Field Notes on Love(36)

    “Hugo?”

“Yeah?”

“You have really lovely eyes.”

He laughs, mostly because it’s too dark to even see. But then before he can overthink it, he takes a step forward, and he leans down and kisses her.

For a few seconds, they’re all searching hands and beating hearts; her lips are soft, and her hands brush the back of his neck, sending a shiver through him. All he wants is to tumble sideways onto the bed with her, to burrow under the covers and stay there forever. But instead they remain where they are, pressing themselves closer and closer together in the dark.

Outside, the storm has stopped. But if you could hear the way Hugo’s heart is thundering, you wouldn’t be so sure.





In the morning, Mae is woken by her phone, which is buzzing madly on the bedside table. When she sees that it’s a call from home, she goes very still. Then she bites her lip and lifts the phone to her ear.

“Hi,” she says, sitting up in the bed. Beside her, Hugo opens his eyes briefly, yawns, and then closes them again.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” says Pop, his voice so big and warm and familiar that Mae feels a rush of sadness at being away from her dads. “Thought you’d forgotten about us already.”

“Never,” she says, her voice full of unexpected emotion. “I was just tired last night.”

“I knew you wouldn’t sleep on the train,” Dad says. “Was it awful? Did you already use up that bottle of hand sanitizer I got you?”

“It was fine,” Mae tells them. “And clean enough.”

“How were the views?”

“How’s the Midwest?”

“How was Pennsylvania?”

“How was Indiana?”

Mae laughs. “It was all great. Probably not as scenic as it’ll be out west, but still kind of fun to see.”

“How’s it going with Piper?”

She glances at Hugo, who rolls over and snuffles a little in his sleep. “Great,” she says, her face flushing. It feels wrong to be talking to her parents while she’s in bed with a boy, even though it’s not exactly like that. Nothing happened last night. Not really.

    But then, also: a lot happened.

For Mae, it was never like that before, certainly not with Garrett, and not with the handful of other boys she’s kissed. With them, there was always a certain amount of awareness of what was happening, the clinking teeth and roving hands, all the various moving pieces.

But with Hugo, there was no thinking, only feeling. Everything else melted away, and the world went quiet. There was something almost inevitable about it, something automatic, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, to be kissing him like that. And when they finally stopped, taking a giant step back from each other, they were both laughing a little.

“Hi,” she said.

He grinned at her through the dark. “Hi.”

This whole time, they’d been avoiding the bed because it felt like a question too big to answer. But now it was right there, and they were right here, a feeling of electricity between them so powerful it felt like it could light up the room.

“Now what?” she asked, full of nerves and excitement.

“Now,” Hugo said, “we sleep.”

They climbed into the bed from opposite sides, and Mae was grateful when he positioned himself at the very edge. She did, too, but the bed was enormous, and soon it started to feel like an ocean between them. After a minute, Hugo stretched a hand out into the middle, casually and quietly, and she smiled and inched hers out to meet it. Then they lay there in silence, their fingers twined, until the space became too much to bear, and Mae scooted over to his side of the bed, throwing an arm across his chest. She felt him let out a happy sigh, and she tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder, and they fell asleep that way.

    Now she watches him as her dads continue to pepper her with questions. “Is she a nightmare? Or is she cool? Does she have any weird habits that you can already tell are gonna drive you nuts this year?”

When Mae doesn’t answer right away, Dad lowers his voice.

“Is she in the room with you right now, so you can’t tell us?” he asks quietly. “Listen, if she’s horrible, just say grapefruit.”

Mae shakes her head. “Dad.”

“Can you tell what we’re having for breakfast?” Pop says, laughing. “What should she say if she likes her? Coffee with soy milk?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad says. “If she’s cool, say cantaloupe.”

“Cantaloupe,” Mae says with a note of finality. “So how’s Nana?”

Pop laughs. “Back to normal, I guess. We offered to come down again for dinner tonight, but she’s apparently playing poker with some friends.”

“They’d better be careful,” says Mae. “She cleaned out my savings this summer.”

“We’re going for brunch tomorrow instead.”

“Give her a hug for me.”

“We will,” Pop promises. “And say hi to Cantaloupe for us.”

“That’s not her name,” Dad says, exasperated. “It was a code for…never mind. You’d make a terrible spy.”