The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(51)

She raises her eyes to meet his.

“There’s no baby.”

“What?”

“There will be,” he says almost shyly. “Someday. At least we hope so. Charlotte’s worried because there’s some family history of trouble with these things and she’s not as young as, well, your mom was. But she wants it desperately, and the truth is, so do I. So we’re hoping for the best.”

“But Charlotte said—”

“It’s just the way she is,” he tells her. “She’s one of those people who talks a lot about something when they really want it to happen. It’s almost like she tries to will it into being.”

Hadley can’t help herself; she makes a face. “How’s that working out for her?”

Dad grins and waves a hand at the room. “Well, she used to talk about me a lot. And now look at us.”

“I’m guessing that was more you than the universe.”

“True,” he says ruefully. “But either way, whenever we do have a baby, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Hadley, come on.”

“I just figured since you’ve got all these new people over here…”

“Come on, kiddo,” he says again, his face breaking into a smile. “You’re still the most important thing in my life. And besides, who else can I ask to babysit and change nappies?”

“Diapers,” Hadley says, rolling her eyes. “They’re called diapers, Dad.”

He laughs. “You can call them whatever you want, as long as you’ll be there to help me change them when the time comes.”

“I will,” she says, surprised to find that her voice is a little wobbly. “I’ll be there.”

She’s not sure what else there is to say after that; part of her wants to hug him, to fling herself into his arms the way she used to as a kid. But all this seems beyond her right now; she’s still shell-shocked by the pure momentum of it all, the sheer amount of ground covered in a single day after so much time spent standing still.

Dad seems to understand this, because he’s the first to move, slinging an arm around her shoulders to steer her back toward their table. Tucked beside him like that, in the same way she’s been a thousand times before—walking to the car together after a soccer game, or leaving the Girl Scouts’ annual father-daughter dance—Hadley realizes that even though everything else is different, even though there’s still an ocean between them, nothing really important has changed at all.

He’s still her dad. The rest is just geography.

17

6:10 PM Eastern Standard Time

11:10 PM Greenwich Mean Time

In the same way that Hadley’s claustrophobia often manages to shrink even the biggest spaces, something about the reception—the music or the dancing, or even just the champagne—makes the hours seem as if they’re no more than a handful of minutes. It’s like one of those montages in the movies where everything is sped up, scenes turned into snapshots, conversations into mere instants.

During dinner, Monty and Violet both make their toasts—his punctuated by laughter, hers by tears—and Hadley watches Charlotte and Dad as they listen, their eyes shining. Later, after the cake has been cut and Charlotte has managed to duck Dad’s attempts to get even for the white frosting she smeared on his nose, there’s more dancing. By the time coffee is served they’re all slumped at the table together, their cheeks flushed and their feet sore. Dad sits wedged between Hadley and Charlotte, who—between sips of champagne and tiny bites of cake—keeps flashing him looks.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks eventually.

“No, I’m just hoping everything’s okay with you two,” she admits. “After your discussion out on the dance floor.”

“That looked like a discussion?” Dad says with a grin. “It was supposed to be a waltz. Did I get the steps wrong?”

Hadley rolls her eyes. “He stomped on my toes at least a dozen times,” she tells Charlotte. “But other than that, we’re fine.”

Dad’s mouth falls open in mock anger. “There’s no way it was more than twice.”

“Sorry, darling,” Charlotte says. “I’ll have to side with Hadley on this one. My poor bruised toes speak for themselves.”

“Married only a few hours, and already you’re disagreeing with me?”

Charlotte laughs. “I promise I’ll be disagreeing with you till death us do part, my dear.”

Across the table, Violet raises her glass and then taps it gently with her spoon, and amid the more frantic clinking that follows, Dad and Charlotte lean in for yet another kiss, separating only after realizing there’s a waiter hovering just behind them, waiting to take their plates.

Once her own place setting is cleared, Hadley pushes back her chair and leans forward to pick up her purse. “I think I might go get some fresh air,” she announces.

“Are you feeling all right?” Charlotte asks, and Monty winks at her from over the top of his champagne glass, as if to say he’d warned her not to drink too much.

“I’m fine,” Hadley says quickly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Dad leans back in his chair with a knowing smile. “Say hello to your mom for me.”