Field Notes on Love(56)

“Great,” Mae says. “Then I’m only twenty percent mad at you right now.”

He looks hopeful. “Really?”

“No!”

“I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

She laughs, a brittle sound. “Well, it is. It might not have felt personal to you, but it’s very personal to me. I thought I was telling a story that meant something. I thought I was putting my whole heart in there, and it’s pretty awful to find out that’s not enough.”

“Mae—”

“Don’t,” she says, shaking her head. “You know what the worst part is? You went behind my back. I mean, how would you feel if I looked through your phone without asking?”

“Here,” he says, digging it out of his pocket and thrusting it at her. “You can. You should. It’s only fair.”

Mae manages to catch the phone right before it slips to the floor. “I obviously wouldn’t do that. I just can’t believe you would.”

“I’m sorry,” he says miserably. “I’m an idiot. I know that. But I’d hate if this meant…”

“What?”

    “It’s just…I like you,” he says, a note of desperation in his voice. “A lot. And this was so bloody stupid of me. But I’d be gutted if it changed anything between us.”

His phone, which is still in Mae’s hand, chirps once, then twice.

“I don’t know what this is to you,” he continues, his eyes locked on Mae’s. “But I want you to know that it means something to me. And that the last thing I’d want is for you to lose trust in me. Because I think maybe—” His eyes flick to his phone as it beeps again. “I know it seems mad, but I think maybe…”

“What?” she asks again, more impatiently this time.

He lifts his shoulders. “I think maybe I’m falling for you.”

Mae takes a sharp breath, her heart bobbling. She stares at him, too surprised to answer. Distantly, she hears an announcement that their train will begin boarding shortly, but it’s not until his phone makes another noise that she tears her eyes away, turning it over in her hand.

“Mae,” Hugo says, but she’s no longer listening.

She’s too busy reading the name at the top of the screen. It takes a moment for it to register, and when it does, she hands him the phone.

“It’s Margaret,” she says, standing up to gather her things. “She wants to see you tomorrow.”





Hugo’s head is a jumble as they board the train. Mae is the one who hands over their tickets to be scanned, who steers them to their compartment, who rearranges the bags in the luggage rack like puzzle pieces so that theirs will fit. He trails after her numbly, shell-shocked from the argument they’d just had and his confession at the end of it.

Mae won’t even look at him, and he doesn’t blame her.

He glances down at his phone, which is still clutched in his hand, and wonders how Margaret picked the exact worst moment to text. Does she have some sort of sixth sense, or is it just the universe conspiring against him?

He doesn’t need to open the messages to remind him what they say. They’re already burned into his brain:


Would love to see you when you get to SF.

I can meet you anywhere.

We need to talk.

I miss you.



Now he manages a smile as the attendant—a woman named Azar—squeezes past him and heads back down the hall to get other passengers settled. From the doorway to their compartment, he watches Mae dig through her bag. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a navy-and-white-striped shirt, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, and she hasn’t said anything in what feels like a long time. The actual space between them might be small, but to Hugo it feels like a million miles.

    The conductor’s voice comes over the loudspeaker: “If you’ve just joined us in Denver, welcome. This is the California Zephyr, making stops en route to Emeryville. Breakfast is currently being served in the dining car, and the next stop will be Winter Park, Colorado, in a little over two hours. Enjoy the ride, folks.”

Mae grabs her camera bag. “I think I’m gonna go up and do some interviews.”

Hugo understands that he’s not invited, but he feels a rise of panic at the thought of her leaving when there’s still so much that needs to be said. She slings her bag over her shoulder and then looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to move away from the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. The train is moving now, the sunlight streaming in through the window. “I shouldn’t have watched the film. And as far as the other thing goes—”

“Hugo.”

“Will you please let me—”

“Can we do this later?”

“I just want to make sure you know that—”

“Please,” she says, and something about the way she says it makes him nod and take a step back from the door, his whole body humming with regret.

“Yeah,” he says. “All right.”

Her arm brushes against his as she whisks past him, and he wants to reach for her hand and try one more time. But instead, his heart sunk low, he simply turns to watch her head down the short hallway and up the narrow staircase.