Aug 10 2014
This time, when Oliver offers his hand to dance, he pulls her close.
‘What happened to those formal techniques of yours?’ she says into his shoulder. ‘Don’t all proper English gentlemen dance like that?’
She can hear the smile in his voice. ‘I’m doing my summer research project on different styles of dancing.’
‘So does that mean we’ll be doing the tango next.’
‘Only if you’re up for it.’
‘What are you really studying?’
He leans back to look at her. ‘The statistical probability of love at first sight.’
‘Very funny,’ she says. ‘What is it really?’
‘I’m serious.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
He laughs, then lowers his mouth so that it’s close to her ear. ‘People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else.’
‘You’re ridiculous,’ she says, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Yes,’ he says, laughing. ‘You, actually. About a thousand times today.’
‘Well,’ today’s almost over,’ Hadley says, glancing at the gold-trimmed clock on the other side of the room. ‘Only four more minutes. It’s eleven fifty-six.’
‘That means we met twenty-four hours ago.’
‘Seems like it’s been longer.’
Oliver smiles. ‘Did you know that people who meet at least three different times within a twenty-four hour period are ninety-eight percent more likely to meet again?’
This time she doesn’t bother correcting him. Just this once, she’d like to believe that he’s right.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago 1 note

Aug 10 2014
'Yeah,' Violet says from where she's stooped on the floor. 'But those weren't family tears.'
Whitney rakes her fingers through Hadley’s hair. ‘What were they, then?’
‘Those were boy tears,’ Violet says with a smile.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago 1 note

Tags: THERE'S A DIFFERENCE boy problems
Aug 10 2014
It wasn’t that she was meant to read them all. Maybe someday she would, but for now, it was more the gesture itself. He was giving her the most important thing he could, the only way he knew how. He was a professor, a lover of stories, and he was building her a library in the same way other men might build their daughters houses.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago

Tags: father-daughter relationships
Aug 10 2014
People talk about books being an escape, but here on the tube, this one feels more like a lifeline. As she leafs through the pages, the rest of it fades away: the flurry of elbows and purses, the woman in a tunic biting her fingernails, the two teenagers with blaring headphones, even the man playing the violin at the other end of the car, its reedy tune working its way through the crowd. The motion of the train makes her head rattle, but her eyes lock on the words the way a figure skater might choose a focal point as she spins, and just like that, she’s grounded again.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago

Tags: reading true story
Aug 09 2014
'Never mind all this,' he said after a moment. 'Who wants to think about the future, anyway?'
‘Not me,’ she said. ‘I can hardly stand to think of the next few hours, much less the next few years.’
‘That’s why flying’s so great,’ he said. ‘You’re stuck where you are. You’ve got no choice in the matter.’

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago 1 note

Aug 09 2014
'So waht's your favorite place outside the States?’ he asked. ‘I know it’s absurd to think there might be somewhere else in teh world as wonderful as, say, New Jersey, but…’
‘This is my first time overseas, actually.’
‘Really?’
She nodded.
‘Lot of pressure, then.’
‘On what?’
‘London.’
‘My expectations aren’t particularly high.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘So if you could go anywhere else in the world, where would it be?’
Hadley thought about this for a moment. ‘Maybe Australia. Or Paris. How about you?’
Oliver looked at her as if it were obvious, the faintest hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth.
‘North Dakota,’ he’d said.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago

Aug 09 2014
'North Dakota.'
‘How come?’
She shrugged. ‘Just haven’t made it there yet, I guess.’
‘I wonder how long it would take to drive there from Connecticut.’
Hadley laughed. ‘Can you even drive on the right side of the road?’
‘Yes,’ Oliver said, flashing her a look of mock anger. ‘I know it’s shocking to think that I might be able to operate a vehicle on the wrong side of the road, but I’m actually quite good. You’ll see when we take our big road trip to North Dakota one day.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Hadley said, reminder herself that it was only a joke. Still, the idea of the two of them crossing the country together, listening to music as the horizon rolled past, had been enough to make her smile.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago

Aug 09 2014
Someone once told her there’s a formula for how long it takes to get over someone, that it’s half as long as the time you’ve been together. Hadley has her doubts about how accurate this could possibly be, a calculation so simple for something as complicated as heartbreak.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago 1 note

Aug 08 2014
Hadley wonders whether he’s talking about the church or his house, whether he’s heading home to shower and change or going straight to the wedding. She hates the fact that she won’t know. It’s feels like the last day of school, the final night at summer camp, like everything is coming to an abrupt and dizzying end.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago

Aug 08 2014
When he catches up to her on hte walkway, neither of them says a word, but Hadley feels it anyway, bearing down on them like a freight train: the moment when they’ll have to say good-bye. And for the first time in hours, she feels suddenly shy. Beside her, Oliver is craning his neck to read the signs for customs, already thinking about the next thing, already moving on. Because that’s what you do in planes. You share an armrest with someone for a few hours. You exchange stories about your life, an amusing anecdote or two, maybe even a joke. You comment on the weather and remark about the terrible food. And then you say good-bye.

Jennifer E. Smith, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight

permalink 1 month ago

Copyright © 2012–2014