The Statistical Probability Of Love At First Sight by Jennifer E. Smith Page B
Authors: Jennifer E. Smith
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enormous church with a red roof and a steeple so high the very top of it is lost to the mist. The front doors are open, and two round-faced men in tuxes hover in the doorway.
Hadley sifts through the stack of brightly colored bills her mom exchanged for her, handing over what seems like an awful lot for a ride from the airport, plus the extra twenty she promised, which leaves her with only ten pounds. After stepping out into the rain to heave her suitcase from the trunk, the driver pulls away in the taxi, and Hadley simply stands there for a moment, peering up at the church.
From inside she can hear the deep peals of an organ, and in the doorway the two ushers shuffle their stacks of programs and smile at her expectantly. But she spots another door along the brick wall out front and sets off in that direction instead. The only thing worse than walking down the aisle would be to accidentally do it too early, wearing a wrinkled jean skirt and toting a red suitcase.
The door leads to a small garden with a stone statue of a saint, currently occupied by three pigeons. Hadley wheels her suitcase along the side of the building until she comes across another door, and when she shoves it open with her shoulder the sound of the music fills the garden. She looks right and then left down the hallway before taking off toward the back of the church, where she runs into a small woman wearing a little hat with feathers.
“Sorry,” Hadley says, half whispering. “I’m looking for… the groom?”
“Ah, you must be Hadley!” the woman says. “I’m so glad you made it. Don’t worry, dear. The girls are waiting for you downstairs.” She says
girls
as if it rhymes with
carols
, and Hadley realizes this must be the bride’s mother, from Scotland. Now that Dad and Charlotte are getting married, Hadley wonders if she’s supposed to consider this woman—this total stranger—a grandmother of sorts. She’s struck a bit speechless by the idea of it, wondering what other new family members she might be acquiring once the day’s events are set in motion. But before she has a chance to say anything, the woman makes a little flapping motion with her hands.
“Better hurry,” she says, and Hadley finds her voice again, thanking her quickly before heading toward the stairwell.
As she bumps her suitcase down one step at a time, she can hear a flurry of voices, and by the time she hits the bottom, she’s completely surrounded.
“
There
she is,” one of the women says, putting an arm around her shoulders to shepherd her into a Sunday-school classroom that appears to be doubling as a dressing room. Another grabs her suitcase, and a third guides her into a folding chair, which is set up in front of the mirror that leans against the chalkboard. All four women are already wearing their lavender bridesmaid dresses, and their hair is sprayed, their eyebrows plucked, their makeup done. Hadley tries to keep them straight as they introduce themselves, but it’s clear that there’s very little time for pleasantries; these women are all business.
“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
Hadley sifts through the stack of brightly colored bills her mom exchanged for her, handing over what seems like an awful lot for a ride from the airport, plus the extra twenty she promised, which leaves her with only ten pounds. After stepping out into the rain to heave her suitcase from the trunk, the driver pulls away in the taxi, and Hadley simply stands there for a moment, peering up at the church.
From inside she can hear the deep peals of an organ, and in the doorway the two ushers shuffle their stacks of programs and smile at her expectantly. But she spots another door along the brick wall out front and sets off in that direction instead. The only thing worse than walking down the aisle would be to accidentally do it too early, wearing a wrinkled jean skirt and toting a red suitcase.
The door leads to a small garden with a stone statue of a saint, currently occupied by three pigeons. Hadley wheels her suitcase along the side of the building until she comes across another door, and when she shoves it open with her shoulder the sound of the music fills the garden. She looks right and then left down the hallway before taking off toward the back of the church, where she runs into a small woman wearing a little hat with feathers.
“Sorry,” Hadley says, half whispering. “I’m looking for… the groom?”
“Ah, you must be Hadley!” the woman says. “I’m so glad you made it. Don’t worry, dear. The girls are waiting for you downstairs.” She says
girls
as if it rhymes with
carols
, and Hadley realizes this must be the bride’s mother, from Scotland. Now that Dad and Charlotte are getting married, Hadley wonders if she’s supposed to consider this woman—this total stranger—a grandmother of sorts. She’s struck a bit speechless by the idea of it, wondering what other new family members she might be acquiring once the day’s events are set in motion. But before she has a chance to say anything, the woman makes a little flapping motion with her hands.
“Better hurry,” she says, and Hadley finds her voice again, thanking her quickly before heading toward the stairwell.
As she bumps her suitcase down one step at a time, she can hear a flurry of voices, and by the time she hits the bottom, she’s completely surrounded.
“
There
she is,” one of the women says, putting an arm around her shoulders to shepherd her into a Sunday-school classroom that appears to be doubling as a dressing room. Another grabs her suitcase, and a third guides her into a folding chair, which is set up in front of the mirror that leans against the chalkboard. All four women are already wearing their lavender bridesmaid dresses, and their hair is sprayed, their eyebrows plucked, their makeup done. Hadley tries to keep them straight as they introduce themselves, but it’s clear that there’s very little time for pleasantries; these women are all business.
“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
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