Field Notes on Love(55)

    “Fine,” he says. “Maybe I’m a little hungover, then.”

A woman walking past with two small children shoots them a stern look before hurrying the kids along, and Mae and Hugo both laugh.

“All I’m saying,” she says, “is that only the best ideas usually survive the hangover. And I think yours is one of them. Don’t give it up without a fight just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. And that’s okay. It’s scary to think about doing something totally different. Especially something like this. To go off on your own for a year, leave your family behind, take such a big chance—I think it’s really brave. But it’s not gonna just happen. If it’s what you want, you have to make your own magic. Lay it all on the line.”

He tips his head to one side, his expression hard to read. “I will if you will.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, blinking at him. The way he’s looking at her so intently makes her heart pick up speed.

“Lay it all on the line.”

“I don’t—”

“You should be in it.”

“What?”

“Your film,” he says. “When you talk like that…well, you’re a bit inspiring. And that’s what you need here. It shouldn’t just be about other people’s stories; it should—”

    “We’re not talking about me,” she says, suddenly flustered. “And it doesn’t matter what you think it should or shouldn’t be. It’s not your film. It’s mine.”

“I know that. All I’m saying is that you’re brilliant at what you do, and you’re also just brilliant in general. And I think if the film were a bit more personal—”

Mae stiffens, the word sending a ripple of doubt through her. She narrows her eyes at him. “What?”

“Just that maybe if it were more personal, it would resonate more.”

This knocks the wind right out of her. She stares at him for a second, trying not to let that show. “It’s literally a collection of personal stories,” she says, her mouth chalky. “Most of them about love.”

“Right,” he says. “Right. But it’s not exactly personal to you, is it? Of course, the substance is a bit different this time, but if you were to frame it with your own—”

“This time?” she says, and he freezes. Then his face goes slack, and a look of panic registers in his eyes, and Mae understands all at once what happened.

She glances at her computer, then back at Hugo, her mouth open.

“You watched it.”

He swallows hard. The guilt is all over his face; he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’m so sorry. I just—”

Mae stands abruptly, her coffee sloshing in the cup. “I told you,” she says, her voice hard. “I told you I didn’t want to show you.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“And you went ahead and did it anyway?” Her face goes hot as she thinks about him watching the film, not sure if she’s more angry or embarrassed. Either way, it feels like the ground has disappeared beneath her feet. “I actually can’t believe you did that.”

    Hugo scrambles off the couch, looking rattled. “I’m sorry,” he says, a little breathlessly. “I just—”

“What?” she snaps, then says it again: “What?”

“I really wanted to see it.”

She stares at him, stopped short by the unexpected honesty. “Why? Why do you care so much?”

“Because I wanted to know more about you,” he says, his voice rising so that two businessmen on the couch behind them half turn, flapping their newspapers. He takes a breath to steady himself before speaking again. “And I thought this might be a big piece of the puzzle, but then it turned out it wasn’t exactly—”

“What?” she asks, glaring at him.

“Nothing.”

“Hugo.”

He shifts from one foot to the other, eyes on the floor. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a puzzle piece after all.”

“What does that mean?” she asks in a cold voice. But something inside her is collapsing because she knows somehow what he’s going to say next, has been waiting for it since the moment this conversation started.

“Just that…it’s brilliant. But I suppose I thought there’d be more of you in it.” He lifts his eyes to look at her. “I figured it would be more personal somehow.”

Mae sits back down on the couch, trying not to look like she’s just been punched in the stomach. But that’s how it feels. It’s so much worse coming from him, which makes no sense because he doesn’t even know what he’s said. Not really. Garrett was being a critic, but Hugo—he was simply looking for Mae in her film.

    And that’s why it hurts so much. Because he didn’t find her.

It feels like her heart—her careful, insufficient heart—has been trampled on, and when he sits down at the other end of the couch, she looks over at him wearily.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his eyes searching her face. “Don’t listen to me. I’m not even a film person. And besides, I only watched, like, twenty percent of it.”