Field Notes on Love(17)

“Your fathers will never go for it,” she says, and Mae’s shoulders slump, because she knows this too. But then, to her surprise, Nana winks at her. “Which isn’t a reason not to do it.”

    Mae tries to hide her smile, but she can’t. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Nana, leaning forward. “You said your new roommate is from Brooklyn, right?”

Which is how, later that night, Mae comes to be sitting across from her dads at the diner—which is appropriately shaped like an old train car—and telling them that she and her future roommate, Piper, have hatched a plan to take a train to California together.

“A train?” Dad asks, lowering his BLT with a look of horror. “You do know it’s faster to fly?”

“I do,” she says. “Yes. But apparently she was gonna go with her mom, and then something came up, and she had already bought the tickets, so she needs a travel buddy.”

“You’re going to be living together in a shoebox for the next nine months,” Pop says. “Are you sure you want to start it all a week early?”

“She’s bound to find out about the snoring eventually,” Dad says, and Mae gives him a withering look. “But what if she’s terrible?”

“What if she’s great?” Mae shrugs. “Either way, it would be an experience. You’re the ones who told me I’ve got some more living to do.”

“We meant college,” Dad says. “Not riding the rails like a hobo. Will you be on the train the whole time? Like, you’ll sleep there and everything?” He glances sideways at Pop. “My back hurts just thinking about it.”

“They booked some sort of package where you get a few nights in hotels, too, so we’ll be able to see some cities along the way.” She shifts uncomfortably, dropping her eyes to her grilled cheese. She’s never lied to them about something this big. But she needs to do this, and she knows they’ll never go for it otherwise. “It’ll be fun.”

    “You sure you want to leave home a week early?” Pop asks, and she can practically feel the disappointment radiating off him.

Mae’s eyes drift to the window. The sun is low in the sky, so that everything is golden, like it’s already a memory, and the old buildings with their peeling paint make the town seem charming rather than stifling, cozy instead of just plain small.

“Yes,” she says quietly, turning back to her dads. Their arms are twined now, and she knows they’re holding hands underneath the table, which only makes her heart hurt more. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss you guys like crazy. But Nana will be back in the city by then, and we’ve got to say goodbye at some point anyway, and honestly, it just feels like this is one of those times where the right answer is yes.”

Her dads exchange a look.

“You’ll stick together the whole time?” Pop asks. “Day and night? You’ll look out for each other?”

Mae swallows hard. “Yes.”

“And if she turns out to be either a terrible person or a terrible influence,” Dad says, “you’ll use your good judgment?”

“Yes,” Mae says, hiding a smile.

“And you’ll check in with us three times a day?” Pop asks.

“Four,” Dad says. “No, five.”

“Yes, of course.”

Pop gives her a long look. “And you’ll stop obsessing over your film?”

    She hesitates. “No promises.”

“How about thinking of starting a new one?”

“Definitely.”

“Then, I suppose,” he says with a satisfied nod, “that the right answer is yes.”





Hugo stands in the middle of Penn Station, which is not only the very worst rail station he’s ever been in but also quite possibly the very worst place, full stop. It’s dark and gray and dingy, filled with too many people and too much noise.

A police dog stops to sniff his rucksack, and when Hugo reaches to pet it, the officer snaps at him. “Watch it,” he says, and Hugo shrinks back, keenly aware that he’s in America now, and for all the warnings his mum gave him about keeping track of his belongings, it’s the ones his dad has given him over the years—about the extra layer of caution required to exist in the world when you’re half-black—that are running through his head in this crowded station.

It doesn’t seem like the most auspicious beginning to the trip.

There’s still no sign of Mae. Hugo leans his rucksack against the wall, careful to keep it close. It would be just like him to have it stolen even before he gets on the train. So far, he’s managed not to get lost or mugged or anything worse. It’s been only twenty-four hours, but it still feels like something of a victory.

Without either of the Margaret Campbells, he couldn’t get into the hotel that had been booked for them last night. Instead he found a grimy chain on the edge of Times Square, where he could hear people arguing through the paper-thin walls. It didn’t matter, though. Hugo couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a room to himself, and he was too excited to sleep.

    He woke early, jet lagged and ready to follow the itinerary Margaret had mapped out for them. But without her, he realized, he could do whatever he wanted, and that thought sparked a strange sort of joy in him. He was alone in a foreign country, no parents or siblings or girlfriend; in fact, there wasn’t a single soul who knew where he was at this exact moment.