All the Difference (8 page)

They had reached the grand double doors of the ballroom, and before Scott had a chance to open them, Molly paused outside to pat down her metallic gray dress.

“Okay,” Molly said. “Let's get this over with before I pop a zipper.” She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “Oh,
God, Scott,” she spoke again with a start. “Jenny doesn't know, either. Remember that, okay? Please, just try not to get all chatty with the baby talk once you've had a few beers.”

“What baby talk? And what do you mean, a few beers?” Scott was smiling, one eyebrow raised. “You act like you don't trust me.”

He moved to open the door, but Molly stayed where she was.

“Something's not right, Scott,” Molly said. She was light-headed. “I feel like we shouldn't be doing this.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, movie, couch. Let's just make the rounds, keep my folks happy, and you can be in your pajamas before ten. I promise.”

Molly pressed her lips together.

“It's just . . .”

“Molly.” Scott tucked his finger under her chin, pushing it up just high enough that she had to meet his eyes. The olive green of his irises distracted her, holding her gaze. “We can do this. I'll take care of you. I promise.” Scott dropped his hand from Molly's face, tousling her hair with a quick swipe. Molly scowled at him in mock anger and smoothed the strands over her shoulders. Her uncertainty retreated.

“You are so lucky you look good in a suit,” Molly said. “If I weren't planning on making you my trophy husband I'd have been in my UGGs by now.”

Scott laughed. “At least I'm good for something.”

Molly gasped when she stepped through the doors to the ballroom. Huge, arched windows lined the wall opposite them, facing a courtyard lit with hundreds of tiny white lights that shimmered in
the cold winter air. Inside, large potted ferns were nestled among small, intimate tables covered in white linen and gold candlesticks. Food was everywhere: on buffet tables placed around the room, on the trays of the wait staff circulating with quiet practice among the guests. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sending prisms of soft light dancing along the jeweled watches and polished shoes of Philadelphia society. Scott's parents should have been considered relatively new to this moneyed class, but they worked very hard to make people think they'd belonged here forever.

Scott's mother approached as soon as they entered, her arms held wide as she leaned in to kiss the air beside both of their cheeks. Molly grinned to see her, pleased as always to be welcomed into the well-mannered embrace of Scott's family. Monica was a tall woman shaped liked one of the metal rulers she'd used when she worked as an architect, dressed in clothes crafted with the sharp, tailored angles she once designed into her buildings. She held her usual vodka tonic, garnished with a twist, in one hand. In the other she held a clutch made from a skin Molly could only identify as exotic and reptilian. Molly felt the small twinge of envy, now so familiar to her, poke at her self-confidence. She tucked her own clutch farther back under her arm.

“Darlings, it is so good to see you!” Monica exclaimed. She stepped back to assess Molly's outfit. “Molly, you look divine as usual. Your hair! And where did you find this dress?”

Molly smiled and shrugged. She thought it best not to announce that she had found her dress on eBay and was pretty sure it was a Miu Miu knockoff.

“So!” Monica placed her hand on Molly's elbow, giving it a soft squeeze. “You never did tell us—when's the big day?”

Two women, both wearing flashing jewels at their throats,
were passing behind Monica. They overheard the question and slowed down to listen. Molly glanced up at Scott. He rubbed her back and shrugged, waiting for Molly to fill the silence.

“Um,” she replied. “I was thinking it might be nice to have something small this June, maybe? Something intimate and easy.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw Scott raise an eyebrow and hurried on.

“The backyard of my parents' house would be beautiful during the summer. We could have the wedding there.” She heard the hope in her voice and felt like a child again, pleading.

Molly knew her parents had no extra money to help pay for a grand wedding. She also knew that her own savings needed to be set aside for a down payment on the house and supplies for a new baby. And really, Molly thought, it seemed like a farce to throw a huge party and wear some extravagant gown when she'd be so pregnant she'd have trouble just fitting down the aisle.

Monica, though, looked like she'd swallowed the lime from her drink. Molly saw her friends exchange a quick whisper beside her.

“Nonsense!” Monica threw Scott a sharp glance, and Molly felt his hand drop from her waist. “You're going to be the daughter I never had! You're marrying my only son! I
refuse
to hear this jibber-jabber about a
small
wedding, darling. We'll check into the club. They should still have something open next year in the spring.”

Molly looked down, but didn't say anything. She'd have an infant by then.

“We'll start looking now at Nicole Miller—that's on Broad Street—for your dress. Ooh, and maybe we should plan a girls' trip up to Kleinfeld next month. Does your mother like New York?”

Molly tightened her grip on her purse. She couldn't afford that kind of dress. And she wouldn't be able to fit into one anyway, she
assumed, if the torn waistband on her maternity tights was any indication of how much weight she'd have to lose before then.

Before she could figure out how to respond, Scott spoke up, one hand ruffling the back of his hair.

“Man, Mom, calm down.” He was laughing. “Let us enjoy this party first, okay, before we start planning another. We can talk about it later.”

Monica muttered her protest, but took a sip of her drink and fell quiet. Molly leaned into Scott, grateful, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad to see Scott's father pick that moment to work his way through the gathered crowd.

“Hey, Dad.” Scott stuck out his hand to shake as his father joined them. Edward was a short man with a slight paunch over his belt. He patted the thin strands of gray hair that remained on the sides of his smooth head while he looked around the room, assessing the progress of the party. He took a sip from a glass filled with light beer.

“Did you eat yet?” Edward's North Philly accent pushed the question into two words: “Jeet yet?” Even though he stood right beside Scott's mother, he didn't touch her.

“Sweetheart,” Monica answered him, “they just got here! They still haven't said hello to your partner or the girls from the club.” She waved her hand as if scattering flies and took a sip of her cocktail. “They'll have time for that later.”

Molly felt her shoulders drop and looked longingly at a tray of gourmet deviled eggs as they floated by on the arm of a tuxedoed server. The hunger pangs of pregnancy did not agree with a Monica Berkus party.

“Eh, you heard the little lady, Scott.” Edward jerked his head in the direction of some men, all dressed in black suits that were
each just a variation of Edward's. They were huddled on the other side of the dais, where a small band was playing a whining cover of “Ain't Too Proud To Beg.”

“The Flyers talk was just heating up,” he continued. As usual, he spoke more to his son's tie than to his eyes. “That game yesterday was just embarrassing, wasn't it?”

He led Scott away, and Monica was in turn engulfed by a larger circle of women with similar blond hairstyles, speaking with laughs made smooth by easy years of too much liquor and very little financial struggle. For a moment, Molly found herself alone before the next wave of well-wishers swept her away. She spotted her parents sitting at a table with her cousins, trying to catch her eye between the people who swarmed her. Molly could see that her father had trimmed his beard with care for the occasion. She wished her mother, wearing a familiar cap-sleeved blue dress, had sprung for a new outfit. Molly turned to hug the shoulders of an old coworker. She would have to say hello to her family a bit later.

An hour later, Molly spotted Jenny sitting alone in front of an abandoned plate of picked-over hors d'oeuvres. She dropped into the chair beside her with a heavy sigh and set down a short glass she'd asked the bartender to fill with sparkling water and lime.

“Hey,” Molly said. She reached in front of Jenny to snag the last chocolate-drizzled bacon bite and shoved it into her mouth. “At least we always know the food is good at these things, right?”

Molly nodded toward the band, which was stepping down to take a break. “Even if the music is enough to make you ask for a doggie bag.”

She looked at her friend, whose expression was despondent
enough to make Molly think the band had been worse than she'd thought.

“Jenny, are you okay?” Molly asked. “Has something changed from the last time we talked?”

“What, with the job or the baby?” There were faint circles under Jenny's eyes.

Molly didn't say anything. Jenny's question was her answer, and she knew not to press. Molly leaned forward to hide her stomach. At this rate she'd never be able to tell Jenny her news, but the longer she waited, the more hurt Jenny was going to be.
Not good,
Molly thought. So little of it was good right now.

“I gave your name to some of those headhunters I used to work with,” Molly said.

“You're awesome.” Jenny sighed. “Thank you. This temp gig is so boring I actually organize paper clips to keep myself occupied.”

Molly cleared her throat.

“Well, they mentioned that there aren't many jobs out there right now,” Molly said, “but they're looking.” She watched Jenny's face for a reaction. “Apparently a lot of the companies are going the way of S&G and downsizing.”

Jenny nodded. To Molly it seemed like she was a balloon that someone had left behind at a party, half exhausted of its helium, just drifting along.

Molly took a good look at her friend. She was wearing a ruby-red minidress with a large vintage-looking floral pattern and had paired it with black tights and platform heels that added a solid six inches to her tiny frame. Jenny was prepared for a party as she normally would be, all shimmering eye shadow and curly hair and big gold earrings, but her posture sagged. The vibrant color of her dress only made her seem paler.

“You know what's funny?” Jenny said. “Lack of money aside, this would actually be the perfect time for me to get pregnant.”

Molly sucked in her breath. She felt her face grow hot and glanced across the room at Scott, who was talking with a friend from his prep school days. An empty drink was in his hand.

Jenny didn't notice. “Think about it. No need for maternity leave, no worries about somebody coming along to take my job.”

She paused again. The women sat in their seats at the empty table, watching the party go on in front of them. Molly heard Jenny take a deep breath.

“It's me, Molly.” Her voice was quiet, and when Molly looked at her she saw tears in her friend's eyes. “The doctor said it's me. It's my fault I can't get pregnant.”

“Oh, Jenny, it's not your fault. It's no one's fault.” Molly said the words, but she was starting to feel like she was to blame a little. Because she knew that soon enough, she'd be adding to Jenny's pain, too. She had the vague feeling that she was letting her life start to unravel, but wasn't quite sure how to begin tidying it back up. This was a first for her, and Molly thought that it had better be the last. “You guys will get there. It'll work out. It always does.”

“I hope you're right, Mol,” Jenny said. “Thank goodness for you and Dan, though. They say you marry your father, but I'm so glad I escaped
that
particular two-timing impulse. I swear, if I didn't have him, and if the Delaware River weren't so polluted, I probably would've jumped off the Ben Franklin Bridge by now.” She looked sidelong at Molly, waiting for her laugh.