“I understand,” Jenny said. “You don’t want to have to start turning tricks on Columbus Boulevard just to make rent.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the Children and Youth Division would be too happy with me carrying a diaper bag stuffed with G-strings.”
Jenny chuckled. “Would your parents watch the baby full-time, then?”
“Yup. You know my mom is having a hard time slowing down after her retirement. And Pop’s cut back on his hours so much at the hardware store that he basically just shows up once a week to make an appearance. They’d be thrilled, you know, if I did it. And you can’t beat the price.”
“It’s just . . .” Jenny started to say.
“. . . they’re getting older, and it might be hard for them to manage once this baby’s running around,” Molly finished Jenny’s sentence. “And I’d be living at home. In my old bedroom, in that twin bed with the lumpy mattress, surrounded by my Patti Smith and Alanis Morissette posters—only this time there’d be a bassinet in there, too. And you know how it is when you’re with your parents for a while. It’s like you go from a self-assured independent woman to that bratty teenage girl with braces within two minutes of entering the house.”
Molly blew out a long breath. She could hear Jenny close a door, and the sound of a stereo got quieter.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Jenny said. “Molly, how did we end up here? Last time I checked, we were complaining about boot-cut jeans and figuring out where to go on Friday night.” She laughed, and the sound echoed like Jenny’s old, deep laugh, not the forced chuckle Molly had been hearing from her lately. “And now I’m stuck in skinny jeans, systematically dismantling my own life, and you’re about to pop out a kid and you don’t even know where to put the crib.”
“Pretty much,” Molly said. “But wait a minute: you’re laughing. This isn’t about my homeless baby. You’re talking things through with Dan, aren’t you?!”
Molly heard the cheer in her own voice travel through the air. She didn’t realize how much she needed something to start working out until she heard the lilt in Jenny’s tone. And there was nothing like good news in a friend’s life to make the sun shine a little bit brighter in your own. Especially if that friend was Jenny.
“Yes, Miss Marriage Counselor, Dan and I are talking.”
“And?” Molly pressed.
“And that’s it. Right now, anyway,” Jenny said. “I’m trying very hard to separate our—my—issues from my parents’, okay? But theirs was the most dysfunctional marriage to exist outside of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’, and it got into my head. I still can’t totally trust him. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows yet, but I’m trying.”
“Oh, Jenny.” Molly tried to keep her voice level. She saw the moon go behind a cloud and grimaced.
“Hey, lady, I told you I’m a royal mess right now. You ever see a bag of salad mix that’s been left in the fridge for too long? The leaves just melt into a jumbled mess of brown rot, right?”
Molly nodded, because she had seen it happen in someone else’s house once.
“That’s what my head feels like.”
“But why?” Molly asked.
The phone was quiet for a moment. “Because I think you’re not the only one who needs things to be just so.”
Molly felt her eyes grow wide.
“Look,” Jenny said. “Dan and I have been together since high school. Everything just fell into place for us: college, and our wedding, and getting our jobs. It was all so easy. I felt like we were just . . . fated to be together.”
“Okay,” Molly said. “And now you’re not?” She felt confused. Jenny and Dan’s relationship had been easy, which is why everyone they knew admitted jealousy of them at one time or another.
“When I couldn’t get pregnant, I felt like one of the walls of our little world sort of crumbled. And then when I lost my job, another one came down. It feels like if one thing isn’t right, none of it can be good,” Jenny said. Her voice was bright. “Let’s just say that instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop, I was proactive and dragged it down myself.”
Molly patted her hand over her hair, thinking.
“It’ll be fine,” Jenny said. “Or not, I don’t know. But at the very least it gave me the chance to watch so much of the Game Show Network I can now list every single French king that lived in the seventeen hundreds.”
Molly smiled, and Jenny let loose with her old laugh again.
“But back to you. You’re the one with the baby.”
“Yeah, no getting around it, huh? Well, I still have a few more months of living the high life before I really have to decide—”
“Ha!” Jenny exclaimed. “That’s you, Molly Sullivan. So laid-back, so casual. Easy, breezy . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. But I need some more time to figure out what I should do.” Molly took a deep breath, looking over the traffic slowly making its way out of the city.
“All right, enough of this lighthearted chitchat,” she said, and stood up from her chair. “I have about fifteen minutes to stuff a sandwich in my face and get pretty for this Stevens event tonight.”
“Whoa, that’s a big one, too,” Jenny said. “Okay, then. I’ll talk to you. And hey, it’ll work out, you know. Your decision about moving home, I mean. And of course I’d visit you in West Chester, especially if the baby gets your personality.”
There was a brief pause.
“Well, only if the baby has your personality,” Jenny said. “Because seriously, if it ends up with Scott’s, you’re on your own out there.”
“You’re funny, Jenny.”
“Hey, looks aren’t everything. Honestly, though, Mol,” Jenny said, “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
“Prayers?” Molly leaned her head back to stare at the phone. “When did you start talking about praying? I don’t think you’ve been to church since your wedding.”
“I need all the help I can get, Mol,” Jenny said. “I’m not doing such a good job of this on my own.”
Molly bit her lip as she hung up the phone. The windows in most of the buildings across the alley from hers were dark now, and Molly heard the vacuums of the cleaning crew outside her office door. She watched the moon emerge from behind the cloud, bright and shining over the city below. The sky had turned into a painting of pastel brushstrokes, streaks of purple and pink flung across the horizon. The sun sank lower behind the skyline, and Molly wished it’d stay put just a moment longer. She didn’t want dusk to fall, didn’t want the moon to pass behind the clouds. She didn’t like nighttime, or the darkness that came with it. At least in the light you can see what’s coming next.
Thirty minutes later, Molly walked onto the deck of the Moshulu and surveyed the people milling around the hors d’oeuvres stations. The restaurant was a massive, four-mast sailing ship built in the eighteenth century. It had been converted into one of the most recognizable special occasion restaurants in the city, but Molly had been second-guessing her usually trusty instincts since she’d booked it. The Moshulu was anchored on the river next to Columbus Boulevard, a busy thoroughfare lined with strobe-lit clubs and open-air bars that pulsated at night with cover bands and loud drunks. Her taxi driver had had to dodge the partiers making their ways to bad decisions and sure hangovers on their way to Penn’s Landing on this warm Thursday night, and Molly worried now that the venue she’d chosen might be too cliché, too expected for a PR event.
Thankfully though, one glance at the conservative crowd moving among linen-draped cocktail tables in their best tweed and Hermès scarves told her that her intuition had been spot-on once again. She felt the muscles in her neck loosen, drew her mouth into a serene smile, and stepped into the crowd.
Molly was wearing one of the maternity wrap dresses she kept in small rotation in her closet. This was one she’d found at an incredible discount online, and it was h
er favorite: black with a print of huge red poppies splashed all over it. It had a deep neckline, so she wore a camisole underneath to keep her embarrassing amount of new cleavage contained. Molly tugged at the inadequate piece of fabric. The long day had caught up with her, and as she moved through the crowd, greeting individuals she knew, Molly felt waterlogged—swollen and shifting, like someone had forced a swimming ring around her torso and refused to remove it. Molly got on line at the bar and chuckled to herself. If the floating Moshulu happened to sink into the Delaware River that night, at least the partygoers could use her as a life preserver.
Molly glanced around until she saw her client standing in the center of the room, talking to the president of the chamber of commerce. When the two men parted ways, she walked over to him, a glass of sparkling water in her left hand and a red leather clutch purse under her arm. Despite her physical discomfort, Molly felt confident. She’d managed every last detail of this event, down to the silverware in the guests’ hands, and knew it had all come together to create a positive impact. By now, events like this were cake to Molly. And she definitely liked cake, she thought, eyeing a row of chocolate tarts lined up on a buffet table. It was no wonder she was about to burst out of her dress.
“Hi, Mark,” Molly said now, and shook her client’s hand. Mark Stevens, the company’s vice president of marketing, smiled at her with his small, beady black eyes and gripped her swollen fingers in both of his hairy hands. Molly looked down at the brown tassels of Stevens’ shining brown loafers and tried to pull in a deep breath of the ship’s humid air, concentrating on getting through this evening. She told herself that in just a few hours she’d be alone, in the peace of her own home, in the quiet, dim light of her comfortable living room. There would be no small talk, nor aching feet, nor chattering, loud business owners making too much noise. Little did Molly know that this party would be the highlight of her night.
“So, what do you think of this crowd, Molly, huh?” Stevens gestured to the people filling the narrow space. Molly focused again on her client and looked around. Soft light bounced off the shine of the darkly paneled walls. The room reverberated with the mixture of low murmurs and sudden laughter of their guests’ small talk. “Not too bad, right?”
Molly smiled and nodded once at her client. Of course it wasn’t too bad, she thought. She’d scripted the entire evening. “No, not too bad at all, Mark. I think the homework we did before sending out the press releases really helped with the turnout.”
“Ah. And that’s why I hired you, Molly. Because you know exactly what I want.” He winked at her, and she glanced away from his gaze as a middle-aged woman approached. She took her time walking toward them, swaying on her high heels, and flashed a dazed smile as she took Stevens’ free arm. “Molly Sullivan, I’d like you to meet my wife, Susan,” Stevens said. “Susan, meet Molly, the savviest PR specialist in town.”
Susan Stevens looked like she was one gin and tonic away from falling asleep on her feet. Molly had to force herself to lower her gaze so she wouldn’t giggle, and she noticed Susan’s nylon-covered legs. Molly had been the one who helped Maidenform put stockings back in the dresser drawers of trend-conscious women with her “Pantyhose, Like a Princess” campaign. It’d been huge. She felt her confidence grow now that she knew Stevens was likely aware of the project.
Susan grinned at Molly now before lurching forward to shake her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Molly.” Molly noticed that Susan’s consonants were slurring together. “I’ve heard so much about, uh, you.” Susan swallowed hard as a small burp extended the skin around her closed lips. Molly tried very hard to keep a straight face.
“Well, I’m in the mood to celebrate,” Stevens proclaimed, thumping his hands against his jacket lapels. “Susan, I can see you’re in need of another drink. Can I get you a little something stronger than that water, Molly?”
Molly glanced at her glass and shook her head. “Oh, no, thank you. Water’s fine for me.”
She saw Susan’s eyes catch sight of her waistline and narrow. Molly felt a flash of heat cross her face and stifled the groan itching to climb out of her throat. Here we go, she thought.
“Mark, I think someone might be expecting!” Susan cried, winking at Molly. Molly could feel a sweat break out around her hairline, the heat now rising up the back of her neck. Stevens was one of her biggest contracts, and she needed to keep this conversation professional. Molly tried to smile, but couldn’t help ducking her head under the couple’s intense gaze.
Stevens’ eyes traveled over Molly’s body, taking in her torso under the tied belt of the dress. He clapped his hand on her back.
“Yeah, I thought you were looking a little in the family way, Molly! Not like you to let yourself go.” Stevens chuckled and rubbed his own protruding belly. “You’re starting to look like me there, girl! Got a bun in the oven, do ya?”
Molly knew where this was headed, and she was weary of having to tell people that she was alone, that there was no father, that yes, she would be a single mother. It embarrassed her. She didn’t want people to make assumptions about her based on her in-utero roommate, and each time Molly felt the weight of their judgment—even if she sometimes wondered if it wasn’t just her own staring back at her. She looked at the jolly pair in front of her, their arms looped around each other, and even though she suspected Stevens was just trying to keep his wife upright, Molly felt a pang of jealousy twitch in her chest. Any other time she’d just file the whole experience away as a funny story to tell someone when she got home, but there was no one to tell. She thought of Liam, how he would’ve been waiting up for her with a glass of wine, how he would’ve laughed at her impersonation of Susan tipping forward in her heels. Molly stood in place, alone, and waited for the next round of questions.
“Well, that’s just great, Molly!” Stevens was saying.
Susan parroted her husband’s sentiment, nodding in rapid succession.
“But shouldn’t you be sitting down?” Stevens used the ringed fingers of his left hand to smooth the few gray hairs that straggled across the top of his head. “Here, should we move to that table over there? A lady who’s expecting should probably be home with her feet up on the sofa, getting waited on by her man, not out here with all these suits.” He laughed, the broad sound rumbling from deep in his diaphragm. “I admire your dedication, though!”
Stevens looked at his wife for approval as Molly demurred. He rubbed his fingers down the corners of his mouth and appraised Molly again. Molly was ready to dive off the ship and just swim to a cab. She wondered what it was about being a pregnant woman that made people think it was okay to look her over like a show horse at auction. Molly tugged at the top of her dress again as Susan jumped in, her words so slurred it took Molly a moment to understand her.
“Oh, honey, you do look sort of tired. You should bow out early, rest a little bit. Doesn’t your hubby feel better having you . . . you home?”
Molly felt the air close in around her at Susan’s question. The oxygen raced out of her lungs like it was being sucked from a vacuum, and before thinking better of it, she reached out for Stevens’ arm to steady herself. Blackness crossed over Molly’s line of vision, and the party whirled around her in streaks of light and dark: people’s voices calling out, the white shirts of the waiters moving steadily by, the up-and-down motion of the ship that was making her body sway on legs that threatened to buckle underneath her. She was overwhelmed by the odor of the brackish water lapping against the ship, by the exhaust fumes from the adjacent road, by the overpriced cologne of the wealthy men and women in the room. She felt her arms start to shake, sensed the sweat on her neck.
All of the elements of Molly’s life—the baby, the house, this job, her parents, her friends—were circling above and around her like her own personal tornado, and she was standing in the vortex, alone, trying to keep the walls of the storm at bay.
She couldn’t do
this. She didn’t want to do this alone.
She shouldn’t have said no.
“Molly? Molly, are you okay? Molly, why don’t you sit down?”
Molly heard the voices becoming clearer to her, as if she were being shaken awake from a bad dream. Her vision was blurry, obscured by the tears in her eyes. She was still shaking, and the pressure had not yet lifted from her chest. She saw Stevens pick up her bag from where it had dropped onto the floor, and she accepted it from him without making eye contact. Someone had taken the water glass from her hand. When she did raise her eyes to meet those of the people around her, she saw fear in them, and worry. She also saw pity. These people felt sorry for her. Molly decided then and there that this would be the last time she let herself have a panic attack in the middle of a crowded restaurant-boat.
Knocked back into the present by a cold slap of shame, Molly stood up straight, wiped her eyes with a cocktail napkin she’d crushed into her palm, and smoothed her dress. She took a deep breath to answer her client’s wife’s question. She had some damage control to do.
“Actually, Susan, there is no husband. I’m not married. The baby’s father and I are not together anymore, so no, no one’s waiting at home for me.” She managed a laugh. “Just a comfortable couch, and some ice cream and pickles.”
Susan frowned and grew quiet. Stevens glanced at Molly’s left ring finger, as if verifying what she’d just said.
“You’re not married?” he asked. His face was still jovial, but his voice seemed louder than necessary. “Whaddya mean you’re not married? You’re having a baby! I didn’t think that actually happened to decent women like you.” He stared at her, waiting. Molly felt the sweat cooling on her face and planted her swollen feet on the swaying floor.
“Mark, are you really implying that I’m not decent?” Molly had never anticipated that her professionalism would be called into question, but Stevens’ company was a famously traditional one. There was a good chance they could drop her, not wanting an unwed pregnant woman to be at the helm of their public relations. Stevens sputtered, looking from Molly to his somber wife and back again.
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