The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(24)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

When they’re finally near the front of the church, she’s startled to see her dad standing at the altar. It seems faintly ridiculous that he should be up there at all, in this church in London that smells of rain and perfume, a line of women in purple dresses making their way toward him with halting steps. It doesn’t fit somehow, this image of him before her, clean-shaven and bright-eyed, a small purple flower pinned to his lapel. It seems to Hadley that there are a thousand more likely places for him to be at the moment, on this summer afternoon. He should be in their kitchen back home, wearing those ratty pajamas of his, the ones with the holes in the heels where the legs are too long. Or flipping through a stack of bills in his old office, sipping tea from his GOT POETRY? mug, thinking about heading outside to mow the lawn. There are, in fact, any number of things he should be doing right now, but getting married is definitely not one of them.

She glances at the pews as she walks past; little bouquets of flowers, tied off with silk ribbons, are balanced on the end of each one. The candles at the front of the church make everything look slightly magical, and the sophistication of the whole thing, the stylish elegance of it, is in such stark contrast to Dad’s old life that Hadley’s honestly not sure whether to be confused or insulted.

It occurs to her that Charlotte must now be somewhere behind her, waiting in the wings, and the urge to turn around and look nearly overwhelms her. She glances up again, and this time, it’s to find Dad’s eyes fixed on her. Without really even meaning to, she looks away, using all her concentration to keep herself moving forward, though every part of her is itching to bolt in the opposite direction.

At the top of the aisle, as she and Monty part ways, Dad reaches out and takes Hadley’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. The way he looks right now, so tall and handsome in a tux, reminds her of the photos she’s seen from when he married Mom, and she swallows hard and manages a small smile before moving to join the rest of the bridesmaids on the other side of the altar. Her eyes travel to the back of the church, and when the music shifts and swells, the guests rise to their feet, and the bride appears in the doorway on the arm of her father.

Hadley had been so prepared to hate Charlotte that she’s momentarily stunned by how beautiful she looks in the bell-shaped dress and delicate veil. She’s tall and willowy, so different from Mom, who is short and compact, tiny enough that whenever they used to go out Dad would jokingly sweep her up and pretend that he was planning on tossing her into a garbage can.

But now, here in front of her is Charlotte, looking so lovely and graceful that Hadley worries she won’t have anything terrible to report to Mom later. Her walk to the front of the church seems endless, yet nobody can look away. And when she finally reaches the altar, her eyes still locked on Dad’s, she glances over her shoulder and flashes a smile at a dazed Hadley, who—despite everything, despite all her vows to hate her—grins back reflexively.

And the rest of it? It’s the same as it’s always been, the same as it always will be. It’s identical to a hundred thousand weddings past and a hundred thousand weddings to come. The minister steps up to the altar and the father gives away his daughter with just two simple words. There are prayers delivered and vows recited, and finally there are rings exchanged, too. There are smiles and tears, music and applause, even laughter when the groom messes up, saying “Yes” instead of “I do.”

And though all grooms look happy on their wedding day, there’s something in the eyes of this one in particular that nearly takes Hadley’s breath away. It knocks the wind out of her, that look of his, the joy in his eyes, the depth of his smile. It stops her cold, splits her right open, wrings her heart out like it’s nothing more than a wet towel.

It makes her want to go home all over again.

9

7:52 AM Eastern Standard Time

12:52 PM Greenwich Mean Time

Once upon a time, a million years ago, when Hadley was little and her family was still whole, there was a summer evening like any other, with all three of them out in the front yard. The light was long gone and the crickets were loud all around them, and Mom and Dad sat on the porch steps with their shoulders touching, laughing as they watched Hadley chase fireflies into the darkest corners of the yard.

Each time she got close, the brilliant yellow lights would disappear again, and so when she finally managed to catch one, it seemed almost a miracle, like a jewel in her hand. She cupped it carefully as she walked back to the porch.

“Can I have the bug house?” she asked, and Mom reached behind her for the jelly jar. They’d made holes in the lid earlier, so it was now pocked with little openings no bigger than the stars above, and the firefly winked madly through the filmy glass, its wings beating hard. Hadley pressed her face close to examine it.

“It’s definitely a good one,” Dad said matter-of-factly, and Mom nodded in agreement.

“How come they’re called lightning bugs if there’s no lightning?” Hadley asked, squinting at it. “Shouldn’t they just be called light bugs?”

“Well,” Dad said with a grin, “why are ladybugs called ladybugs if they’re not all ladies?”

Mom rolled her eyes and Hadley giggled as they all watched the little bug thrash against the thick walls of the jar.

“You remember when we went fishing last summer?” Mom asked later, when they were nearly ready to head in for the night. She snagged the back of Hadley’s shirt and tugged gently, walking her back a few steps so that she was half sitting on her lap. “And we threw back all the fish we caught?”

“So they could swim away again.”

“Exactly,” Mom said, resting her chin on Hadley’s shoulder. “I think this guy would be happier, too, if you let him go.”

Hadley said nothing, though she hugged the jar a bit closer to her.

“You know what they say,” Dad said. “If you love something, set it free.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Some things do, some things don’t,” he said, reaching over to tweak her nose. “I’ll always come back to you anyway.”

“You don’t light up,” Hadley pointed out, but Dad only smiled.

“I do when I’m with you.”

By the time the ceremony is over, the rain has mostly stopped. Even so, there’s an impressive flock of black umbrellas outside, guarding against the lingering mist and making the churchyard look more like a funeral gathering than a wedding. From above, the bells are ringing so loudly that Hadley can feel the vibrations straight through to her toes as she makes her way down the steps.