“Um, Scott, can I have a hand here, please?” Molly dropped the bulky packages out of her right hand and slid the handbag off her shoulder. “I’m drowning in plastic and Hershey’s Kisses.”
“Hmm?” Scott hopped up, his eyes still fixed on The Empire Strikes Back. He glanced at Molly, then at the bags at her feet. “Hey, what are you doing with groceries? I ended up getting out of work earlier than I thought and texted you. I could’ve gotten those.”
Scott moved toward the sacks of food piled up by the door, but was so focused on the movie he slowed to watch it. Molly, shivering, tried to scoot out of her heavy wool peacoat. The silver buttons popped from their enclosures as if relieved to be free of her bloated midsection. Her lime-baby took up more room than she would have expected.
“Just leave the bags there for now. Take a load off.” Scott nodded toward the couch, his eyes still on the AT-AT marching across the television screen. “I’ll get them after this is over.”
“No, there’re milk and eggs somewhere in there. I’ll put them in the fridge.” Molly sighed and opened the door to the entryway closet to hang up her coat, smoothing it before tucking it in between Scott’s collection of wool coats and ski parkas. She hadn’t seen Scott’s text until she was in the checkout line, or she would’ve come home. She couldn’t wait to unzip her pants.
She dragged a couple of the plastic bags into the kitchen. Scott followed her, all the remaining grocery bags bunched into one large hand. Chewbacca was still moaning from the living room. Molly was used to the way Scott would get sucked into a film, but today she was more bothered by the clutter she found on the countertop than his endearing obsession with lightsabers. She had to sweep an empty cereal box and beer caps to the recycling bin before she could place the groceries on the counter. The reusable bags she’d set out so she would remember them that morning still lay piled in a neat stack on the island. Scott set the groceries on top of them.
“Have you given any thought to dinner?” Molly asked. “All I want to do is take a shower and collapse on the couch, so tonight’s got to be on you, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m already on it.” Scott was peeking around the corner of the kitchen doorjamb, trying to see what was happening in the living room. His love of science fiction films was part of what drew Molly to him—it was an interest that didn’t fit in with his cool-guy persona, and she felt like she’d been let in on a secret, something special that only she was privy to know.
“Oh, and hey, thanks for that cute note you put in my bag this morning. I needed that.” She was reaching into an upper cabinet and spoke over her shoulder. “Work killed me today. Ever since they doubled up on my accounts I barely have time to grab a sandwich in the afternoon. I swear, when Bill’s not emailing me with questions about this client, he’s calling me to ask about another. And he needs me to stay late for a conference call tomorrow, so it’s a good thing you already made plans with the guys.”
Molly paused in the midst of putting some boxes of Tastykakes on a shelf. There was silence behind her.
“Hello?” she said, turning around. Scott was mouthing along with a conversation Han was having with Luke. She laughed. She should’ve known. “Earth to Scott! I’m trying to have big, important conversations here. Like how I can’t go to happy hour with you.”
“Sorry, babe.” Scott smiled at her and moved toward the living room. “It’s been months since I’ve seen this.”
Molly heard the click of the TV as it shut off, and Scott walked back into the kitchen. He placed an empty beer bottle on the counter and sidled over behind Molly as she reached back into the cabinet above her. His long fingers spread themselves across her hip bones, pulling her waist to him before he wrapped his arms around her in a hug that made it impossible for her to do anything else but let him hold her.
“Hey, did Jenny happen to call?” Molly leaned her head back to rest for a moment on Scott’s shoulder. “She’s supposed to let me know how she likes that new temp job at the bank.”
“No, no word.” Scott kissed the back of Molly’s head, then straightened up to open the refrigerator door, holding it wide while he stared at its contents. “Nothing on the voice mail when I got home, either.” He reached inside, pulled a container of Greek yogurt from the back of a shelf, looked at it, then put it back.
“I’m worried about her,” Molly said. She taped the bag of Kisses closed and shoved them to the back of a pantry shelf. “She loved her job.”
“Molly, you freak out too much.” Scott nudged her shoulder with a loose fist until she allowed a smile. “Don’t be weird. She’ll be fine.”
Molly smirked. “I’m not freaking out. I’m just, you know, mildly concerned.” Scott shot her a look of doubt and yawned.
“Come on. First not being able to have a baby, then getting laid off?” Molly said. “I’m not sure how much more Jenny can handle.”
There was a pause while Scott leaned against the counter, watching Molly organize her bottles of prenatal vitamins. “How was your appointment?”
“It went well.” Molly managed a chuckle. “I’m getting excited. My doctor’s cool, but she’s got this funny sort of hippie vibe going on. I haven’t figured out yet if it’ll be relaxing or the most irritating thing I’ve ever encountered. I can just hear her now when I’m pushing the baby out: ‘Heeey, mannn, I see the heeaaad. Whoooaa. It’s sooo cool.’ She’ll be passing a joint around instead of a cigar.”
“Hey, I’d be down with that.” Scott fished an open box of Oreos out of a grocery bag and shoved one whole into his mouth. His evening stubble had begun to appear, darkening the sharp angles of his jawline. He was still wearing his button-front shirt from work that day, open now at the collar, tucked into his flat-front dress pants. He continued to talk around a mouthful of dark crumbs, not seeming to notice the pieces falling out as he spoke. “Anything to help me tune out all that nasty stuff.”
Molly looked at Scott from the side of her narrowed eyes. “I know you get weirded out, but it’s okay to come to these appointments, you know. Nothing that disgusting happens.” She took a cookie from him. “I got to hear the heartbeat today. It’s so fast it doesn’t seem real. You should go next time.”
“No way, gorgeous, that stuff’s not for me.” Scott grimaced. “I do not need to know what goes on down there.”
“Are you kidding me?” Molly snorted. “What are you going to do when I give birth? Hide in the bathroom? Or just wait out in the hall till you hear the baby cry?”
“I won’t hide in the bathroom, as appealing as the idea sort of sounds.” Scott took a swig of a new beer he’d taken from the fridge. “Especially if your doc really is generous with her ganja.” He opened a drawer in the island and started digging through a stack of take-out menus. “But I’m staying up near your head. I don’t want to see blood and stuff. Other dudes have warned me to steer clear. I’ve heard the stories.”
He looked up to grin at her. “It’s your happy land, Mol!” he said. “Gotta keep it that way. Ignorance is bliss, you know?”
“Well, you have about seven and a half months to change your mind,” Molly said. Her voice was light. “Because if you keep up that attitude, my happy land’s going to be revoking your visa.”
Scott rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
Molly shoved the last of the bags into the recycling bin. “I’ve got to go shower. I feel gross.”
Scott dropped the stack of menus on the countertop and turned to Molly, cocking his head to one side. He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs, one side of his lips pulled up into a suggestive smirk.
“No, you’re not coming with me.” Molly laughed. “I’ve been groped enough today. Besides, you’re in charge of dinner, remember?” She gestured toward the pile of menus Scott had spread out before her.
“Well, what’s baby Berkus in the mood for?”
Molly had been taki
ng off her scarf and sweater as she moved out of the kitchen, but came to a stop. She turned to face Scott.
“Baby Berkus?” She laughed in surprise. Her hands were still clasping her scarf. “Don’t you mean Baby Sullivan-Berkus?”
Scott moved his hand through his hair, and Molly marveled for a brief moment, as she always did, at the way his hair still managed to stay perfect after he did that. Then she noticed that there was a piece of Oreo filling clinging to one of the short hairs on his chin, and she dropped back into reality.
“What?” she asked.
“Baby Sullivan-Berkus? You’re kidding me, right? You want to give our kid a hyphenated name?” Scott took a slow gulp from the bottle in his hand. “When did this happen?”
“I thought we’d agreed.” Molly felt the muscles in her face wrinkle up in confusion. “Back when we first started dating, we talked about it. I even remember the night—you’d taken me ice skating at Penn’s Landing because I’d never been. You liked the thought of two becoming one, and all that. You said you were okay with me keeping my last name if we got married.”
“Yeah, I said I was okay with it,” Scott said, “not overjoyed. But our kids? I didn’t think you’d want to hyphenate their names, too.”
He stopped and took a breath. “Look, I love all of your independent, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar spunk. But let’s get real here.”
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 wor
e 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.
All the Difference Page 5