Field Notes on Love(12)

She feels a prickle of something unfamiliar, something a little like doubt.

“I guess you’re right,” he says, but he’s looking at her as if hoping she might disagree with him. “I’m leaving for Paris next week, and you’ll be in California, and it’s not like we were ever…” He fumbles for the right word, unable to find it, while the options scroll through Mae’s head: long-term, compatible, serious, in love.

She closes her eyes for a second, trying to muster up something bigger than what she’s feeling now, which is a mild sadness at the thought of saying goodbye. But when she peeks around it, there’s nothing more.

    “It was a really great summer,” she says, taking his hand.

He nods. “I guess now it’s time for the next thing.”

They look at each other for a moment, and then Garrett’s eyes brighten a little.

“We still have a few hours, though,” he says with a grin, and when he leans in, Mae kisses him back automatically. But her mind is miles away, already busy thinking about the next thing.





Hugo knows he can’t pick this girl. He can’t. He only just broke up with his girlfriend, and he’ll be sharing a small space with whomever he chooses, and there’s simply no need to make it more complicated than it already is. He knows this. He does.

But that doesn’t stop him from watching her video for a third time.

“Here it is,” says a voice behind the camera as the shot pans out to reveal a long row of boxy storefronts on a quiet street. “This is where I’ve lived my whole life.”

The way she says that last part, the intensity behind the words—that’s what stopped him cold the first time he watched.

She answers his questions as she walks around the town, but it’s not an ordinary video. It’s like a little movie, the shots changing swiftly from one frame to the next. At the end, she turns the camera to reveal a round white face with a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes are a bright blue behind her glasses.

“My name is Mae Campbell,” she says with a little smile. “And as you can probably tell, I’m in desperate need of an adventure.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Hugo is quick to close out the video on his screen. A moment later, his dad steps inside with an armful of laundry.

    “I heard there was a sock emergency,” he says, tossing the laundry onto Alfie’s bed.

“I think we’re well past emergency.” Hugo spins around in his chair. “He’s been wearing the same manky old pair since Thursday.”

“Why doesn’t he just borrow some of yours?”

“Mine aren’t as lucky, apparently.”

“Ah,” Dad says, sitting down beside the pile on Alfie’s bed. There’s a ghost of a beard along his jawline, and he runs a hand over it, looking at Hugo with a serious expression. “You know, I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking more about what you said at dinner the other night. The truth is, I was an only child, and all I ever wanted was—”

“—a big family,” Hugo finishes.

Dad laughs. “I suppose it’s possible I might’ve told this story before.”

“A few times,” Hugo says, but he doesn’t really mind. Dad’s father died when he was little, and his mum worked three jobs to keep them afloat. At night, with only the TV for company, he would play a game with himself, imagining a house full of brothers and sisters.

“We had eight plates, for some reason,” Dad says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I suppose you had to buy them as a set. I used to wedge them onto our tiny table and pretend we were about to have a big dinner together. Which was obviously a bit pathetic. But it’s the reason I like to set the table now.”

“You never told me that part before,” Hugo says, and Dad smiles at him. It seems impossible that a man with six kids could have a smile specific to each one, but he does.

And this one is Hugo’s.

    “It still feels like a gift to have a person for each plate,” he says, reaching out to place his hand over Hugo’s lighter one. “And you should know I’m going to miss setting yours while you’re away.”

Hugo nods, slightly overcome by this. “Now I’m feeling a bit guilty that we’re all leaving next month,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Six plates in one go.”

“That’s different. You’ll be right up the road. I’ll keep them handy for weekends.” Hugo’s face must shift, because Dad gives his shoulder a little pat as he stands to leave. “Everyone grows up dreaming of something different, Hugo. And that’s okay. It’s what makes life so interesting.”

Alfie comes crashing through the door then, dropping his rugby kit and falling onto his bed in the manner of a dying man.

Dad shakes his head, but he looks amused as he points to the scattered laundry. “Clean socks for you.”

“Cheers.” Alfie sits up and peels off his old ones, which are damp with sweat. “Might be time to retire these.”

“Please don’t let us get in your way,” Dad says, winking at Hugo, then closing the door behind him.

Once they’re alone, Alfie motions at Hugo’s laptop. “So what’s new in the world of crackpots and freeloaders?”