Field Notes on Love(69)

“Good,” Dad says. “Because if I ever see this scoundrel—”

Pop is full-on laughing now. “Okay, maybe we can take the whole overprotective father act down a notch here.”

“It’s not an act,” Dad says, scowling. “She just spent a week on a train with some random kid. Oh god, he is a kid, right? How old is this guy?”

“Eighteen,” Mae says. “Same as me.”

Dad grunts. “Still.”

“Okay,” says Pop. “I think that concludes the lecture portion of our program.” He waves a hand at the papers spread out on the table before them: information for the funeral service, a bill from the undertaker, printouts of various prayers and hymns. “As we’ve all been reminded, life is short. Mae, we would’ve preferred if you hadn’t lied to us. But you’re probably right that we would’ve said no. What’s done is done. I’m glad you had a good time. And that you met a boy you like, though as your dad, I confess I’m also happy that part of the adventure is over.”

    “Thanks,” Mae says, smiling at him gratefully. “I really am sorry. Though I kind of thought you’d have found out by now…”

“How?” Dad asks, still shaking his head in an indignant way.

“Because I told Nana.”

“The one time she manages to keep a secret,” Pop says, but he says it fondly.

Dad sighs. “At least tell me you got some inspiration out of all this.”

“I did,” she says. “I think I might’ve even gotten a film out of it.”

“And?” Pop asks.

“And it might even end up being good.” She shrugs. “But what do I know?”

“A lot,” Dad says with an intensity that surprises her. “Don’t forget that, okay?”

She smiles at him. “Okay.”

“So,” he says, “think you could give your old men a sneak peek?”

Mae is unaccountably nervous as she pulls her computer out of her bag. She sets it on the table between them, and they scoot their chairs closer. “It’s not even remotely close to being finished,” she explains as she opens the file. “I still don’t have the shape of it yet. This is literally just a bunch of interviews, but it’ll give you an idea of what I’m hoping to do.”

This isn’t the first time she’s shown them something at this stage. They’ve always been her test audience, eager to help and quick to praise. But this time she’s too anxious to look at them. Instead she cups her chin in her hands and stares hard at the screen, watching the reel of old friends who go by—Ida and Roy, Ashwin and Ludovic, Katherine and Louis—like she’s right back on that train again.

    “My biggest dream?” says a young woman named Imani, whom they interviewed outside the bathrooms late one night in the middle of Nebraska. “I already have it.”

“What is it?” Mae asked, and the woman’s smile broadened.

“Love.”

Maybe it’s being in the house with her dads, right across from the empty chair where her grandmother used to sit. Or maybe it’s that Mae misses Hugo, the pain growing worse with each interview she watches, remembering the way he sat beside her, his eyes bright as he listened to all those stories. She’s watched these a dozen times, maybe more, but this time something is different. This time she understands—all at once—what the film is about.

As it turns out, it’s not a story about love.

It’s a love story.

Her mind is so busy spinning as she thinks through what this means that by the time Hugo appears on-screen, she’s almost forgotten he’s part of it. She hasn’t watched his interview since she filmed it, hasn’t let herself, because she knows it will hurt too much.

And she’s right. The minute she hears his voice, she feels her heart wrench.

“But then I got on this train,” he says with that familiar smile of his, “and everything changed.”

“Ooh, a Brit,” Dad says, then looks over at Mae, who is watching the screen with a frozen expression. “Wait, is that him?”

She nods feebly, and they both reach for the volume button at the same time. “Turn it up,” Pop says, leaning forward to watch. Every so often, they exchange a look over the top of her head, but Mae’s eyes are on Hugo. Behind him the desert whips by, the metallic sound of the rails providing a familiar soundtrack. Mae never realized it was possible to feel homesick for a train. Or, for that matter, a person.

    When the interview is over and the screen has gone black, Dad turns to her. “He’s in love with you,” he says, looking at her in surprise.

“What?” she says, shutting the computer. “No.”

“He is,” Pop says with a grin. “It’s obvious.”

Dad is still staring. “And you’re in love with him too.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?”

“You ran away and fell in love with a boy on a train,” he says, his voice full of wonder. Then he laughs. “Nana would be so proud.”





Hugo wakes early, the light dull around the edges of the curtains. To his disappointment, there are still no texts from Mae. But he has one from Margaret suggesting a coffee shop just around the corner, and he marvels at the coincidence until he remembers that she knows exactly where he’s staying because she was meant to be staying here too.