The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(38)

“Enough of this,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Hadley frowned. “What?”

“Pack your bags, kid,” Mom said, sounding almost like herself again. “We’re going on a trip.”

It was late January, and outside everything was as bleak as it was inside. But by the time they stepped off the plane in Arizona, Hadley could already see something in Mom beginning to unfold, that part of her that had been clenched too tight, that had been curled up in a little ball inside her. They spent a long weekend by the pool at the resort, their skin turning brown and their hair going blonder in the sun. At night they watched movies and ate burgers and played miniature golf, and though she kept waiting for Mom to crumble, to drop the act and melt into a little puddle of tears the way she’d been doing for weeks, it never happened. It occurred to Hadley that if this was how life was going to be from now on—just one long girls’ weekend—then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

But it wasn’t until they arrived home again that she realized the true purpose of the trip; she could feel it right away, from the moment they walked into the house, like the electricity that lingers after a thunderstorm.

Dad had been there.

The kitchen was cold and dim, and the two of them stood there, silently assessing the damage. It was the little things that stunned Hadley the most, not the obvious absences—the coats on the hooks by the back door, or the wool blanket that was usually draped over the couch in the next room—but the smaller pockets of space: the missing ceramic jar she’d made him in pottery class, the framed photo of his parents that had sat on the hutch, the empty spot in the cabinet where his mug had always been. It was like the scene of a crime, as if the house had been stripped for its parts, and Hadley’s first thought was for Mom.

But one look told her that her mother already knew about this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mom was in the living room now, her fingers trailing over the furniture as if she were taking stock of things. “I thought it would be too hard.”

“For who?” Hadley asked, her eyes flashing.

Mom didn’t answer, only looked at her calmly, with a patience that felt like permission; it was Hadley’s turn to be shaken now, Hadley’s turn to come undone.

“We thought it would be too hard for you to watch,” Mom said. “He wanted to see you, but not like this. Not while he was moving out.”

“I’m the one who’s been holding it together,” Hadley said, her voice small. “I should be the one to decide what’s too hard.”

“Hadley,” Mom said softly, taking a step toward her, but Hadley backed away.

“Don’t,” she said, swallowing back tears. Because it was true; all this time she had been the one to hold it together. All this time, she’d been the one to keep them moving forward. But now she could feel herself falling to pieces, and when Mom finally folded her into a hug, all the blurriness of the past month seemed to snap back into focus again, and for the first time since Dad left Hadley felt the anger inside of her loosening, replaced with a sadness so big it was hard to see past it. She pressed her face into Mom’s shoulder, and they stood there like that for a long time, Mom’s arms around her as Hadley cried a month’s worth of tears.

Six weeks later Hadley would meet Dad in Aspen for their ski trip, and Mom would see her off at the airport with the same measured calm that seemed to have come over her now, an unexpected peace, as fragile as it was certain. Hadley could never be sure whether it was Arizona that did it—the sudden change, the constant sun—or if it was the jarring finality of Dad’s missing things upon their return home, but either way, something had changed.

A week later, Hadley’s tooth began to ache.

“Too many sweets from the minibar,” Mom joked as they drove to the dentist’s office that afternoon, Hadley’s hand clapped over her jaw.

Their old dentist had retired not long after her last appointment, and the new one was a balding man in his early fifties with a kind face and a starched smock. When he poked his head around the corner of the waiting room to call her in, Hadley saw his eyes widen slightly at the sight of Mom, who was doing the crossword puzzle in a children’s magazine, quite pleased with herself even though Hadley had informed her it was meant for eight-year-olds. The dentist smoothed the front of his shirt and stepped out into the room.

“I’m Dr. Doyle,” he said, reaching to shake Hadley’s hand, his eyes never leaving Mom, who looked up with a distracted smile.

“Kate,” Mom said. “And this is Hadley.”

Later, after he’d filled her tooth, Dr. Doyle walked Hadley back out to the waiting area, something her old dentist had never done.

“So?” Mom asked, standing up. “How’d it go? Does she get a lollipop for being good?”

“Uh, we try not to encourage too much sugar here….”

“It’s okay,” Hadley said, throwing her mom a look. “She’s only kidding.”

“Well, thanks so much, Doc,” Mom said, slinging her purse over her shoulder and putting an arm around Hadley’s shoulders. “Hopefully we won’t see you again too soon.”

He looked stricken by this, until Mom flashed him a too-big grin.

“At least not if we brush and floss regularly, right?”