The restaurant had gotten very noisy. Molly fingered the edge of her menu, which was still lying open in front of her, and waited for her mother to respond. Her throat was dry, and she could taste the vague burn of bile climbing from her empty stomach. She needed her mother to see that she was going to be able to do this. She had to convince her parents, and then maybe she’d be able to convince herself.
“Okay. Okay.” Emily tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. He’s a rat bastard and your dad is right. I get it.”
Molly had to smile at her mother’s vocabulary. She rarely heard her mother swear.
“He’s not a rat bastard,” she said. She was surprised to hear herself defending him. “I think he’s just immature. And probably a little spoiled.”
Mother and daughter were silent for a moment before Emily spoke.
“Molly, you have your reasons for doing what you do,” she said, “and as long as you’re following your gut, that’s no other way to go. But there’s a baby now, and that baby needs more stability than a single mother might be able to offer.
“We’ll just have to figure something out,” she continued. “What we lack in finances we have in smarts, right?”
Molly, alert and still, watched her mother like a rabbit who’d just been spotted by a dog. Emily leaned forward to look her daughter square in the eyes. Molly didn’t like what she saw.
“I have an idea.”
“What do you mean?” Molly felt a knot of fear form in her stomach. The ache there was more than hunger now, more than what another cheeseburger, even with fries, could shove out of the way.
“Well, your father and I had a good talk, and because of the circumstances”—Emily took a deep breath—“we’d like you to move back home.”
Molly’s mouth fell open. What she wouldn’t give for that glass of wine right now, Molly thought. Or the whole bottle.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You want me to do what?”
“Your father and I don’t want you doing this on your own. We want you to move back home. Like I said, it’s just not right for a young person like yourself—”
“Mom, I’m thirty years old. Women are becoming single mothers every day, often by choice. I’m hardly an anomaly.”
“I said nothing about you being a woman, Molly. Relax. I’m talking about you—a person, a parent—raising a baby in the world alone when she doesn’t have to.”
Molly began to protest again, but Emily cut her off. “Have you thought about child care yet?”
“Yeah, a little,” Molly conceded. When she’d discovered how expensive day care was in the city she’d gotten disheartened and taken a break from her research.
“So you probably know that it will cost you so much money that you’d practically need a part-time job to pay for the day care for the full-time job.”
Molly couldn’t disagree.
“So, we’ve decided. Since I’m retired now and your father’s home practically all the time anyway, we want to help out, and this is a way we can do so. Your brothers have been out of the house for years, so you move back home, and the baby can have either Patrick’s or Johnny’s old room. The train’s just a fifteen-minute drive from the house. Yes, your commute will take a little longer—” she said.
Molly interrupted. “An hour longer.”
“But you’d have child care you could trust, and you certainly can’t beat the price.”
Molly closed her mouth. Emily sat back in her chair and placed her hands in her lap, somehow looking both resigned and triumphant. She was not fiddling with her napkin now.
Molly sat still in her seat, shock making her immobile. She hadn’t even considered moving out of her house. When she’d briefly considered her parents as full-time babysitters, she balked because of the long drive they’d have to make to and from the city. Her mom, who’d never played an organized sport in her life, had just thrown her a serious curveball.
The waiter approached, pad in hand. “Hello, ladies. I hope I’ve given you enough time to settle in. Are you ready to make your selections?”
Emily immediately placed her order for the soupe à l’oignon, her perfect pronunciation catching Molly off guard, and a Niçoise salad. She handed the server her menu with a decisive thrust of her arm. Molly frantically scanned the list of entrees, feeling the mounting pressure as both her mother and their server turned their gazes to her, waiting. She hadn’t had a moment to look over the menu. She was famished, and confused, and she had no idea what she was going to choose.
CHAPTER FIVE
April
Yes
Molly rushed into the kitchen, her low heels clattering against the stone-colored tile floor. The sound echoed off the stainless steel surfaces of her appliances and bounced around the modest room. Scott was already there, still in his pajamas, making a cappuccino from the gourmet espresso machine Molly had bought after her first promotion at Shulzster & Grace. She’d been on a team assigned to help get the mayor out of his latest scandal—illicit drug use instead of an extramarital affair this time—and her quick thinking to publicize some old photos of the mayor in his tie, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, playing street basketball with some children from an inner city boys’ school, catapulted her to the front of the table at the next meeting, and most meetings after that. Molly swiped a Pop-Tart off of Scott’s plate on the counter and held it up to him by way of thanks.
“Okay, then,” she said. Her words tumbled out in a rush. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She planted a kiss on Scott’s sandpaper-rough cheek and swept her keys off the kitchen island. He was leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, with his head bent over his smartphone. The trash can on the floor beside him was full, but he hadn’t seemed to notice it. Molly took a hurried glance at the clock on the microwave and groaned. The sound was loud enough to make Scott look up from his phone.
“Look at the time!” she said. “I can’t keep rolling into work this late. One day they’re going to get fed up and make me roll right back out.”
Scott pretended to pout in his fiancée’s direction before turning back to his hot drink and Sixers scores. Molly brushed her fingers through her hair, using the microwave door as a mirror to loosen the curls she’d just styled around her shoulders. In the reflection she could see Scott straighten at the sight of Molly’s hair falling to rest against her back. She heard the clatter of his phone on the countertop right before she felt his hands massaging her shoulders.
“Scott, I gotta go, hon,” she said with a laugh, and wriggled out from his grasp. Scott sniffed in protest, adjusted the crotch of his pajama bottoms, and returned to his phone and Pop-Tart.
“Don’t forget your tea,” he said, and nodded at the insulated travel mug on the counter. “I also packed you one of those chocolate muffins you like. Well, two, actually.” He smiled. “One for now, and one for five minutes from now.”
Molly blew him a kiss of thanks, tucked the breakfast into her bag, and hurried through her empty dining room toward the front door. This weekday morning was no different from any other. It was just the numbers on the clock that kept changing as she left later and later for work each day.
“Hey, Mol, wait a sec.” Molly turned back from the door to see Scott walking toward her, his mouth full, his feet tracking crumbs on the wide planks of the dark wood floor. Stifling a whimper of frustration, Molly waited for Scott to clear his throat. She realized the knuckles of her free hand were tapping against her thigh, the fingers balled into a fist around her phone.
“Can you mail some bills for me on your way to work?” Scott asked. “You walk right past the post office anyway.”
Molly felt the morning slipping away from her like water through the loose knot of her fingers.
“Yeah, but here, give them to me quick,” she said. “Please. I really have to run.”
Scott
placed his mug on the side table and leaned over a stack of paperwork to rifle through the papers. Molly saw an empty coaster sitting there, and winced.
“Scott, the coaster. Please.” The blinds on the tall front windows were still pulled shut, and Molly watched Scott hunch close to the envelopes in the dark, his body bent at a lazy angle. The gray cotton of his pants sagged down below the back of his designer boxer briefs.
“Hold on, hold on, they’re here somewhere. Hang on a second.”
He straightened and looked around the room. “That’s weird. I thought I put them here. Maybe I left them upstairs.” Scott was walking toward the staircase before Molly spoke. Her bag was still on her shoulder, and she started to open the door. She glanced at her phone. Ten emails had rolled in already.
“Scott, I’m sorry. I can’t wait. I wasn’t kidding when I said my bosses are getting ticked. And I certainly don’t want to give them any more excuses to start laying people off.” She laughed, but her voice shook. “I own way too many wrap dresses to not have a job to wear them to.”
“All right, all right.” Scott strolled over to Molly and ran his finger down her flushed cheek. “Though you know it’d be fine by me if you wore nothing but sweatpants and T-shirts all day.”
“Yeah, right.” Molly laughed. “I’d look really good walking down JFK Boulevard to a client dinner in that.”
“No, not at work,” Scott said. He dropped his hand and slouched against the rails of the staircase. “I mean here. If you quit your job once the baby came and stayed here full-time.”
“Huh?” Molly looked up at Scott and cocked her head. For a tiny moment, she forgot she was in a hurry.
“What?” Scott looked surprised. “You don’t need to work. I make enough money to buy this house, to support us.”
“Isn’t it more your parents’ money, really?”
Scott’s expression told Molly she’d gone too far.
“Okay,” Molly said. The hand with the phone dropped down to her side. “But you haven’t bought the house. We’re going to buy it together, you and me, both names on the mortgage. And right now it’s my lease. And I like working to pay for it.”
She pointed to his coffee mug. “How do you like that espresso machine I bought? That cappuccino tastes pretty good, right?”
Scott, with a sheepish smile, took an exaggerated gulp from the mug. When he pulled it away from his mouth, Molly noticed that he had a thin foam mustache from the drink. He didn’t wipe it from his top lip, and she felt her stomach turn at the sight of the brown foam clinging to the dark stubble under his nose. She felt the minutes ticking by, every one of them making her later to work, but stayed rooted in her spot on the wood foyer. Her phone buzzed with a new email notification. One problem at a time, she thought.
“Your mom stayed home when you and your brothers were young,” Scott was saying. “What’s so crazy about me wanting that for my kid?”
“Because you know I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.” Molly’s quiet voice hid the fear knocking around in her heart. “I worked way too hard and for way too long to get to where I am. I can’t bail out now,” she said. “This is my career, Scott, not just temp work.”
“It’s just a job.” Scott shrugged. “And I think you should consider quitting it.”
He approached her, standing so close that she could smell the bitter coffee on his breath. He took her arm in a loose grasp and kissed her cheek.
“I only want what’s best for us, Mol,” Scott said. He moved his hand to her belly. “What’s best for all of us.”
Molly dropped her bag to the floor and put her hands on either side of Scott’s waist, pulling him closer to her. Her mind raced as quickly as the second hand on her watch. Scott hadn’t really wanted this baby, she knew that, so hearing him talk about the three of them as a family gave her a little more hope.
“But what if I had a better idea?” Her voice was muffled by the rumpled cotton of his shirt. “What if there was a way for me to keep working, but for us to still have a parent at home full-time. If it’s that important to you?”
“And what’s that? You suddenly learned how to clone yourself?” Scott stepped out of Molly’s reach. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his posture defensive.
“Don’t be silly,” Molly said. “Look, we can manage our bills on my income if we’re careful, and we’re going to be on my health insurance anyway once we get married, right?”
Scott didn’t respond, and Molly watched his eyes narrow while he waited for her to continue. Molly stifled the urge to hurry and get her thoughts out in the open. She was very aware of her awkward stance by the door, of the constricting clothes that wrapped around her growing thighs and breasts like bandages. She took a deep breath.
“Why don’t you consider staying home with the baby? We’d have to give up some of the fun stuff, but we could make it work. I would be able to keep my job, and you could still get what you want.”
Scott stretched his neck. He wasn’t looking at her. Molly didn’t want to scrimp and budget and worry if the next paycheck would come in time to buy diapers. That had been her childhood. She didn’t want it to be her baby’s, too. But she kept talking, rushing the words. It seemed like all she was doing lately was hurrying to fill up the empty spaces, smooth over the rough patches, cover up the imperfections. She was getting so tired of always scurrying along, tidying up as she went.
“You’ve said before you just work to pay the bills anyway,” she said now. “So why not just focus on the baby?” Molly said the words even though she had never really thought about Scott as a hands-on dad. And even as she spoke, she knew he never had, either.
Scott set the coffee cup down again, this time with a sharp clack on the polished table. Molly’s nerves jumped at the sound. Scott seemed to pull himself up to a height taller than his usual stature.
“Molly, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m never going to be a stay-at-home dad.” He chewed the words like they were bites of rotten food.
“Why not? You said it was important to you.”
“It’s important for you to stay home, not me.”
Molly backed away from him, just a little. “But why?”
She clutched her work bag to her body and stared at Scott’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed together, causing a deep vertical crease in his forehead. There was very little breathing room between them. Molly threw her shoulders back and felt herself stick out her chin, up and out the way she used to do when she was a little girl, defying her parents. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage. She was so late.
“Why would you assume I’d be the one to stay at home? Why not you?”
“Because I’m the man, that’s why,” Scott said. His voice held the same whining pitch as a little boy’s. “And men aren’t housewives.”
“Scott, you sound ridiculous.”
He reached behind her to open the door and braced it wide with one hand. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
Molly was out on the stoop now, and turned her body in the doorway so that she faced her fiancé squarely, as if seeing all of him directly would help her understand his thinking. He was still standing inside the house, his body filling out the door frame. One hand still held the door open.
“I’m a dude, Molly,” Scott said. “And where I come from, dudes don’t stay home to wipe noses and butts. And I’m certainly not going to quit my job. It’s not the way it works.”
He jerked his head up in a sort of half-nod. “How many stay-at-home dads do you know?”
Molly couldn’t think of one.
Scott shook his head and reached for his discarded coffee cup with his free hand. “That’s what I thought.”
Molly adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder. “Of course I don’t know any stay-at-home dads, Scott, because I don’t know that many people my age who are even parents.
But those dads are all over the Internet. I see them in the park with their kids. There’s even a TV show about a full-time dad. For Pete’s sake, Scott, we watched it together!”
“Molly, I am who I am. You’re gonna have to deal with that.” Scott leaned down to pick up the newspaper from where he’d thrown it on the floor earlier that morning. It was still in its plastic bag, and it gave off a faint musty odor. “But if you want to talk some more about the stay-at-home mom thing . . .”
“Scott, no,” Molly said. “Just . . . no.”
Scott stared at her, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Molly was shivering, and she saw the muscles in Scott’s face soften when he noticed.
“Molly, I said it already. I only want what’s best for our family,” he said. “Just think about it. I think you’d be great.”
Scott left the open doorway. Molly reached for the doorknob as he sauntered back through the house, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
“Oh, and hey,” she heard him say from the shadows of the living room. When she peered in, she saw he was already splayed out on the sofa in his rumpled pajamas, turning on SportsCenter. One arm was thrown over the back of the cushions, and an ankle crossed the other leg at the knee. “Don’t forget we have my mom’s charity gala tonight, so don’t be late coming home, okay?” He spoke to the television. “She said she’s sending over a dress for you. It’ll be here when you get back.”
Molly shut the door behind her with a thud and stomped down the stairs of her row home. She typed out a quick text to her boss as she walked, saying that she’d run into a roadblock on the way to work and would be there soon. She moved with a pace close to running, fighting against the tears pressing against the backs of her eyes.
The buzz of their argument filled her head as she walked. She moved toward Center City, keeping the spires of the soaring Liberty Towers in her sights, as if getting distance from her home could make reality evaporate like the steam rolling out of the vents from the train stations beneath her feet. The sidewalks in her neighborhood were nearly empty of people at this hour, except for the stray college student with an unshaven chin and backpack slung over his shoulders trudging to meet the trolley to University City or Drexel. Molly thought of Scott, who was probably still watching ESPN or playing a computer game at that moment, wasting time until his afternoon appointment. He never hurried. It wasn’t in Scott’s nature to fill up his time with enough activity to make him late. He was a Ping-Pong ball, rolling through life, headed in whatever direction he was told to go.
All the Difference Page 9