The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(39)

“Right,” he said with a little smile, watching them go.

Months later—after the divorce papers had been filed, after Mom had slipped into some semblance of a normal routine, after Hadley had once again woken up in the night with a sore tooth—Dr. Harrison Doyle finally worked up the nerve to ask Mom to dinner. But Hadley had known even then, that first time; it was something in the way he’d looked at her, with a hopefulness that made the worry Hadley had been carrying around with her feel somehow lighter.

Harrison proved to be as steady as Dad was restless, as grounded as Dad was a dreamer. He was exactly what they needed; he didn’t come into their lives with any kind of fanfare, but with a quiet resolve, one dinner at a time, one movie at a time, tiptoeing around the periphery for months until they were finally ready to let him in. And once they did, it was like he’d always been there. It was almost hard to imagine what the kitchen table had looked like when Dad was the one across from them, and for Hadley—caught in a constant tug-of-war between trying to remember and trying to forget—this helped with the illusion that they were moving on.

One night, about eight months after her mom and Dr. Doyle started dating, Hadley opened the front door to find him pacing on their front stoop.

“Hey,” she said, pushing open the screen. “Didn’t she tell you? She’s got her book club tonight.”

He stepped inside, careful to wipe his feet on the mat. “I was actually looking for you,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to ask your permission about something.”

Hadley, who was quite sure an adult had never asked her permission for anything before, looked at him with interest.

“If it’s okay with you,” he said, his eyes bright behind his glasses, “I’d really like to marry your mom.”

That was the first time. And when Mom said no, he simply tried again a few months later. And when she said no again, he waited some more.

Hadley was there for the third attempt, perched awkwardly at the edge of the picnic blanket as he got down on one knee in front of Mom, the string quartet he’d hired playing softly in the background. Mom went pale and shook her head, but Harrison only smiled, like it was all some big joke, like he was in on it, too.

“I sort of figured,” he said, snapping the box shut again and slipping it into his pocket. He gave the quartet a little shrug, and they kept playing as he settled back onto the blanket. Mom scooted closer to him, and Harrison gave his head a rueful little shake.

“I swear,” he said, “I’m gonna to wear you down eventually.”

Mom smiled. “I hope you do.”

To Hadley, this was all completely baffling. It was like Mom wanted and didn’t want to marry him all at once, like even though she knew it was the thing to do, something was holding her back.

“It’s not because of Dad, is it?” Hadley had asked later, and Mom looked up at her sharply.

“Of course not,” she said. “Besides, if I was trying to compete with him, I’d have said yes, right?”

“I didn’t say you were trying to compete with him,” Hadley pointed out. “I guess I was more wondering whether you’re still waiting for him.”

Mom took off her reading glasses. “Your father…” she said, trailing off. “We drove each other nuts. And I still don’t exactly forgive him for what he did. There’s a part of me that will always love him, mostly because of you, but things happened this way for a reason, you know?”

“But you still don’t want to marry Harrison.”

Mom nodded.

“But you love him.”

“I do,” she said. “Very much.”

Hadley shook her head, frustrated. “That makes absolutely no sense at all.”

“It’s not supposed to,” Mom said with a smile. “Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.”

“I’m not talking about love,” Hadley insisted. “I’m talking about marriage.”

Mom shrugged. “That,” she said, “is even worse.”

Now Hadley stands off to the side of this little church in London, watching as the young bride and groom emerge onto the steps. Her phone is still pressed to her ear, and she listens to it ring across the ocean, over the wires, around the globe, looking on as the groom’s hand searches out the bride’s so that their fingers are braided together. It’s a small gesture, but there’s something meaningful about it, the two of them stepping into the world as one.

When the phone goes to voice mail she sighs, listening to the familiar sound of Mom’s voice telling her to leave a message. She finds herself turning around so that she’s facing west, almost unconsciously, like it might somehow bring her closer to home, and as she does she notices the narrow point of a steeple just between the white facades of two buildings. Before the phone can beep in her ear she flips it shut again, leaving behind yet another wedding as she hurries in the direction of yet another church, knowing without knowing that this is the one.

When she gets there, rounding a building and then weaving between the cars parked on either side of the street, she’s pulled up short by the scene before her, her whole body going numb at the sight. There on the small patch of lawn is a statue of Mary, the one Oliver used to get in trouble for climbing with his brothers. And standing around it, gathered in tight knots, is a crowd of people wearing shades of black and gray.