All the Difference

by Leah Ferguson

  As Molly stood outside the entrance, catching her breath, she focused on trying to get her pulse to stop racing. She had just enough time to adjust the car seat on her arm and brace her shoulders back before the front door swung open with a clatter and Scott’s mother appeared in the doorway. Her lean figure seemed to fill the length of the narrow space, and the diamonds in her ears flashed as she looked Molly over from head to high-heeled toe. Molly pasted an automatic smile on her face, set to endure the absolute awkwardness of this afternoon. A stranger would never have guessed that the two women used to bond over mani-pedis and afternoon leadership seminars. Molly’s hand was clenched around the handle of Dylan’s car seat, and she felt her heart thump with a little more forcefulness in her chest.

  “Molly! What are you doing, standing out there in the cold? My granddaughter must be freezing. Come in, come in.” She made kissy faces at Dylan, but didn’t touch Molly.

  Molly blew out the breath she’d been holding and followed Monica into the house.

  Once in the foyer, Monica placed her hands on Molly’s shoulders and maneuvered her into the expansive living room. As large as the space was, it was crowded with Scott’s relatives, many of whom stopped mid-conversation to turn and stare at Molly. She hovered there in the center of room, like a decorative urn being presented for auction at Sotheby’s, still clutching the car seat.

  Monica cleared her throat and looked around with a wide smile. Her square white teeth, set in straight rows in her mouth, snapped together once before she introduced Molly to the general crowd, speaking to no one in particular but addressing the entire room.

  “Well. Molly, meet Scott’s aunt and uncle. You already know Trudy, of course, and the cousins. This is Molly, everyone!”

  Monica bent over the car seat in a dramatic swoop. “And this—this!—beautiful girl right here is my very own gorgeous little grandbaby. Oh, doesn’t she look like Scott? Hello, sweet Dylan!” Molly couldn’t help but feel like Scott’s mother was acting out her own one-woman show.

  Monica turned again to the rest of her family after hearing someone whisper. “Yes, it’s Dylan. I know, her name is a little, well, different, but Molly is Irish, after all. You know how it goes.”

  Molly stood, staring at Monica in surprise, as the women rushed over to peer into the seat. The shiny demeanor, her smooth glamour, had all dropped away into a Northeast Philly accent now that Monica was inside, surrounded by her own family. Molly watched the women coo over the baby, mentally prepared to smack away any cocktail sauce–stained finger that made contact with her daughter’s face. She still hadn’t seen Scott, and she wondered if he’d declined to show up. She hoped he was there. She was ready to see him.

  Monica finally acknowledged Molly again.

  “Oh, let me take your coat, Molly. And let’s get you off of those high heels. It’s about time we saw you out of those sweatpants and UGGs, but my goodness, these certainly are high, aren’t they?” she said. “Well, good for you for putting yourself together so well so soon after the baby was born!”

  Monica turned to a woman standing next to her, a cousin, or aunt, possibly. “So many mothers today have to spend all their time with their little ones, but it’s just lovely that she makes sure to take the time from this sweet baby for herself, isn’t it?”

  Molly attempted a smile. “Uh, thank—”

  “Why, you only have a little bit of a stomach left, Molly! It’s barely anything at all!”

  “—you?” Molly lowered her voice a little, when all she wanted to do was laugh. Or scream, she thought. Really, either one would be fine. “Um, Monica? Is there anywhere more private I could go to feed Dylan?”

  Molly’s daughter was stirring in her seat, with her face scrunched up in an expression that meant the hungry baby would be roaring for milk as soon as she opened those pretty blue eyes.

  “Oh, honey, if you want to get settled in, Edward could feed her.”

  Scott’s father came into the room just then, holding a can of beer in one hand. He was almost shouting into the ear of a middle-aged man next to him.

  “They should just bench him, anyway! If his own QB doesn’t trust him, why the hell is he still starting?” He clapped his great paw of a hand onto Molly’s shoulder and bent over to get a look at Dylan.

  “What do you think of dose Iggles, huh, little Dylan? Oh, my pretty little princess won’t like football, will she? Just tutus and ballet class for you, sweetheart!”

  “Dear,” Monica addressed her husband, “I was just suggesting to Molly that maybe you’d like to feed the baby?”

  “You were suggesting?” Edward’s voice was jovial. “And here I thought I was in charge around this house!” He looked around at the small crowd for approval.

  Molly watched Monica’s head drop. She concentrated on her wedding rings, twisting the large, teardrop-shaped diamond around on her finger.

  “Oh, I’m just joking,” Edward continued. “Yeah, Molly, I’d love to feed her! Where’s the bottle?” He looked around the floor for the diaper bag, and Molly felt her cheeks go red.

  “Um, actually, Edward, I haven’t started her on a bottle yet. But thanks for the offer.”

  Scott’s father tilted his head and stared at her, his forehead wrinkled with bewilderment.

  “How the hell does she eat, then? She’s, what, four months old by now?” His voice was loud. Several people surrounding them turned to listen in. Monica’s head snapped to attention.

  Molly swallowed. “Edward, you know she’s breastfed. I’m still nursing her.” She stifled a smile at the look of horror that flashed across Edward’s face.

  “Oh.” Edward sipped his beer and looked away.

  “Still breastfeeding? Oh, my,” Monica murmured. “My goodness, I thought only poor people and vegans did that anymore.”

  She gestured toward the staircase. “You can use the guest room upstairs, then, dear. Second door on your left. It has the pink wallpaper.”

  Molly excused herself and got upstairs as quickly as she could without making it obvious that she was nearly running in her stocking-clad feet. She shut the door to the guest room and settled herself onto the flowered bedspread with Dylan, a burp cloth, and her phone, placing her bag on the floor beside her. Molly’s heart was running around in her chest like a rabbit trying to escape a predator. She was used to being around Scott’s parents with him by her side, but now the dynamic had shifted. Interacting with both Monica and Edward on her own was a little like throwing herself into shark-infested waters with chum tied around her neck. Though in this case, the chum was her defenseless daughter.

  Molly and Dylan settled into their feeding session. Molly leaned against the floral pillow sham with her eyes closed, the top of her dress pulled to the side so Dylan could nurse. She relaxed to hear the baby’s soft grunting sounds and felt the small hand where it rested against her back, kneading the skin with a sort of absentminded concentration that didn’t seem possible in someone so small. It was as if the small creature already knew her mind, already had it all together, and just needed to grow into a body big enough to make whatever she wanted happen. Molly wondered if she might not be a little jealous of her baby.

  There was a brisk knock at the door. Before she could call out, it flew open, and the person she had been waiting to see broke into the room.

  “Scott.”

  Molly tossed a burp cloth over her upper body in an attempt to cover up and tightened her hold on Dylan in a quick, instinctive move. She smoothed her hair around her shoulders with her free hand before taking notice of Scott’s face. It held a strange expression, an unnerving combination of purpose and preoccupation. Molly reached under her hip to make sure her phone was still there where she’d placed it and adjusted the cloth over her bare chest again.

  “Oh, relax, Molly. It’s not like I’ve never seen them before.”

  Molly ignored his co
mment. “I didn’t think you were here.”

  “My parents are throwing a family party.” Scott stood at the foot of the bed, like he was unsure of where to go. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  He shifted from side to side in his shoes, which were scuffed on the top, most likely by the hand of an artisan cobbler in Europe.

  “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Can it wait?” The house felt too quiet, and Molly felt her face flush hot. “I’d like to feed Dylan in peace, and then we can talk.”

  Scott snorted. “That name’s not great, but I guess it was the best one out of all the crazy choices you were dreaming up,” he said. “What was that one name on your list? Wait, it was Rhiannon, right? After that Fleetwood Mac song your dad likes so much?”

  There was a moment of awkward silence while Molly watched him. Scott rocked on his feet, as if deciding what to do next. He was wearing a pair of tailored corduroy pants with a luxe button-front shirt he’d rolled at the sleeves. He looked as well-put-together as always, if one didn’t notice the uncharacteristic way his eyes shifted, or how he kept running his hand through his hair.

  “Seriously, can you go?” Molly said. “I’ll talk to you downstairs, in a few minutes.”

  Scott acted like he hadn’t heard her and moved toward the bed. Molly scooted farther back into the cushions, clutching the startled baby to her chest. She could feel her breath quicken.

  “Molly, I just want to talk to you, and then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

  Scott dropped down onto the foot of the mattress and looked at his daughter. Dylan had gone back to Molly’s breast to nurse, her head and shoulders covered under the wide burp cloth, so that all he could see was a hand and her lower body in its brown tights and knit sage-colored dress.

  “I gotta tell you something, Molly.”

  He inhaled.

  “It’s hard for me to feel close to Dylan.” He glanced at the baby once again. “And it has nothing to do with her weird name.”

  Molly’s arm tightened even more around the infant. “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, she’s my kid. I made her, but big whoop, you know? I don’t see me getting . . . used to her.”

  Molly swallowed. She stared at Scott’s face, trying to discern some sort of emotion in his dull eyes. “And why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  He glanced at her.

  “I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I know I’ve been going about this the wrong way. See, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. A whole lot, actually. You are constantly on my mind,” Scott said. “You’re in my head when I go to bed at night, and you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up. It’s like, I didn’t need you when I had you, but now I can’t live without you. I’m obsessed.”

  Scott had his arms braced on his knees, and was staring at his clasped hands. Molly’s jaw had gone slack with shock. Before she could respond, Scott turned to look at her.

  “Marry me, Molly.”

  She was still sitting on the bed, poorly covered from the waist up, with a child latched to her breast. Molly blinked, and wondered if she needed to get her hearing checked.

  “I’m serious.” Scott leaned toward her now, his face earnest and determined. “Marry me this week. We’ll go to the courthouse, do something simple, just you and me. We can be like we were.”

  Silence filled the room after he said the words. Scott and Molly were both still for a moment, their eyes locked on each other.

  When Scott glanced away, a strange sort of sensation shifted inside Molly’s body, and she found her voice. A maternal center of balance had righted itself in her soul, turning her attention to the correct point on the compass. “Scott, I don’t want to be like we were. Not before or after the baby. We’re not good together.”

  She looked down at Dylan, at the closed eyes of her daughter, so content against the warmth of her mother’s chest, before regarding Scott again.

  “And you know that.”

  Scott moved closer to Molly. She couldn’t shift away from him, stuck where she was against the overstuffed pillows of the bed. He placed his hands on her arms, rubbing them up and down until her skin started to grow irritated from the friction. Molly wriggled her arms from his grasp.

  Scott’s eyes were pleading. “I don’t want to lose you, Mol. I love you. You know that. You’re the mother of my kid.” To hear him beg this hard was unsettling.

  “You just said you couldn’t see yourself being close to her.” Molly shook her head. “No.”

  “You know what I meant, Molly. I could figure out how to deal with her.” He glanced at Dylan’s form under the cloth. “I just need you.”

  Scott reached for Molly again and tried to pull her into his chest, pressing his lips against the top of her head. Molly cringed and tried to squirm out his grasp, holding the baby steady.

  “Marry me.”

  “Scott, I—” Molly tried once more to pull away from him and, with a sudden burst of strength, pushed at Scott’s chest until his hands fell off of her. She sat up straight, breathing hard.

  “NO. This is not happening. We are not happening. This is it, we are done, and you may go.” She pointed at the door and stared down Scott with a new fierceness she felt she had been waiting years to let loose. Molly watched as Scott’s face changed. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and his eyes grew darker, more narrow. It was like he’d pulled on a mask while she was looking.

  “Molly.” His voice had developed an edge to it, sharp and hard. “What else are you going to do? You can’t live without me.”

  Scott leaned back, and Molly watched him look her over. She knew now he was just trying to throw her off, make her insecure. She wasn’t having it.

  “You need me, Molly. We’re supposed to be together,” Scott said.

  Molly let out a laugh that was low and sarcastic. “I’ll be fine, Scott.”

  “Oh, yeah, you as a single mom, right?” He sneered at her. “Look how stretched thin you already were at S&G, Molly. You were a neurotic mess. And now you think you can handle it all?”

  Molly didn’t say anything. Dylan was finished nursing and had fallen asleep at her chest, but Molly didn’t try to burp her, or move her, or even cover herself back up with her dress.

  Scott stood up, gave one glance at the lump under the blanket that was Dylan, and walked away from the bed. Molly breathed in relief and slid her dress back into place on her shoulder. It was over. Scott stopped when he got to the closed door and, turning, took a step toward Molly before he opened it.

  “I feel bad for you, Molly,” Scott said. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

  Molly looked down at her tiny daughter. Dylan was still sleeping at her chest, warm and small, folded around the contours of Molly’s body. She hadn’t fussed once the entire time Scott was talking. It was as if she hadn’t even known he was there. Her mother had been enough for her, and that was all that mattered.

  “No, Scott,” Molly said. “I don’t think I am at all.”

  Later that night, Molly stepped through the open doorway into her friends’ home. Her hair was down now, curling around her shoulders in loose waves, and she’d pushed the sleeves of the cream V-necked sweater she’d changed into up her arms. She wore minimal jewelry—a watch, a pair of silver hoop earrings, and a necklace bearing a circular design that looked almost Celtic—but there was a hint of eye shadow glistening below her brows, and the shine of the room’s lamps played against the gloss on her lips. Her skin was flushed a light rose color, giving her cheeks a pleasant hue. Her black pants made clean lines against her thighs, their fit smooth. Molly had pulled on the skinny jeans tonight, surprised and pleased that she could get them up over her hips. No one had to know that they didn’t quite zip up all the way
.

  Dan was the first to greet Molly, and she walked into the room to hug him, smiling, aware of the murmurs here and there among the guests moving around the room. She saw the furtive glances passed between couples, friends, former coworkers, but then the chatter of the party fell back into its normal patterns, and she looked over her friend’s shoulder to catch sight of Jenny, standing in the middle of the crowd, grinning at her.

  Jenny walked over to Molly, her own face bright and cheerful. Glasses clinked around them, Florence and the Machine was playing from the stereo speakers, and Molly exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She turned around to close the door on the cold night behind her. The last of the afternoon’s clouds had cleared out, leaving behind a sky tinged with the thin rays of the setting sun. A few stars twinkled above the buildings among the pink and orange streaks, and as Molly pushed the heavy door shut with one hand, she caught a last whiff of the crisp air that swirled between the buildings and into the warm home like a kite bouncing along a shore breeze. She turned around again, ready to enter the party.

  “Hey, hey, here are my girls!” Jenny set her glass, which was filled with something clear with a wedge of lime, on the counter of the open kitchen bar and wrapped her arms around Molly’s shoulders. She drew her in close and hard.

  “Wowsa, lady.” Molly’s friend leaned back, holding her by the shoulders at arm’s length. “You smell awesome! Don’t tell me you finally broke down and tried a new perfume.”

  Molly laughed, adjusting her weight so she could scoot the car seat she was carrying farther up her arm.

  “Yeah, I figured it was about time. I don’t want to be that old lady wearing the same stuff she bought at the drugstore with her allowance money when she was thirteen.”

  Jenny chuckled, but her attention had already been snagged by the little bundle of blankets in the carrier on Molly’s arm.

  “Well, if it’s not Miss Dylan Sullivan! Hello, my precious girl.” Jenny’s voice rose to the unnaturally high level adults often adopted when they addressed babies. Molly started to tease her friend, knowing that Jenny would most certainly mock that voice were it coming from anybody else, but decided against it. She looked at Dan instead, who was watching and shaking his head with mock dismay. Jenny was still cooing at Dylan, so Molly placed the baby carrier on the floor.