Hadley smiled at him. “It’s not the worst place to be stuck.”
“No, it’s not,” Oliver agreed, popping the last pretzel in his mouth. “In fact, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”
In the hallway of the darkened church Dad paces restlessly, checking his watch and craning his neck toward the stairs every now and then as they wait for Charlotte to emerge from the basement. He looks like a teenager, flushed and eager for his date to arrive, and the thought crosses Hadley’s mind that maybe this is what he wanted to be when he grew up. Husband to Charlotte. Father to her baby. A man who spends Christmas in Scotland and goes on holiday to the south of France, who talks about art and politics and literature over slow-cooked meals and bottles of wine.
How odd that things turned out this way, especially since he’d been so close to staying home. Dream job or not, four months had seemed like such a long time to be away, and if it hadn’t been for Mom—who urged him to go, who said it was his dream, who insisted he’d regret passing up such an opportunity—Dad would never even have met Charlotte in the first place.
But here they are, and as if cued by Hadley’s unspoken musings, Charlotte appears at the top of the stairs, pink-cheeked and radiant in her dress. Without the veil, her auburn hair now hangs in loose curls to her shoulders, and she seems to glide right into Dad’s arms. Hadley looks away when they kiss, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. After a moment, Dad breaks away and sweeps an arm in Hadley’s direction.
“I’d like you to meet my daughter,” he says to Charlotte. “Officially.”
Charlotte beams at her. “I’m so pleased you could make it,” she says, pulling Hadley into a hug. She smells of lilacs, though it’s hard to tell whether it’s her perfume or the bouquet she’s holding. Taking a step back again, Hadley notices the ring on her finger, at least double the size of Mom’s, which Hadley still sneaks out of the jewelry box from time to time, slipping it onto her thumb and examining the carved faces of the diamond as if they might hold the key to her parents’ unraveling.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Charlotte says, turning back to Dad. “But you only get to take your wedding photos once.”
Hadley considers mentioning that this is in fact Dad’s second time around, but she manages to bite her tongue.
“Don’t listen to her,” Dad says to Hadley. “She takes this long even when she’s just going out to the market.”
Charlotte whacks him lightly with her bouquet. “Aren’t you supposed to act like a gentleman on your wedding day?”
Dad leans in and gives her a quick kiss. “For you, I’ll try.”
Hadley flicks her eyes away again, feeling like an intruder. She wishes she could slip outside without their noticing, but Charlotte is now smiling at her again with an expression Hadley isn’t quite sure how to read.
“Has your dad had a chance to tell you about—”
“The father-daughter dance?” Dad says, cutting her off. “Yeah, I told her.”
“Brilliant,” Charlotte says, putting an arm around Hadley’s shoulders conspiratorially. “I’ve already made sure there’ll be plenty of ice at the reception for when your dad steps all over our toes.”
Hadley smiles weakly. “Great.”
“We should probably get out there and say a quick hello to everyone before it’s time for photos,” Dad suggests. “And then the whole wedding party is going back to the hotel before the reception,” he tells Hadley. “So we just need to remember to grab your suitcase before we head over.”
“Sure,” she says, allowing herself to be led in the direction of the open doors at the end of the long corridor. She feels a bit like she’s sleepwalking and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, figuring the only way out of this—this wedding, this weekend, this whole blessed event—is to just keep moving forward.
“Hey,” Dad says, pausing just before they reach the door. He leans over and kisses Hadley’s forehead. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” she murmurs, falling back again as Dad loops an arm around Charlotte, pulling her close before they step outside together. A cheer goes up from the crowd at the sight of them, and though she knows all eyes are on the bride, Hadley still feels far too visible, so she hangs back until Dad half turns and motions for her to follow them.
The sky above is still shot through with silver, a glittery mix of sun and clouds, and the umbrellas have all but disappeared. Hadley trails after the happy couple as Dad shakes hands and Charlotte kisses cheeks, occasionally introducing her to people she’ll never remember, repeating names she barely hears—Dad’s colleague Justin and Charlotte’s wayward cousin Carrie; the flower girls, Aishling and Niamh; and Reverend Walker’s portly wife—the whole unfamiliar cast assembled on the lawn like a reminder of all that Hadley doesn’t know about her father.
It seems that most of the guests will attend the reception later this evening, but they’re unable to wait until then to offer their heartfelt congratulations, and the joy in their faces is contagious. Even Hadley can’t help but be stirred by the momentousness of the day, until she notices a woman balancing a baby on her hip, and the leaden feeling returns again.
“Hadley,” Dad is saying as he guides her over to an older couple, “I want you to meet some very good friends of Charlotte’s family, the O’Callaghans.”
Hadley shakes each of their hands, nodding politely. “Nice to meet you.”
“So this is the famous Hadley,” says Mr. O’Callaghan. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
It’s difficult to hide her surprise. “Really?”
“Of course,” Dad says, squeezing her shoulder. “How many daughters do you think I have?”
Hadley is still just staring at him, unsure of what to say, when Charlotte arrives at his side again and greets the older couple warmly.
“We just wanted to say congratulations before we go,” says Mrs. O’Callaghan. “We’ve got a funeral, of all things, but we’ll be back for the reception later.”
“Oh, how sad,” Charlotte says. “I’m so sorry. Whose is it?”
“An old friend of Tom’s, from his Oxford law days.”
“That’s terrible,” Dad says. “Is it far?”