All the Difference

Description

New Year’s Eve. A time for resolutions. A chance to make a change. And for thirty-year-old Molly Sullivan, a night that will transform her life forever…

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.

And by the time the next New Year is rung in, Molly will know which choice was right—following her head or listening to her heart…“A smart, sensitive, and ultimately empowering story about making choices and living with the consequences of those choices…The takeaway: you can choose the kind of person—the kind of woman—you want to become.”—Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author

“An honest, compelling, heartfelt debut about the many paths to happiness.”—Meg Donohue, USA Today bestselling author of All the Summer Girls

“Clever, emotional and heart-warming—a wonderful read!”—Mary Ellen Taylor, author of The Union Street Bakery
 
“Leah Ferguson is a stirring new voice in women’s fiction, writing a story that is both highly entertaining and moving.”—Anita Hughes, author of French CoastLeah Ferguson holds a BA in English Literature and Russian Language from West Chester University, and a MA from Notre Dame of Maryland University. She began her career as a managing editor for a national law book publisher before leaving to teach English for Maryland and Pennsylvania public high schools and Immaculata University. Leah also contributed to the Pulitzer Prize–winning Harrisburg Patriot-News, writing from the perspective of a newlywed urban expatriate adjusting to life in the suburbs. After the birth of her first child, she left teaching to focus on writing fiction. Leah posts quirky and often sentimental personal essays to her blog, One Vignette, and founded a Tumblr called What Duchess Kate Isn’t Doing. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, three young children, dog, and tailless cat. All the Difference is her first novel.

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 his teeth for you.”

Molly snorted. “Are you serious? Liam didn’t even do that back when he and I were dating. And he was about as close to a knight as I was going to get.” She laughed as she thought of her ex. “Even when he was galloping away.”

Liam and Molly had been a few months into their relationship when his college girlfriend moved back to town. The pair had known each other since childhood—they’d skinned their knees on the same playgrounds, competed on the same swim team in high school, volunteered to build houses together in Haiti during their college breaks—and when Stephanie had asked him for another chance, wanting to see if their history meant they could have a future, Liam felt obligated to see it through. By honoring his old girlfriend, he had to hurt his new one, and yet Molly had never begrudged him his decision.

Molly mumbled now through a mouthful of dark chocolate. “I like lilies, not roses, anyway, you know that. Scott is not a fairy tale. He’s just real, problems and all.” She swallowed the candy. “Though a horse would be kind of cool . . .”

The women stood in silence for a moment, each picturing the scene. Jenny shook her head.

“Drink?”

“Uh.” Molly hesitated. She concentrated on unwrapping the last chocolate while she thought. Jenny glanced at the candy dish, now almost empty, and frowned at Molly in a silent question. Molly was just about to answer her, to finally tell someone and make it real, when she spotted Scott in the kitchen, joking with a woman she didn’t know, and stopped.

“A drink sounds good.” Molly looked up and smiled. “But I’ll get it. Let me go to the bathroom first. This skirt’s so tight I’ve got to make room for anything else going in my body.”

An hour later, Molly was holding a short glass of scotch that she’d watered down excessively in a successful, if unappetizing, attempt to pass the drink off as her usual choice. She took a sip from it and tried to hide her grimace. She thought of the pregnancy test, now wrapped in tissues and stuffed into the very bottom of her bathroom wastebasket, and put down the glass. How ironic, she thought, that at the one moment in her life when a woman could really use a stiff drink, she wasn’t supposed to have one. Her head felt heavy, her eyes fuzzy and dry from fatigue. She wished she could just go back to bed and start over. The day, the year, all of it.

She leaned against the wall of the dining room to watch the crowd in front of her. Jenny and Molly had a wide circle of friends they’d made through their work at Shulzster & Grace, a big public relations firm in Philly, and by eleven thirty most of them were singing along to Janelle Monáe’s “Tightrope” and drinking one of Dan’s champagne cocktails.

Scott was happy, the life of the party, dancing in the center of a group in front of the fireplace. His hair was flopping in glossy clumps around his cheekbones, and another button on his shirt was opened to show off his smooth chest, now shining with sweat. The women around him laughed, each preening until he grabbed her hand for a spin around the floor. He moved well to the music, by all appearances oblivious to the attention on him, but careful to dance with each person in turn. Molly watched Scott empty his champagne glass and reach for another full one on the mantel. It looked like she was going to be starting off this new year the same way she did the last: trudging to Wawa for some Gatorade and a hoagie. Molly yawned. This time, though, it’d be a little harder to get off the couch herself.

Molly eased her way closer to her boyfriend, catching Scott’s eye to laugh at his terrible attempt at the robot. She felt the familiar pull as his gaze singled her out, drew her in. She thought she could smell his cologne mingled with the scent of candle smoke and sweat, and watched him looking at her, separating her from the rest of the people in the room. Without thinking, Molly placed her hand over her stomach, protecting a secret she’d only just found out she was keeping. She watched Scott, in the center of the room, at the center of attention, from her spot on the edge of the crowd.

Molly’s thoughts strayed to a recent fight they’d had. It had been the end of November. Scott had cajoled her into going to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving, even though her favorite aunt was flying in from Minnesota. She hadn’t seen Aunt Cookie in two years, and she only planned on being in town for a few days before heading home to Minneapolis, but Scott insisted that if he and Molly, as a couple, were supposed to be getting more serious in their relationship, it was about time they spent the holidays together. And since they planned to stay with her parents for Christmas, he’d thought it was only fair they spend Thanksgiving with his. Which was fair—Molly just missed her aunt Cookie.

Thanksgiving found Molly sitting in a cavernous dining room in Montgomery County, making small talk about sweet potatoes.

She remembered how miserable she’d been, how uncomfortable and long the hours were. No one who lets herself be bullied is going to be happy with what happens next. Molly was used to huge, chaotic, loud holidays with her big family. That afternoon, it was just Molly, Scott, and his mother seated around a quiet table draped with russet-colored linen, sipping their chardonnay from hand-cut crystal. They asked each other to please pass the fresh cranberry sauce while Scott’s father threw tantrums in front of the Cowboys game in the next room. No quiet dog under the table waited for a dropped crumb. There was no teasing or jostling for the last piece of pie. It was just the three of them, a small turkey from the caterer resting on heirloom china, and Sade playing in the background. The Sade is what put Molly over the edge.

So she sneaked off to the bathroom to read texts from her brothers, even though each quip, every update about Uncle Frank’s whiskey intake, and one voice mail from her goddaughter Samantha sank Molly more and more into a homesick funk. Scott, of course, had noticed, and they’d gotten into a huge argument about it on the car ride back to the city. Scott said she was being selfish. Molly thought he’d cornered her. When Scott parked his car in front of her house, he was still shouting while Molly got out on the sidewalk in tears. He’d sped his fancy little car away before she could even slam the door.

They’d spent two weeks apart, although Scott had left daily voice mails. At first the messages were kidding, trying to blow the whole affair off as a silly misunderstanding. And then her silence must have gotten to him, because he quieted down. He began to apologize for yelling. With a gentle voice, he said he regretted taking her away from her family on such an important day. She started to think that maybe she was just overreacting, that she’d been responding to an ultimatum that wasn’t really there.

So one day she picked up the phone. He came over, and they curled up on the sofa together to talk. He was humble and chagrined, and she’d felt understood. He smelled like soap and fresh cologne, and had brought her a large bouquet of red dahlias and a thin bracelet of white gold. She was comforted by how gentle he was with her. When he placed his arm around her shoulder, she let him. When he leaned in to brush his lips against hers, she didn’t resist.

That was six weeks ago. Molly felt the contents of her stomach roll over inside her. She remembered how they’d ended up lying together that evening, under a blanket beside the lit fireplace, their clothes scattered around them, heads on throw pillows that had fallen off the sofa. She recalled feeling satisfied but strangely guilty, like she was a kid who’d stolen a cookie out of the jar right before dinner. She hated him. She loved him. And neither one of them had bothered to get a condom from the bedroom.

A sudden clatter of applause and cheering brought Molly back to the present. Jenny had turned on the television, and the host was counting down the seconds until midnight. Molly blinked her eyes hard and stood up straight. She worked her way through the throng of people in front of the big fireplace over to Scott, who was draining the last drops from a glass of champagne.

It was time, Molly thought. She would tell Scott, and they would take the new year to let the news settle, figure out what to do next. She wouldn’t rush life this time, wouldn’t plan, would allow all the jagged edges of her fears to soften up on their own. It would be okay, Molly thought. So she didn’t know what would happen next. She was having a baby. It would be okay.

Molly saw Scott catch her eye. He flashed a wide grin and set his empty flute on the cluttered mantel. He patted his pants pockets, like he was afraid he’d misplaced his wallet, before reaching his hands out to Molly to draw her closer. She saw that his chest was still slick with sweat, and he swayed just a bit in his British-made shoes.

“. . . nine . . . eight . . . seven!” Dan and Jenny were bouncing up and down a little, noisemakers at the ready.

“Hey, babe, you found me!” Molly saw Scott’s eyes crinkle in the way that always made her heart skip a little bit, and smiled back at him. He leaned down to her ear and raised his voice.

“I have something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been looking for you.”

“. . . six . . . five . . . four!”

Molly caught a glimpse of the fawning women Scott had been dancing with earlier and cocked her head with a thin smile. “Looking hard or hardly looking?”

“Huh?” Scott squinted.

“. . . three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Molly’s friends threw handfuls of confetti in the air, making her cringe at the sight of the mess, and started blowing their noisemakers. Couples kissed and friends hugged each other. Jenny and her college roommate began singing a very drunken version of “Auld Lang Syne” while the televised crowds in Times Square danced in the streets.

Scott moved closer to her, and she felt his arm snake around her waist, once again drawing her in.

“Oh, never mind,” Molly said. She wrapped her hand around Scott’s neck to move his head toward hers. “Come here.”

She took a deep breath.

“I actually have something I need to tell you, too.”

Scott’s lips brushed Molly’s, and a familiar warmth spread through her like the heat she’d feel from a fresh cup of tea, though a spiked one, hot toddy–style. He pressed her body to his, hands on her hips, pulling her tightly against him. His fingers moved up the sides of her body and along her bare arms, trailing until they came to rest on her hands. He clasped them in both of his and moved them down to rest against his heart. Molly raised her eyes to look at her boyfriend through the haze the candle smoke had created and saw that his green eyes, murky now through the cloud of alcohol, were focused only on her own. It was going to be okay.

“Molly,” Scott said.

She took in his face, startled by the expression she saw there, and opened her mouth to respond. Scott shook his head at her, and placed a light finger against her mouth. The sweat from his skin felt cold against her lips.

Before she could move, Scott dropped down on one knee. His lips were moving, but Molly couldn’t hear what he was saying. One of his hands grasped both of hers, and the other held a small, black velvet box. The box was open, and inside something glittered in the candlelight, flashing against the black silk. People around them started to catch on and back away, creating a small clearing around the pair. Molly looked at Scott’s earnest face, at the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, then down at the brilliant diamond ring on display. Wowza, she thought. That thing is big.

She opened her mouth again, started to say something, then closed it. Molly looked up from Scott’s face and met Jenny’s eyes. Her friend was standing beside Dan with her arms crossed against her chest, watching her with an expression Molly couldn’t read. Molly’s own face felt slack, blank. She could hear the tinny sounds of the revelers in Times Square cheering through the television.

She’d thought it was going to be okay.

Molly looked back down at Scott, who had shifted his weight off of his knee and onto his other foot. He repeated the words.

“Will you marry me?”

Scott dropped the ring a little and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

CHAPTER TWO

January

If She’d Said No

She heard the rumbling sound like it was an echo from another life, rolling in on soft waves at first, then growing louder as she became more aware of it. Her eyes were closed, she realized, and she kept them shut, staring at the absolute blackness in front of her. It was so calm here, so peaceful, and she didn’t want to leave this spot. The rumble grew, though, thrashing around between her ears now with a determined force. Molly’s eyes flew open.

She’d been snoring.

Molly blinked a few times, then turned her head to the right to see the other women in the class coming out of corpse pose. Without moving, she watched the yoga instructor across the room give her a serene smile before she touched her palms together in front of her bird-frail chest. The lithe woman bowed to the group facing her.

“Namaste,” the teacher said. Her soft voice floated across the room and over the faint rumbles still resonating in Molly’s head. The other students were sitting up now, legs crossed with measured grace in front of them, mirroring the instructor’s movements.

“Namaste,” they replied. As if they’d uttered a secret code, the relaxed atmosphere of the room disintegrated. The students began rolling up their mats, chatting to each other in subdued voices. Molly continued to lie in place on her back, her legs splayed in savasana, her palms thrown open to the ceiling in a gesture of hopeless resignation. She stared upward, lying in the back of the room while the rest of the class filed out, throwing her curious glances on the way.

She was so tired. The muscles in her body were heavy against her bones, and she felt like she couldn’t move them if she tried. But she didn’t want to try. She didn’t want to leave this darkened room and walk back into the cold daylight of a noisy street. She didn’t want to go home to her empty house. It was too quiet there. Way too quiet.

The yoga instructor unplugged her phone from the speaker system and the music came to an abrupt stop. Molly sensed her hop down from the stage in the front of the room and heard her whisper something like good-bye as she padded away. The door clicked shut, and she was alone.

Molly rolled over to her side and closed her eyes again.

A week later, Center City was noisier than Molly expected it to be on a Saturday afternoon. The sidewalks were filled with people scurrying along, weighed down with the holiday packages they were returning and the groceries they needed to replenish now that their refrigerators were empty of leftover turkey and half-eaten pie. Couples strode hand-in-hand against the breeze while parents steered their children through the crosswalks. Occasional office workers, work bags thrown over their shoulders, trudged out of offices on their way underground to catch SEPTA trains to the suburbs. Molly was rooted to the sidewalk, working her way through a bag of M&M’s while the rest of Philadelphia moved around her. She was staring at the window display of the store in front of her with a sort of curious fascination when its door swung open. The mechanical bell sang a weak alarm.

“Why, Molly Sullivan, is that you?”

Molly heard the voice, the bright tones of it tripping across the frigid air of Chestnut Street like a stone skipping across a shallow lake. Molly didn’t turn her head. She chewed the last bit of chocolate until it was nearly liquid and shoved the empty bag deep into a pocket of her peacoat, all the while keeping her gaze straight ahead of her, buying time.

The voice belonged to Scott’s mother.

Molly was standing in front of a maternity store.

“Shit.” Resigned, she whispered the word, then turned to face her would-be mother-in-law.

“Monica!” Molly’s voice was loud and high, and she stopped to take a breath, the smile on her face so artificially wide she could feel her eyes squinting closed. “Yes, yes, it’s me!”

Molly reached forward to grasp Monica’s elbows with her hands when she approached. Scott’s mother kissed both of her cheeks, and Molly recognized the scents of hair spray and Chanel No. 5 that the statuesque woman wore like a suit of armor.

“Well, just look at you,” Monica said, and stood back to hold Molly at arm’s length. “My goodness, darling, you just get more beautiful every time I see you. I swear, you’re positively glowing. Tell me, what’s your secret?”

The skin on the back of Molly’s neck flushed hot.

“Oh,” Molly said. “Um, thanks? It’s probably just this new yoga class I’ve been trying out.”

“Well, I must be doing something wrong, then,” Monica laughed, “because I’ve been doing yoga for years, and I don’t look as healthy as you do right now. My Lord, girl, even your hair is radiant!” She shook her head in delight. “I must get the name of your studio. Whoever’s responsible for doing that to you must be able to work wonders with a middle-aged lady like me, right?”

Molly pressed her lips together to stop a hysterical giggle from rising out of her throat. She felt like she’d walked onto the stage of a very bad play.

“Well, Molly, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.” Scott’s mother stood straighter, throwing her shoulders back so that her Burberry coat fell from them in a straight, well-tailored line. Molly found herself mirroring her actions, and sucked in her bloated stomach as best she could. She was regretting the last of those M&M’s.

“I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Monica continued. “What brings you here today? Has that best friend of yours finally decided to settle down and have children?”

US

Additional information

Dimensions	0.7400 × 5.4500 × 8.2200 in
Imprint	Berkley
Format	General Trade
ISBN-13	09780425279380
ISBN-10	0425279383
Author	Leah Ferguson
Audience	General / adult
BISAC	FIC027020, FIC045000
Subjects	literary fiction, romantic, book club books, realistic fiction, Sisters, novels, chick lit, pregnancy, romance book, women's fiction, love story, gifts for women, romance books, contemporary romance, romance novel, gifts for her, contemporary romance books, fiction books, books fiction, romance novels, women gifts, romantic novels, realistic fiction books, FIC027020, women, divorce, marriage, relationship, relationships, family, modern, romance, love, drama, parenting, FIC045000, beach, fiction, mystery, Animals, Dogs, Friendship, grief, death, families