Field Notes on Love(14)

Hugo tosses a pen at him, but Alfie dodges it. They’re both silent for a moment, and Hugo gives his chair a spin. When it stops again, he looks down at his brother.

“Do you think they hate me?”

“A bit,” Alfie says, picking at a patch of mud on his knee. “So do I, for the record.”

    Hugo rubs his eyes, deflated. “I’m sorry. I really am. But you do realize it’s not actually about—”

“I know,” Alfie says. “And they do too. It’ll be fine. We’ll get over it eventually.”

“Even George?”

“Well,” he says, “maybe not George.”

“Brilliant,” Hugo says with a groan.

“Oh, hey!” Alfie scrambles to his feet, walking over to open his sock drawer. He pulls out a small package wrapped in newspaper. “I think I was supposed to wait on this, but…sod it.”

Hugo takes the package and unwraps it carefully. Inside is a brown leather passport case. He looks up at Alfie in surprise, his chest flooding with warmth again.

“Mum wanted to get you neon orange so you wouldn’t lose it, but then Dad pointed out that would make it easier for someone else to find it, too, and then Poppy picked out this horrid red one that you’d have been embarrassed to carry around, and then George suggested camo—camo! like you’re going off to war!—and Oscar wanted to get you a flask instead, which would’ve been cool but sort of beside the point, and then I found this one, and Isla suggested getting your initials put on”—Hugo opens the flap to see a small HTW pressed into the soft leather—“and it seemed like we were in business. Do you like it?”

Hugo runs his fingers across the smooth surface. “I love it,” he says, and there’s enough emotion in his voice that they both know what he really means, which is this: I love all of you.





Exactly one week after receiving the email from Hugo W. telling her how much he enjoyed her video but explaining that he hadn’t chosen her for the train trip, Mae gets another message with the subject line “Funny story.”


Dear Mae,


I feel a bit sheepish writing to you again, but it turns out my travel companion needs to have bunion surgery next week, which means I’ve found myself in need of a Margaret Campbell who might still be up for an adventure (and who doesn’t have bunions). I know it’s poor form to ask this of you now, when the trip is only a week away and I already passed you over once. But I sincerely loved your video, so I hope you’ll consider it.


Cheers,

Hugo





Here we go, she thinks, jangly with excitement. Though this, of course, is immediately followed by a list of all the reasons this probably isn’t the best idea: it’s impulsive and impractical and possibly unsafe; she has no interest in being anyone’s second choice; her dads would never let her travel cross-country with a stranger; and mostly—mostly—what kind of person would actually do this sort of thing?

    But then she thinks of what Pop said about how she has more living to do, and what Garrett said about making great art, and the way this town has always felt like a pair of jeans that’s a size too small, and she realizes she’s exactly that kind of person.

She leans back in her desk chair and sees a small blue car parked in the driveway. Confused, she hurries downstairs and out the front door, bounding over to where Priyanka is sitting in the driver’s seat, the engine idling. Her long dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and she’s wearing the Cornell sweatshirt that her parents gave her when she found out she got in. She looks up in surprise when Mae appears at the window.

“I thought we were meeting in town,” Mae says, and Priyanka adjusts her grip on the wheel.

“We are.”

Mae frowns. “Then why are you picking me up?”

“I’m not,” Priyanka says, looking a little sheepish. “I just wanted to do this one last time.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Drive from my house to your house. Wait in your driveway because you’re always late. I mean, how many times have we done this?”

“I’m not always late,” Mae says with mock indignation. “But yeah. A lot.”

“And this is the last time.”

“It’s not the last time ever. We’ll be back at Thanksgiving.”

“I know,” Priyanka says. “But still.”

“Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well give me a ride.” Mae grins as she climbs into the car. “Lucky for you, that means you’ll have to drop me off, too, so you don’t have to say a tearful goodbye to my driveway just yet.”

    Priyanka rolls her eyes. “How can you be so entirely unemotional about all this?”

“I’m sad to be saying goodbye to you,” Mae tells her. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll survive without seeing my garage door for a few months.”

At the pizza place, they sit at their usual table. Just after they order, Priyanka’s phone buzzes, and even before she checks to see who it is, her whole face lights up.

“Alex?” Mae asks, taking a sip from her straw.

Priyanka nods, still smiling. Her boyfriend left last week for a pre-orientation camping trip and hasn’t had much cell service. “Only a couple more days till he’s out of the woods.”