Field Notes on Love(50)

“I don’t,” she says with a shrug.

He digs in his pocket and hands her a blue button that matches the ones on his jacket. “Collateral.”

“Thank you,” she says, accepting it solemnly. “But you do know we could also just use an app, right?”

“Right,” he says. “Though it probably wouldn’t be anywhere near as safe or reliable as a button.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

They drop their backpacks in the room, then walk back downstairs, past the giant cow sculpture, and out the revolving doors. The sky is a bright, cloudless blue, and Hugo takes a deep breath. “What’s that smell?” he asks, and Mae laughs.

“I think it’s fresh air.”

He takes another whiff, looking satisfied by this, then turns to her. “Look, this is a bit awkward, but I’m going to need some space now.”

    Mae’s heart swells inexplicably, and she smiles at him. “Is that so?”

“It is,” he says. “I’m not sure if anyone’s told you this before, but you can be bit clingy, and I think—”

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “I’m going. You’ll be all right?”

He puts a hand on his chest. “Me? I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I give it three minutes before you start missing me desperately.”

“Three?”

“Maybe even only two.”

“Hey,” she says, and his expression becomes more serious. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says. “Just ring if you need anything, yeah?”

“I will.”

Once they’ve parted ways—Mae heading in one random direction, Hugo in another—she tries phoning her dads yet again, but the calls go straight to voice mail. She sends another text to Nana, then waits for a second, hoping for a response. But still nothing.

In the distance, the Rocky Mountains are stacked up against the horizon, white capped and imposing. Mae stares at them for a moment, feeling very small, and then she shoves the phone into the back pocket of her jeans and begins to walk in the other direction.

As she waits for a light to change, she notices how spacious it is here, the streets all wide and breezy beneath the sprawling blue sky. It’s so unlike the cramped and busy sidewalks of New York, which is the only city where she’s spent any real time.

    “You know what I miss most about Manhattan?” Nana once said when she was staying with them, and Dad—who can never resist an opportunity to tease her—was the first to chime in.

“The rats?” he suggested, which made her groan. Unlike Pop, who grew up there, Dad only lived in the city for a few years after college, and he’s much happier in the Hudson Valley, where there are more trees than people.

“The way you’re never alone,” Nana said dreamily.

“Exactly,” Dad said with a grin. “Because of all the rats.”

Mae knows he doesn’t hate it. Not really. It’s where he met Pop, where they brought Mae home from the hospital, where his whole life began. He might grumble about the smell of the city and the crowds on the subway and the heat in the summer. But mostly, he’s just giving Nana an excuse to defend the place she loves, a small kindness dressed up like something else.

That’s what Mae is thinking about now as she walks the streets of Denver, and about a thousand other memories of Nana too. But when she realizes what she’s doing, she shakes her head, trying to scatter the thoughts. Because this isn’t a memorial. Nana will be fine. She always is.

There’s a bookshop called the Tattered Cover on the opposite corner, and she heads toward it, eager for the distraction. Inside, it’s warm and inviting, with huge wooden beams and rows upon rows of shelves. Mae takes a deep breath, inhaling that particular perfume of paper and glue. By the time her phone rings, she’s on her second loop of the store, deep in the autobiography section. When she sees that it’s Pop, she hurries back out onto the street before picking up, her heart in her throat.

    “How is she?” she says instead of hello. “Where have you been? Is everything okay?”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice gruff. “We’re at the hospital.”

“How’s Nana?”

“She’s doing fine. It was a mild stroke, but they’ve run a lot of tests, and the doctors think she’ll be totally fine.”

“Was it because of the chemo?”

“They’re not sure,” he says. “She’s been through a lot this year. It could’ve been anything. But we all know a measly stroke is no match for your nana. Neither are the nurses, as it turns out. I’m pretty sure she made at least one of them cry over a poker hand.”

Mae loosens her grip on the phone. “Can I talk to her?”

“She’s sleeping now, but I’ll tell her you called.”

“I should be there,” she says, which is true, truer than Pop even knows. If she hadn’t lied to them, if she hadn’t gotten it into her head that she needed an adventure, she’d still be there right now. The knowledge of this is like a weight on her chest, and she takes a jagged breath. “I should be home with all of you.”

“It’s fine, kid,” Pop says. “Really.”