The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

by Jennifer E. Smithwr

  “We thought you might miss it,” says Violet, the maid of honor, a childhood friend of Charlotte’s. She flits around Hadley’s head, taking a clip from her mouth. Another, Jocelyn, grabs a makeup brush and then squints for a moment before getting to work. In the mirror, Hadley can see that the other two have opened her suitcase and are attempting to smooth out the dress, which is as hopelessly wrinkled as she feared.

  “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” says Hillary, disappearing into the bathroom with it. “It’s the kind of dress where the creases just give it a little life.”

  “How was your flight?” Violet asks as she jams a brush through Hadley’s hair, which is still tangled from the hours spent on the plane. Before Hadley has a chance to answer, Violet twists her hair into a knot, pulling so hard that Hadley’s blue eyes nearly disappear.

  “Too tight,” she manages, feeling like Snow White, getting pecked to death by too many helpful forest creatures.

  But by the time they’re done with her a mere ten minutes later, Hadley has to admit they’ve pulled off some sort of miracle. The dress, while still a bit squashed, looks better than it ever did when she tried it on back home, thanks to Mom’s last-minute triage yesterday morning and some creative pinning by her fellow bridesmaids. The spaghetti straps are the perfect length and the lavender silk hangs just right, ending at her knees. The shoes are Mom’s, strappy sandals as shiny as two coins, and Hadley wiggles her painted toes as she studies them. Her hair is pulled back into an elegant bun, and between that and the makeup, she feels completely unlike herself.

  “You look like a ballerina,” Whitney says, clasping her hands together delightedly, and Hadley smiles, a bit shy amid so many fairy godmothers. But even she has to admit that it’s true.

  “We better go,” Violet says, glancing up at the clock, which reads 12:08. “Don’t want Charlotte to have a heart attack on her wedding day.”

  The others laugh as they take one last look in the mirror, then the whole group hurries out the door as one, their heels loud on the linoleum floor of the church basement.

  But Hadley finds herself frozen in place. It’s only just occurred to her that she won’t have a chance to see her father before the ceremony, and something about this sets her completely off-balance. All of a sudden everything seems to be happening much too fast, and she smoothes her dress and bites her lip and tries unsuccessfully to slow her rushing mind.

  He’s getting married, she thinks, marveling at the very idea of it. Married.

  All this she’s known for months—that he’s starting a new life today, a life with someone who’s not Mom—but until now it was only ever just words, the vaguest of notions, the kind of future occasion that seems like it might not ever actually happen, that sneaks up on you like the monsters in childhood stories, all fur and teeth and claws, without any real substance.

  But now, standing here in the basement of a church with shaking hands and a hammering heart, she’s struck by what this day actually means, by all that she’ll lose and gain with it, by how much has already changed. And something inside of her begins to hurt.

  One of the bridesmaids calls from down the hall, where the echoing of footsteps is growing softer. Hadley takes a deep breath, trying to remember what Oliver said on the plane about her being brave. And though at this particular moment she feels quite the opposite, something in the memory makes her stand up a bit taller, and so she holds on to this as she sets off after the group, her eyes wide under her makeup.

  Upstairs, she’s led around to the lobby at the front of the church and introduced to Charlotte’s brother, Monty, who will be the one walking her down the aisle. He’s rail thin and ghostly pale, and Hadley guesses he’s at least a few years older than Charlotte, putting him on the other side of forty. He offers her a hand, which is cold and papery, and then, once the introductions have been made, proffers his elbow. Someone hands her a pink and lavender bouquet as they’re maneuvered into line behind the others, and before she can even really register what’s happening the doors are thrown open and the eyes of the congregation are suddenly upon them.

  When it’s their turn Monty nudges her forward, and Hadley walks with small steps, a bit unsteady in her heels. The wedding is bigger than she’d imagined; for months she’s been picturing a small country church filled with a few close friends. But this is nothing short of a gala event, and there are hundreds of unfamiliar faces, all turned in her direction.

  She adjusts her grip on the stems of the bouquet and lifts her chin. On the groom’s side, she spots a few people she vaguely knows: an old college friend of her father’s; a second cousin who’s been living in Australia; and an elderly uncle who for years sent her birthday gifts on the completely wrong day, and who—if she’s being really honest—she sort of assumed was dead by now.

  As they make their way up the aisle, Hadley has to remind herself to breathe. The music is loud in her ears and the dim lighting of the church makes her blink. It’s hard to tell whether she’s warm because there’s no air-conditioning or because of the panicky feeling she’s trying hard to push away, that familiar sensation that comes with too many people in too little space.

  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—d
espite 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.

  As soon as they’d been pronounced man and wife, Dad and Charlotte had marched triumphantly back up the aisle, where they’d promptly disappeared. Even now, a full fifteen minutes after they sealed the deal with a kiss, Hadley hasn’t seen any sign of them. She wanders aimlessly through the crowd, wondering how Dad could possibly know this many people. He lived in Connecticut for nearly his whole life and has only a few token friends to show for it. A couple years over here, and he’s apparently some kind of social butterfly.

  Besides which, most of the guests look like extras from a movie set, plucked straight out of someone else’s life entirely. Since when does her father hang out with women in fancy hats and men in morning suits, all of them dressed as if they’ve dropped by on their way to tea with the Queen? The whole scene—combined with her mounting jet lag—makes Hadley feel not quite awake, like she’s a beat or two behind the present moment and trying unsuccessfully to catch up.

  As a sliver of sun breaks through the clouds, the wedding guests tilt their heads back and lower their umbrellas, marveling as if they’re fortunate enough to be bearing witness to the rarest of weather anomalies. Standing in their midst, Hadley isn’t quite sure what’s required of her at the moment. The other bridesmaids don’t appear to be around, and it’s entirely possible she’s meant to be doing something more useful right now; she didn’t exactly read all of the schedules and directions that had been e-mailed to her over the past few weeks, and there’d been no time to get further instruction before the ceremony.

  “Am I supposed to be somewhere?” she asks when she stumbles across Monty, who’s circling the vintage white limousine out front with great interest. He shrugs, then immediately resumes his inspection of the car that will presumably whisk the happy couple off to the reception later.

  On her way back toward the church entrance, Hadley is relieved to spot a purple dress in the crowd, which turns out to be Violet.

  “Your dad’s looking for you,” Violet says, pointing at the old stone building. “He and Charlotte are inside. She’s just getting her makeup retouched a bit before it’s time for photos.”

  “When’s the reception?” Hadley asks, and the way Violet looks at her, it’s as if she’s inquired as to where the sky’s located. Apparently, this is a rather obvious piece of information.

  “Did you not get an itinerary?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to look at it,” Hadley says sheepishly.

  “It’s not till six.”

  “So what do we do between now and then?”

  “Well, the photos will take a while.”

  “And then?”

  Violet shrugs. “Everyone’s staying at the hotel.”

  Hadley gives her a blank look.

  “Which is where the reception is,” she explains. “So I suppose we’ll probably go back there in between.”

  “Fun,” Hadley says, and Violet raises an eyebrow.

  “Aren’t you going to go find your dad?”

  “Right,” she says without moving. “Yup.”

  “He’s in the church,” Violet repeats, forming the words slowly, as if worried that her friend’s new stepdaughter might be a few ants shy of a picnic. “Right over there.”

  When Hadley still makes no sort of overture to leave, Violet’s face softens.

  “Look,” she says, “my father remarried when I was a bit younger than you are. So I get it. But you could do a lot worse than Charlotte as a stepmum, you know?”

  In fact, Hadley doesn’t know. She barely knows anything about Charlotte at all, but she doesn’t say this.

  Violet frowns. “I thought mine was really awful. I hated her for asking me to do even the smallest things, things my own mum would have made me do, too, like going to church or doing chores around the house. With stuff like that, it’s just a matter of who’s doing the asking, and because it was her, I hated it.” She pauses, smiling. “Then one day, I realized it wasn’t her that I was really angry with. It was him.”

  Hadley looks off toward the church for a moment before answering. “Then I guess,” she says finally, “that I’m already a step ahead of you.”

  Violet nods, perhaps realizing that there’s not much progress to be made on the subject, and gives Hadley’s shoulder an awkward little pat. A
s she turns to leave, Hadley is filled with a sudden dread for whatever it is that awaits her inside the church. What exactly are you supposed to say to the father you haven’t seen in ages on the occasion of his wedding to a woman you’ve never met? If there’s an appropriate etiquette for this sort of situation, she’s certainly not familiar with it.

  Inside, the church is quiet. Everyone is outside waiting for the bride and groom to emerge. Her heels echo loudly on the tiled floors as she wanders toward the basement, trailing a hand along the rough stone walls. Near the stairs, the sound of voices drifts upward like smoke, and Hadley pauses at the top to listen.

  “You don’t mind, then?” a woman asks, and another one murmurs something that’s too soft for Hadley to hear. “I’d think it’d make things tough.”

  “Not at all,” says the other woman, and Hadley realizes that it’s Charlotte. “Besides, she lives with her mum.”

  From where she’s standing, frozen at the top of the stairs, Hadley catches her breath.

  Here it comes, she thinks. The wicked stepmother moment.

  Here’s the part where she overhears all the awful things they’ve been saying about her, where she discovers how glad they are that she’s out of the picture, that she’s not wanted anyway. She’s spent so many months imagining this, picturing just how awful Charlotte might be, and now that the moment is finally here, she’s so busy waiting for the proof that she nearly misses the next part.

  “I’d like to get to know her better,” Charlotte is saying. “I really do hope they patch things up soon.”