All The Difference

by Leah Ferguson

Genres: Family Life; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

All it takes is one word - yes or no - to decide Molly’s future. As the clock counts down to midnight and the ball slowly begins to drop, Molly’s picture-perfect boyfriend gets down on one knee and asks her to marry him. She knows she should say yes, especially considering the baby-sized surprise she just discovered she’s carrying. But something in her heart is telling her to say no... Now, Molly’s future can follow two very different paths: one where she stays with her baby’s father, despite her misgivings and his family’s unreasonable expectations, and one where she ventures out on her own as a single mother, embracing all the hardships that come with it.

Release date: September 1, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

New Year’s Eve

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Molly Sullivan stared at the thin white stick she held in her fingertips. She couldn’t keep her hand from shaking. The wand vibrated back and forth like a baton conducting the most cacophonous piece of music ever performed.

She sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet seat.

“You have got to be kidding me.” The words bounced off the beige walls of Molly’s tiny upstairs bathroom. She concentrated on the feel of the cool tile beneath the bare skin of her feet, forcing herself to slow her breathing down, and willed her body to stop trembling. It didn’t obey.

The test she’d used was one of those no-fail electronic ones. There was no second line that might not really be there, no vague plus sign that could raise a doubt of its accuracy. What Molly gripped in her hand, now moist with sweat, was a test—her third of the morning—with a window designed to say “pregnant” or “not pregnant.” She looked at it again, and closed her eyes.

It definitely said “pregnant.”

But it couldn’t be true. There was no way. No.

Molly opened her eyes again and swallowed hard. Denial is an uncomfortable emotion for somebody afraid to make mistakes.

“Coffee. Coffee can fix this,” she mumbled, and braced herself to stand up. Then she remembered that there was supposed to be a rule about pregnant women and caffeine, and her legs buckled underneath her again.

She didn’t know how she was going to do this. It wasn’t in her plan.

An awful metallic taste rose in the back of her throat, and Molly forced herself upright to reach for her toothbrush. She leaned against the shining granite countertop, grateful for its firm support, and swiped the brush around her mouth without looking in the mirror. She knew what she’d see, and that it wasn’t going to be pretty: hair flattened to one side of her head from sleeping in the exact same position for nine straight hours. Eyelids puffy over purple-shaded skin. Forehead and cheeks blotchy with broken veins from too many sudden bouts of morning sickness. Molly didn’t know why she’d been so surprised by the positive test. She’d been experiencing almost every symptom Google had warned her about.

Molly jabbed her toothbrush back into its holder and stumbled in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t felt like this since the night she went to that karaoke bar with her friend Jenny and drank so many of the margaritas on special she ended up performing the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams” in a singing voice a little too close to hollering. Both the melody and the backing vocals, she winced to recall. In their entirety.

All of a sudden she felt nauseous again.

Molly reached for the coffee filters she kept in the pantry before she caught herself, groaning, and reached for the herbal tea bags instead. This, she thought, cannot be happening. She was thirty years old, knocked up with a baby she’d planned to want but just not quite yet, and the only way she’d know how to deal with it would be to dust the furniture so well she’d wear lemon-scented tracks into its wood stain. Molly had to make sure the little realities in her life were organized—scrubbed clean, shining, and sorted to perfection—before she felt confident enough to face the messier, more abstract ones. Because that’s helpful, she thought, and opened the cabinet that held her cleaning supplies. She couldn’t tell if the nausea rolling around her stomach was from being pregnant or just from knowing she was pregnant. Either way, she knew her house was going to end up spotless.

By that evening, Molly was on her hands and knees on the hardwood of her living room floor, scrubbing marks off the white baseboards with an eraser sponge. She was still wearing the old Amy Winehouse T-shirt she’d slept in, along with yoga pants she’d pulled from the folded stack of identical pairs she kept tucked in a dresser drawer. Her long brunette ponytail swung as she scoured the wall with a fury she didn’t know she possessed.

Molly knew what she was doing was ridiculous, and she finally sat back on her knees, frustrated. She threw the dingy sponge to the floor, looked at it for a moment, then picked it back up and turned her attention to the darkening day outside her front window. Liz Phair was belting “Johnny Feelgood” from the stereo speakers, singing like she was mocking Molly, laughing at her. “I hate him all the time,” Liz sang, “but I still get up when he knocks me down . . .” Molly curled her upper lip and shook her head in resignation.

She stood up, brushed herself off, and shuffled into the kitchen to set a plate of leftover carbonara into the microwave to reheat. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging her elbows, and looked at a photo that hung on the side of her stainless steel refrigerator. Molly looked so happy in the picture, her arm slung around the waist of the man next to her. She should’ve called him by now. He’d have wanted to be here, too.

She thought about the night it all started, a few years earlier. After work one Friday evening she’d wandered into the Barnes & Noble that loomed over a park on Walnut Street in the same neighborhood as her office building. A bunch of coworkers had left at the strike of five o’clock to head over to McGillin’s Olde Ale House for the usual happy hour festivities, but Molly was feeling a cold coming on, so had decided to stock up on some reading material for a weekend of self-imposed quarantine instead. Wandering around a bookstore on a Friday evening was a treat for her, anyway. She’d buy a latte from the Starbucks and thread in and out of the aisles of the fiction section, checking out the cover art for the new releases, looking to see if that hardcover she’d had her eye on was out in paperback yet.

She had paused by the children’s area to smile at two toddlers chattering back and forth as they played with some cars on a train table. She was standing in the middle of the aisle between the literature section and the children’s room, coveting a little girl’s Converse All Stars, when he came ambling toward her for the first time. He had a grin spread wide on his face and a book held in a loose grip by his side.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” he said, nodding toward the children. “I’ve always said I’d want kids of my own, but only if I could get a guarantee that they’d never cry and never poop.” He chuckled, gauging Molly’s reaction, and reached up to brush his dark hair off of his forehead.

Molly glanced up and met this stranger’s green eyes. She was only weeks out of a relationship that had ended before she was ready to let it go, so she was wary of new men. But Molly noticed that this man’s clear eyes were the color of olives, and that they were focused on her. She felt the quiet thrill of his attention, and mistook it for the feeling that she once again was in control.

“Hey, if you can find a kid like that, you’d have women lined up to help you raise him. Probably some men, too.” She grinned.

“I would, wouldn’t I? Babies are like dogs. It’s a proven fact that just holding one makes a man ten times more appealing to women. You agree with me, right?” Molly could swear his eyes sparkled as he looked at her. Ooh, he’s flirting with me, she thought. Keep it coming, dude.

“Ah, well,” the man in front of her continued. “Guess I’ll just have to take my chances and see what life brings me. Though I should probably focus on finding the right woman first, and worry about the kids later, shouldn’t I?” He looked at her in a way that made it seem he was implying more than his words let on.

Molly took a moment before she responded, as she was distracted by the line of muscled shoulders under his coat. He raised his eyebrows with amusement, watching her look him over, and it had the effect of crinkling the skin around his eyes in a way she found endearing. He was tall. Really tall, actually, with those shoulders and a broad face with a square jaw she thought only existed in Calvin Klein print ads. His brown hair was the kind of wavy she had always wanted for herself, and he wore it tousled and swept back from his face, like he couldn’t stop running his hands through it. He dressed like most of the professional men she avoided in the bars, who talked too much about the mothers they lived with in South Philly and whether the Sixers would finally get a shoulder up on the Celtics: dark jeans, black T-shirt, sleek black leather jacket that fell to his hips. But on this guy the Philly uniform seemed different, intriguing. He looked like he could either be an advertising exec or a bartender.

Hey, baby, you can mix my drink anytime, she thought. She laughed to herself before realizing too late that she’d snorted out loud. Molly coughed, hoping he hadn’t noticed. He tilted his head with a bemused expression and nodded at her hands.

“What, no books? You just like to come to the bookstore on a Friday night for the five-dollar coffee?”

“Of course not! The five-dollar coffee is just the beginning,” Molly teased. “Don’t let the empty hands throw you off. I have the rare ability to turn book-shopping into an epic event. It’s not like a person should just walk into a bookstore and settle for the closest thing she sees.”

He had leaned against a display, his expression amused, waiting for her to continue. Encouraged, Molly gestured at the stacks around them. “It’s all a matter of instinct and fate: What’ll it be tonight? Young adult? Historical fiction? The latest vampire series? It’s too exciting a process to rush, frankly. These things take time.” She took a sip of her coffee and looked at the handsome stranger standing in front of her. She liked having this feeling again, the charge of someone’s interest, the adrenaline jumping through her veins. He straightened and laughed, sliding the book in his hand behind his back in an exaggerated arc.

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you that I ran into the store to pick up the latest Nicholas Sparks novel for my mom’s birthday, should I?”

“Nope, you totally shouldn’t. At least the book’s not for you, though.”

Molly turned her head to look at this new man from the corner of her eye. “It’s not secretly for you, right? I’d have lost all respect for you then.”

He leaned forward, closing the distance between them until she was certain he could smell the latte on her breath. But he didn’t seem to mind, and took a step closer.

“So you’re saying I’ve earned some of your respect? I was starting to think that I was going to be like one of your books—I’d be lost among the shelves until you decided if fate would make you lean my way.”

“And why would I want to lean your way?” Molly tilted her head as she smiled up at him. Her heart was thumping in her chest.

“Well, to see how irresistibly charming I am, of course. And how else would I be able to persuade you to join me for a drink?”

Standing in her kitchen, Molly ran her hands over the muscles of her flat belly. The microwave hummed. The man’s name had been Scott Berkus, and he’d been in her life off and on for the last three years. Soon enough he’d be at the door. She would wait to tell him then.

“No, no, no,” Molly muttered. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she slid down the face of the cabinet into a cross-legged heap on the kitchen floor.

There was another person in her belly. There was a creature, with cells that multiplied and a body that was growing, attached to her insides. It had been living off of her for weeks. Molly retched. This was happening.

This was happening.

The microwave beeped. The smell of homemade pasta wafted through the kitchen and forced its way into her awareness, replacing the sinking sensation of realization with a new feeling, this one roiling around in her stomach, sloshing against its walls, climbing up her throat like the legs of an angry spider. Molly lurched over to the trash can, opening it just in time.

It was New Year’s Eve. In three hours she was supposed to be on the doorstep of her best friend’s house, on the arm of her boyfriend, entering the same party she’d been attending every year for most of her adult life. It was routine by now, the music she’d hear and the drinks she’d pour, the jokes they’d make, but tonight was going to be different. This time everything was about to change. Molly wiped her mouth with a fresh napkin and set the untouched plate of warm food back into the refrigerator. She had to get ready.

A short while later, the doorbell was buzzing like a wasp caught in her door frame. Molly patted some gloss onto her lips and ran down the stairs, the polished hardwood slippery against her bare feet. At the bottom, she paused for a moment to let her nerves settle themselves, then opened the door to greet her boyfriend.

“Hiya, sweetheart.” Molly reached up to plant a kiss on Scott’s lips and glanced at the wrought-iron clock that hung over the fireplace mantel. “Nice of you to appear.”

“Oh, hey, I’m not that late, am I?” Scott’s gaze traveled the length of Molly’s body and he wiggled his eyebrows in a hopeful leer. “Though if I’d known you were going to look this good, I wouldn’t have stuck around my parents’ house for so long.” Scott placed his hands low on Molly’s hips, guiding her back into the living room, and leaned down to nuzzle his nose against her neck. She had to tell him, she knew.

“How did I get so lucky to land you?” He mumbled the words against her skin. “You even smell good.” Molly felt the muscles in her neck constrict, and slipped out of his arms.

“It’s the same perfume as always,” she said, keeping her voice bright. “You know me.”

“That’s what I love.” Scott tucked his finger under Molly’s chin and held her gaze for a moment. “I always know what I’m getting with you.”

No, she thought, she didn’t have to tell him yet. Not yet.

Scott rummaged for something in the pocket of his sport coat. “Oh, and hey, my mom wanted me to bring this to you. Said she forgot to give it to you at Christmas.” Scott pulled out a small gift and presented it to Molly on an open palm. She recognized the trademark robin’s-egg blue of the box, though she’d never seen it outside of a magazine ad before.

“But why would she do that?” Molly, her forehead furrowed, glanced up at Scott before untying the white bow. “She already gave me so much.”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and slouched against the wall. “You know my mom. She tends to overdo it a bit. Compensation for my forgotten childhood and all.” He used a finger to dangle the silver heart locket in front of Molly. “Besides, you know she adores you. I think she sees you as her prodigy, Miss Executive.”

Molly opened the locket to find pictures of her and Scott already cut and placed inside. She swallowed hard. The glossy necklace was more ostentatious than her usual style, but she knew she’d wear it. Monica would expect to see it on her the next time they got together. Molly laid the necklace back in its iconic container. The bauble must have cost more than Molly’s monthly rent. She wondered how many gifts were going to be lavished on her once Monica found out she was getting a grandchild.

Scott brushed past Molly into the room and turned to face her. “Yo, how do I look?” Scott threw his shoulders back and placed his hands on his hips in a male-model pose to give her a good view. “Pretty hot, right? You going to be proud to have me as your date?” He watched Molly look him over, his smile faltering as he waited for her approval.

“Tonight is a big night, after all, Molly.” He paused. “For you, I mean, what with all the champagne and fireworks and that stuff you women seem to like so much. I’m just hoping to make some fireworks of our own later,” he said, lowering his voice, “if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, God.” Molly groaned and clutched her stomach with a hand before she could stop herself.

“What?” Scott’s dark eyes were wide behind his thick lashes. “What’s wrong? You need some water?” He pronounced it “wooter,” as only a born-and-bred Philadelphian would do. He looked uncomfortable.

“No, I’m fine. Just forgot to eat dinner, that’s all.”

Scott laughed. “You? Forgot to eat?”

“Weird, I know,” Molly said. “I was cleaning.” She and Scott looked at each other for a moment before Molly cleared her throat. The words she needed to say seemed to be lodged in her windpipe.

“Let me just grab my lip gloss and my pocketbook, and I’m set to go,” Molly said. She started for the stairs. “Can you turn off my iPod? I don’t want the battery to run down while we’re out.”

“Gladly,” Scott shouted from the kitchen. “What were you listening to this time, anyway? Your folksy stuff or your emo music?”

“Not sure you could quite call Liz Phair either,” Molly called back. “In fact, she’d probably keel over in front of her NOW poster just to hear you say that.” She was tidying the hair products in her bathroom cabinet and couldn’t hear Scott’s response. “The woman’s an indie icon,” she continued. “Have you never heard Exile in Guyville? She did a song-by-song response to the Stones’ Exile on Main Street. You should really give it a listen sometime.”

“I’m good,” she heard him mumble in the silence that followed as the speakers over the fireplace downstairs went quiet. Scott called up again, his voice louder this time as he stood near the front entrance. “Unless you’ve got some Poison on that iPod, I’ll be in the car. And don’t be late!”

Molly stared in disbelief in the direction of the stairs. No one ever needed to remind her to be on time.

“Me, late?” she yelled.

“Mol, I’m kidding! But I don’t want Jenny getting all salty with me again. Besides,” Scott’s voice turned singsongy, “tonight’s a big niii-iiight. It’s New Year’s Eve, baby! Let’s get this show on the road already!”

Molly heard the hard click of the front door when it shut behind a whistling Scott as she slipped into a pair of metallic red stilettos. She’d chosen to wear them because she knew they played off of the deep charcoal silk tank she’d paired with a black leather skirt, but now it seemed like a ridiculous ensemble for an expectant mother to wear. Molly glanced in the mirror just in time to see herself turn pale. She forced herself to keep looking. She’d gotten her collarbone-length brunette hair treated with the subtlest of red highlights at a salon off of Rittenhouse Square that week, ignoring the absurd fact that she was paying three hundred and twenty-five dollars just to emphasize the deep green of her eyes. Silver chandelier earrings peeking through the curtain of hair and a cascading chain necklace added sparkle that reflected off her skin. She brushed a wisp of her long bangs off of her forehead. No one else had to know, she thought. At least, not yet. Not before she’d had a chance to understand what she had to share.

Molly prided herself on her stability—the way she was able to maintain her job, and friendships, and family connections with an ease that rarely left her floundering. Her relationship with Scott was the only facet of Molly’s life that she couldn’t keep consistent, and the positive pregnancy tests in her trash can weren’t going to make it any easier. They’d have a few good months as a couple, then separate for a while before falling back in together with the same intensity as before. It was the same pattern each time. It reminded Molly of Velcro—they kept getting tangled together despite themselves, snagging all sorts of detritus along the way. Every time she tried to remove herself from Scott, every time there was a problem that didn’t seem like it could be fixed, another hook appeared, bringing her back, until Molly finally decided to just let herself stay attached. After all, her persistence was the trait that had gotten her so far ahead in her PR career. She assumed it had to eventually work in her personal life as well.

The sound of a Porsche’s horn echoed from the street outside, and Molly hurried down the stairs. She snatched her coat from one of the hangers that were evenly spaced along the bar in her front closet and pulled it on. The car horn beeped again. Flipping the switch on the tabletop lamp beside her, Molly glanced around her first floor once to ensure every object was in its proper place. She stepped out into the dark to meet Scott, shutting the door on the warm light behind her.

Scott found a parking spot in Old City in record time, despite the early party crowds clogging the narrow streets on their way down to Penn’s Landing. The crisp air draped itself over the squat rooflines of the old row houses, a thin blanket of cold weaving itself among the ivy and leafless plants tucked into the flower boxes that adorned the windows of each tiny home. Molly stepped with care along the brick sidewalks, clutching Scott’s arm for support as they made their way across the cobblestones to the front of Jenny and Dan’s apartment. In a stretch of Philadelphia night sky that broke through the web of treetops and dormer windows above them, she could see a misty halo hanging around the moon, foreshadowing a rainy day to follow. Molly squinted in disappointment, dismayed by the prospect of being trapped inside on the first day of the New Year, until she spotted a few stars that had managed to peek through the clouds. With a sigh of approval, Molly let go of Scott’s arm to step to the top of the stoop.

“Molly!” Jenny Waters-Kim threw open the door. Her voice was loud, brassy, and always seemed to carry a hint of a laugh rumbling below her singsong alto tones. “You’re here!”

Molly’s best friend threw her arms around her neck. “Oh my gosh, I was afraid you were going to bail on me. Every single year, I’m like, uh-oh, she’s not gonna come! I know she’s gonna get all crazy-sweatpants-cleaning-lady and want to stay home, but by golly, you never fail me!” Jenny gave her another squeeze. “And that’s why I call you my bff, you bff!”

She leaned to the side of her embrace to look Molly in the face. “Oh, sorry. Am I choking you?” Jenny extracted her arms from around her friend’s neck. She was wearing a shimmering black tunic over black leggings and had piled her arms with rows of silver bangles that jingled and caught the light every time she moved her hands. They clanged together again as she turned to Molly’s boyfriend.

“Hey, Scott.”

“Hey, Jenny,” he replied, the corner of his mouth drawing up into a slow smirk that was as sexy as it was sarcastic. “I’m liking this vibe you’ve got going tonight,” he said. He moved his eyes down the length of her outfit, nodding in approval. “The look is like carnival gypsy meets hipster princess. You should put on a show.”

Jenny gave Molly a sidelong glance before rolling her eyes at Scott. “Yeah, Scott, I’ll do that. Like Audrey Hepburn in that dance from Funny Face, only with vodka. I’ve got it all planned out.”

The suave facade dropped away from Scott’s face as he tried to understand the reference. He had a knowledge of films that rivaled any information Wikipedia had to offer, but not of the kinds of movies that involved beatniks and berets. Jenny laughed and reached for Molly’s sleeve. “I can take your coats if you want. Dan’s mixing drinks in the kitchen.”

Daniel Kim had been Jenny’s high school sweetheart. As they told it, they’d been seated beside each other on the first day of Ms. Thompson’s geometry class at Archbishop Ryan High School and hadn’t been apart since. They’d both gone on to play soccer for St. Joe’s and had spent much of their time in college in a friendly competition to see who could get the better grades. They’d both ended up graduating summa cum laude, with Jenny’s GPA just one tenth of a percentage point better than Dan’s. They’d stopped competing after that.

“Hey, do I see Jägermeister?” Scott exclaimed, and returned Dan’s wave. “I haven’t had that stuff since college. That’s the shit right there!” He planted a quick kiss on the top of Molly’s head, one foot already leading the way through the small crowd to the kitchen. Molly acknowledged Jenny’s incredulous look with a playful shrug.

“What are you gonna do?” She laughed.

She spotted a small bowl of chocolates on the table by the door and moved closer to them, her unsettled stomach rumbling. She could hear Corrinne Bailey Rae playing from the stereo in the corner and breathed in the aroma of a vanilla-and-balsam-scented candle. Her friends had painted the apartment in soft, neutral taupes and greens, with lots of bamboo and the occasional canvas of framed Korean art Dan’s grandmother had given them. Their light-colored furniture was sleek but comfortable, accented with large floor pillows perfect for lying around with a glass of wine and good conversation. Jenny joked that they were single-handedly supporting IKEA’s mid-Atlantic profit margin, but Molly felt so welcome there she sometimes didn’t want to leave.

“Sooo.” Jenny was still standing close beside Molly, craning her neck to look in the direction of the kitchen. Her blond hair tumbled down her back in a waterfall of curls. Jenny was a petite woman with the tiny features of a porcelain doll, complete with big blue eyes and dark lashes as thick as paintbrush bristles. The only feature that didn’t fit her doll face was the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Jenny had given up trying to conceal them long ago, for which Molly had been glad, because the endearing speckles were the best hint of the personality that lay beneath them.

“Do you think tonight’s the night?” Jenny continued. She pointed her chin in the direction of the people huddled in the adjacent kitchen. A low wall separated the two rooms, and they could see the men joking with each other. As they watched, Scott threw his head back in laughter, and then, as if he could sense Molly’s eyes, he turned to smile at her, raising a flirtatious eyebrow. For a brief second, Molly felt like she was the only person in the room. Scott turned back to Dan, and the sensation disappeared.

“Oh, Jenny,” Molly said. She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been acting any differently. You’d think if he were planning something he’d seem anxious, or on edge, or . . .”

She gestured in the direction of the kitchen, where Scott was raising a full shot glass with one of her friends from work.

“God, I remember back when it was you two. Dan was driving me nuts.” Molly paused. “Scott seems completely chill.”

Jenny smirked. “Molly, it’s Scott. I don’t think that man’s been nervous a day in his life.”

“Yeah, he has,” Molly was quick to say. She looked at her boyfriend. “He just hides it well.”

Jenny threw her a sharp glance. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said. “I meant, you know, how Scott’s just so laid-back about some stuff, that’s all. I never imagined you’d end up with someone quite so type B.”

Jenny was quiet for a moment, then continued. “But we had some awesome times, the four of us, when you guys started going out. Scott’s fun. And I think Dan’s taken him on as some sort of goofy big brother.” She shrugged. “I guess I just want him to be more of that man who’s going to ride in on a white horse with a rose between hi