The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(50)

He grins and grabs Hadley’s hand. “Ready to cut a rug?”

“I’m not sure,” she says as he half drags her toward the middle of the room, where Charlotte—who is now dancing with her father—flashes them a smile. Nearby, Monty is doing some sort of jig with Violet, whose head is thrown back in laughter.

“My dear,” Dad says, offering a hand, which Hadley takes.

He spins them in a few jokey circles before slowing down again, and they move in awkward rotations, their steps boxy and ill-timed.

“Sorry,” he says when he steps on Hadley’s toe for the second time. “Dancing has never really been my forte.”

“You looked pretty good with Charlotte.”

“It’s all her,” he says with a smile. “She makes me look better than I am.”

They’re both quiet for a few beats, and Hadley’s eyes rove around the room. “This is nice,” she says. “Everything looks beautiful.”

“ ‘Cheerfulness and contentment are great beautifiers.’ ”

“Dickens?”

He nods.

“You know, I finally started Our Mutual Friend.”

His face brightens. “And?”

“Not bad.”

“Good enough to finish?” he asks, and Hadley pictures the book where she left it, on the hood of the black car in front of Oliver’s church.

“Maybe,” she tells him.

“You know, Charlotte was thrilled when you said you might come visit,” Dad says quietly, his head bent low. “I hope you’ll actually consider it. I was thinking maybe at the end of the summer, before school starts up again. We’ve got this spare bedroom that we could make yours. Maybe you could even bring some of your things and leave them here, so that it would seem more like a real room, and—”

“What about the baby?”

Dad drops his arms to his sides and takes a step backward, staring at her with a look of such surprise that all of a sudden Hadley isn’t nearly as certain about what she heard earlier. The song ends, but even before the last notes have trailed out over the ballroom, the band rolls straight into the next one, something loud and full of tempo. The tables begin to empty as everyone crowds onto the floor, leaving the waiters to serve plates of salad to vacant chairs. All around them the guests begin to dance, twisting and laughing and hopping around with no particular regard for rhythm. And in the midst of it all, Hadley and her dad stand absolutely still.

“What baby?” he asks, his words measured and deliberate, as if he is speaking to a very small child.

Hadley glances around wildly. A few yards away, Charlotte is peering around Monty, clearly wondering why they’re just standing there.

“I heard something back at the church,” Hadley starts to explain. “Charlotte said something, and I thought—”

“To you?”

“What?”

“She said something to you?”

“No, to the hairdresser. Or makeup artist. Somebody. I just overheard.”

His face loosens visibly, the lines around his mouth going slack.

“Look, Dad,” she says. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Hadley—”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to call and tell me or anything. I know it’s not like we talk a lot. But I just wanted to say that I’d like to be there.”

He’d been about to say something, but now he stops and stares at her.

“I don’t want to miss out anymore,” Hadley says in a rush. “I don’t want the new baby to grow up thinking of me like some long-lost second cousin or something. Someone you never see, and then instead of going shopping together or asking advice or even fighting, you end up just being really polite and having nothing to say because you don’t know each other, not really, not the way brothers and sisters do. And so I want to be there.”

“You do,” Dad says, but it’s not a question. It’s insistent, even hopeful, like a wish he’s been holding back for too long.

“I do.”

The song changes once again, scaling back into something slower, and the people around them start drifting toward their tables, where the salads have all been served. Charlotte reaches out and gives Dad’s arm a little squeeze as she walks by, and Hadley’s grateful that she knows enough not to interrupt them right now.

“And Charlotte’s not so bad, either,” Hadley admits, once she’s passed.

Dad looks amused. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

They’re alone now on the dance floor, just standing there while the rest of the room looks on. Hadley hears the clinking of glasses and the clatter of silverware as people begin to eat, but she’s still keenly aware that all the attention is still focused on them.

After a moment, Dad lifts his shoulders. “I don’t know what to say.”

A new thought strikes Hadley now, something that hasn’t occurred to her before. She says it slowly, her heart banging around in her chest: “You don’t want me to be part of it.”

Dad shakes his head and takes a small step closer, putting his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Of course I want that,” he says. “There’s nothing I want more. But Hadley?”