisp air draped itself over the squat rooflines of the old row houses, a thin blanket of cold weaving itself among the ivy and leafless plants tucked into the flower boxes that adorned the windows of each tiny home. Molly stepped with care along the brick sidewalks, clutching Scott's arm for support as they made their way across the cobblestones to the front of Jenny and Dan's apartment. In a stretch of Philadelphia night sky that broke through the web of treetops and dormer windows above them, she could see a misty halo hanging around the moon, foreshadowing a rainy day to follow. Molly squinted in disappointment, dismayed by the prospect of being trapped inside on the first day of the New Year, until she spotted a few stars that had managed to peek through the clouds. With a sigh of approval, Molly let go of Scott's arm to step to the top of the stoop.

“Molly!” Jenny Waters-Kim threw open the door. Her voice was loud, brassy, and always seemed to carry a hint of a laugh rumbling below her singsong alto tones. “You're here!”

Molly's best friend threw her arms around her neck. “Oh my gosh, I was afraid you were going to bail on me. Every single year, I'm like, uh-oh, she's not gonna come! I know she's gonna get all crazy-sweatpants-cleaning-lady and want to stay home, but by golly, you never fail me!” Jenny gave her another squeeze. “And
that's
why I call you my bff, you bff!”

She leaned to the side of her embrace to look Molly in the face. “Oh, sorry. Am I choking you?” Jenny extracted her arms from around her friend's neck. She was wearing a shimmering black tunic over black leggings and had piled her arms with rows of silver bangles that jingled and caught the light every time she moved her hands. They clanged together again as she turned to Molly's boyfriend.

“Hey, Scott.”

“Hey, Jenny,” he replied, the corner of his mouth drawing up into a slow smirk that was as sexy as it was sarcastic. “I'm liking this vibe you've got going tonight,” he said. He moved his eyes down the length of her outfit, nodding in approval. “The look is like carnival gypsy meets hipster princess. You should put on a show.”

Jenny gave Molly a sidelong glance before rolling her eyes at Scott. “Yeah, Scott, I'll do that. Like Audrey Hepburn in that dance from
Funny Face
, only with vodka. I've got it all planned out.”

The suave facade dropped away from Scott's face as he tried to understand the reference. He had a knowledge of films that rivaled any information Wikipedia had to offer, but not of the kinds of movies that involved beatniks and berets. Jenny laughed
and reached for Molly's sleeve. “I can take your coats if you want. Dan's mixing drinks in the kitchen.”

Daniel Kim had been Jenny's high school sweetheart. As they told it, they'd been seated beside each other on the first day of Ms. Thompson's geometry class at Archbishop Ryan High School and hadn't been apart since. They'd both gone on to play soccer for St. Joe's and had spent much of their time in college in a friendly competition to see who could get the better grades. They'd both ended up graduating summa cum laude, with Jenny's GPA just one tenth of a percentage point better than Dan's. They'd stopped competing after that.

“Hey, do I see Jägermeister?” Scott exclaimed, and returned Dan's wave. “I haven't had that stuff since college. That's the shit right there!” He planted a quick kiss on the top of Molly's head, one foot already leading the way through the small crowd to the kitchen. Molly acknowledged Jenny's incredulous look with a playful shrug.

“What are you gonna do?” She laughed.

She spotted a small bowl of chocolates on the table by the door and moved closer to them, her unsettled stomach rumbling. She could hear Corrinne Bailey Rae playing from the stereo in the corner and breathed in the aroma of a vanilla-and-balsam-scented candle. Her friends had painted the apartment in soft, neutral taupes and greens, with lots of bamboo and the occasional canvas of framed Korean art Dan's grandmother had given them. Their light-colored furniture was sleek but comfortable, accented with large floor pillows perfect for lying around with a glass of wine and good conversation. Jenny joked that they were single-handedly supporting IKEA's mid-Atlantic profit margin, but Molly felt so welcome there she sometimes didn't want to leave.