The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(28)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

“Paddington,” Mr. O’Callaghan says, and Hadley whips her head to look at him.

“Paddington?”

He nods, looking at her a little uncertainly, then turns back to Dad and Charlotte. “It starts at two, so we’d better be off. But congrats again,” he says. “We’re looking forward to tonight.”

As they leave, Hadley stares after them, her mind racing. The thinnest sliver of a thought is threading its way through her, but before she has a chance to grab hold of it Violet pushes through the crowd to announce that it’s time for photos.

“Hope you’re ready to smile till your face hurts,” she tells Hadley, who is about as far from ready to smile as is possible right now. Once again, she allows herself to be nudged forward, malleable as a piece of putty, as Dad and Charlotte follow along behind her, leaning into each other as if there’s nobody else around.

“Ah, I thought we were missing somebody,” jokes the photographer when she sees the bride and groom. The rest of the wedding party is already gathered in the garden around the side of the church, the same place where Hadley found her way inside earlier. One of the other bridesmaids hands her a small mirror, and she holds it gingerly, blinking back at herself, her mind a million miles away.

Hadley has no idea whether Paddington is a town or a neighborhood or even just a street. All she knows is that it’s where Oliver lives, and she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think back to what he said on the plane. Someone takes the mirror from her clammy hands, and she blindly follows the photographer’s pointed finger to a spot on the grass, where she stands obediently as the others assemble themselves around her.

When she’s told to smile, Hadley forces her lips into a shape that she hopes might resemble one. But her eyes sting with the effort of organizing her thoughts, and all she can picture is Oliver at the airport with that suit slung over his shoulder.

Had he ever actually said he was going to a wedding?

The camera clicks and whirs as the photographer arranges the wedding party in different combinations: the whole group; then just the women and just the men; then several variations on the family itself, the most awkward of which involves Hadley standing between her father and her brand-new stepmother. It’s impossible to know how she gets from one spot to another, but somehow she’s there all the same, her smile so falsely bright that her cheeks ache, her heart sinking like a weight in water.

It’s him, she thinks as the camera flashes. It’s Oliver’s father.

She knows nothing for sure, of course, but as soon as she attaches the words to it, gives name to the shapeless thoughts in her head, she’s suddenly certain it must be true.

“Dad,” she says quietly, and from where he’s standing beside her, he moves his head just the tiniest bit, his smile unchanging.

“Yeah?” he asks through his teeth.

Charlotte’s eyes slide over in Hadley’s direction, then back to the camera.

“I have to go.”

Dad looks over at her this time and the photographer straightens with a frown and says, “You’ll have to stay still.”

“Just a minute,” he tells her, holding up a finger. To Hadley, he says, “Go where?”

Everyone is looking at her now: the florist, who’s trying to keep the bouquets from wilting; the rest of the bridesmaids, observing the family shoot from the sidelines; the photographer’s assistant, with her clipboard. Someone’s baby lets out a sharp cry, and from atop the statue the pigeons take flight. Everyone is looking, but Hadley doesn’t care. Because the possibility that Oliver—who spent half the flight listening to her complain about this wedding like it was a tragedy of epic proportions—might be preparing for his father’s funeral at this very moment is almost too much to bear.

Nobody here will understand; she knows that much is true. She’s not even sure she understands herself. Yet there’s an urgency to the decision, a kind of slow and desperate momentum. Each time she closes her eyes, he’s there again: Oliver telling her the story of the night-light, his eyes distant and his voice hollow.

“It’s just…” she begins, then trails off again. “There’s something I need to do.”

Dad raises both hands and looks around, clearly unable to fathom what this might be. “Now?” he asks, his voice tight. “What could you possibly have to do at this exact moment? In London?”

Charlotte is watching them, her mouth open.

“Please, Dad,” she says, her voice soft. “It’s important.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think…”

But she’s already backing away. “I swear I’ll be back for the reception,” she says. “And I’ll have my phone.”

“Where are you even going?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, still moving backward, though this is clearly not the answer her dad was looking for. She gives a little wave as she reaches the door to the church. Everyone is still eyeing her as if she’s lost her mind, and maybe she has, but she needs to know for sure. She grabs the handle and braves one last glance back at Dad, who looks furious. His hands are on his hips, his forehead creased. She waves again and then steps inside, letting the door close behind her.

The stillness of the church comes as a shock, and Hadley stands there with her back against the cool stone of the wall, waiting for someone—Dad or Charlotte, the wedding planner or a posse of bridesmaids—to come after her. But nobody does, and she suspects this isn’t because Dad understands. How could he? It’s far more likely that he just doesn’t remember how to be this kind of parent anymore. It’s one thing to be the guy who calls on Christmas; it’s another to have to discipline your teenage daughter in front of everyone you know, especially when you’re no longer quite sure of the rules.

Hadley feels guilty for taking advantage of him like this, especially on his wedding day, but it’s like the lens has shifted; her focus is now clear.

All she wants is to get to Oliver.

Downstairs, she hurries to the classroom where she left her bags. As she walks past the mirror she catches a glimpse of herself, looking young and pale and so very uncertain, and she feels her resolve start to crumble. Maybe she’s jumping to conclusions. Maybe she’s wrong about Oliver’s dad. She has no idea where she’s going, and there’s a good possibility that her own father won’t ever forgive her for this.