Field Notes on Love

by Jennifer E. Smith

“She’s bound to find out about the snoring eventually,” Dad says, and Mae gives him a withering look. “But what if she’s terrible?”

  “What if she’s great?” Mae shrugs. “Either way, it would be an experience. You’re the ones who told me I’ve got some more living to do.”

  “We meant college,” Dad says. “Not riding the rails like a hobo. Will you be on the train the whole time? Like, you’ll sleep there and everything?” He glances sideways at Pop. “My back hurts just thinking about it.”

  “They booked some sort of package where you get a few nights in hotels, too, so we’ll be able to see some cities along the way.” She shifts uncomfortably, dropping her eyes to her grilled cheese. She’s never lied to them about something this big. But she needs to do this, and she knows they’ll never go for it otherwise. “It’ll be fun.”

  “You sure you want to leave home a week early?” Pop asks, and she can practically feel the disappointment radiating off him.

  Mae’s eyes drift to the window. The sun is low in the sky, so that everything is golden, like it’s already a memory, and the old buildings with their peeling paint make the town seem charming rather than stifling, cozy instead of just plain small.

  “Yes,” she says quietly, turning back to her dads. Their arms are twined now, and she knows they’re holding hands underneath the table, which only makes her heart hurt more. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss you guys like crazy. But Nana will be back in the city by then, and we’ve got to say goodbye at some point anyway, and honestly, it just feels like this is one of those times where the right answer is yes.”

  Her dads exchange a look.

  “You’ll stick together the whole time?” Pop asks. “Day and night? You’ll look out for each other?”

  Mae swallows hard. “Yes.”

  “And if she turns out to be either a terrible person or a terrible influence,” Dad says, “you’ll use your good judgment?”

  “Yes,” Mae says, hiding a smile.

  “And you’ll check in with us three times a day?” Pop asks.

  “Four,” Dad says. “No, five.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Pop gives her a long look. “And you’ll stop obsessing over your film?”

  She hesitates. “No promises.”

  “How about thinking of starting a new one?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Then, I suppose,” he says with a satisfied nod, “that the right answer is yes.”

  Hugo stands in the middle of Penn Station, which is not only the very worst rail station he’s ever been in but also quite possibly the very worst place, full stop. It’s dark and gray and dingy, filled with too many people and too much noise.

  A police dog stops to sniff his rucksack, and when Hugo reaches to pet it, the officer snaps at him. “Watch it,” he says, and Hugo shrinks back, keenly aware that he’s in America now, and for all the warnings his mum gave him about keeping track of his belongings, it’s the ones his dad has given him over the years—about the extra layer of caution required to exist in the world when you’re half-black—that are running through his head in this crowded station.

  It doesn’t seem like the most auspicious beginning to the trip.

  There’s still no sign of Mae. Hugo leans his rucksack against the wall, careful to keep it close. It would be just like him to have it stolen even before he gets on the train. So far, he’s managed not to get lost or mugged or anything worse. It’s been only twenty-four hours, but it still feels like something of a victory.

  Without either of the Margaret Campbells, he couldn’t get into the hotel that had been booked for them last night. Instead he found a grimy chain on the edge of Times Square, where he could hear people arguing through the paper-thin walls. It didn’t matter, though. Hugo couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a room to himself, and he was too excited to sleep.

  He woke early, jet lagged and ready to follow the itinerary Margaret had mapped out for them. But without her, he realized, he could do whatever he wanted, and that thought sparked a strange sort of joy in him. He was alone in a foreign country, no parents or siblings or girlfriend; in fact, there wasn’t a single soul who knew where he was at this exact moment.

  He was completely and entirely free.

  Instead of the Met, he went to the High Line. Instead of the fancy restaurant Margaret had booked, he ate a hot dog from one of those little carts with the umbrellas. Later he went for a pint at an old alehouse in the West Village but was promptly declined.

  “Does it count if I’m English?” he asked hopefully.

  “Does this look like England to you?” asked the scowling bartender, and that was the thing: it didn’t. It was all wonderfully, amazingly, heart-thuddingly new. And he loved it. All of it. Even the pigeons.

  Now a text pops up from his mum: You still in one piece?

  Hugo sighs. As if she can hear this, another one appears: I’m only asking. No tattoos or anything?

  Hugo: No tattoos. But I did get my nose pierced last night.

  Mum: Hugo!

  Hugo: I’m just winding you up. Stop worrying.

  Mum: You’ll take a picture of the ocean for me, won’t you?

  Hugo: Too late. I’m about to head west.

  Mum: I meant the Pacific. I’ve always wanted to see it.

  The gate for their train is announced, and the crowd around him begins to swirl again. Hugo squints up at the giant board, an alphabet soup of times and destinations.

  Hugo: Mum, I’ve got to go. Train is here. Love you.

  Mum: Love you too.

  Hugo: And don’t worry, I’ve got my passport.

  Mum: I wasn’t going to say a word.

  He shoves his mobile back into his pocket and looks around for Mae, trying to call up the image from the video, but he doesn’t see her anywhere. It’s now ten past three, which means she’s officially late. The train is due to leave in exactly thirteen minutes, and he stands on his tiptoes and scans the station again. He’s so busy looking around that it takes him a second to realize she’s suddenly there, standing a few feet away from him.

  He blinks at her, startled. She’s wearing a black cotton dress with a jean jacket, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her red trainers are scuffed and worn, and on her back there’s a green rucksack that looks about as tall as she is.

  “Hugo,” she says, though it’s not exactly a question.

  After she wrote back to his second email, he sent her a photo of himself so that she’d know he wasn’t some weirdo from the internet. (Although maybe he was now? It was hard to be sure.) For a while, he’d avoided giving his surname, because he wasn’t that keen on her stumbling across the many articles about his family, not to mention his mum’s blog, a treasure trove of embarrassing anecdotes. He wanted to start this trip as Hugo Wilkinson, not as one of the Surrey Six.

  But as their volley of messages continued, she pressed him on this, and he didn’t blame her. If one of his sisters was mad enough to go on a trip with a stranger she’d met on the internet, he’d want her to find out every scrap of information she could. Still, he’d been bracing himself for the kind of thunderstruck reaction he always gets when people discover he’s a sextuplet. But from Mae, there was nothing. To his relief, her next reply was just a request for the full itinerary.

  Even so, he knows she must’ve done her homework on him. So it surprises him, at first, the way she’s staring, like she’s trying to decide whether or not it’s him. But then he realizes it’s not that at all. It’s more like she’s measuring something about him, and he stands up a little straighter as he waits for her verdict.

  Finally, she takes a few steps toward him. “Hi.”

  He smiles reflexively, still slightly flustered by the directness of her gaze. She’s a good foot shorter than him, but there’s a cer
tainty that makes her seem anything but small.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “I’m Mae.” She reaches out to shake his hand. It’s an oddly formal gesture, but it sets a definite tone: they are partners in this. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just so glad you made it.”

  “Me too,” she says, and there’s laughter in her eyes. “Guess it’s lucky I don’t have any bunions.”

  “I guess so,” he says, feeling his cheeks flush, still a little guilty about rejecting and then inviting her. “So did you drive down or take the…”

  He makes a gesture toward the giant board hanging in the middle of the station, and she looks amused.

  “My parents drove me.”

  “Oh,” Hugo says, looking around. “Are they…?”

  “No, they had to take my grandmother to her apartment. It’s sort of a long story. But we already said our goodbyes and everything.”

  “Right, since you’re…”

  “Going straight to school at the end of this, yeah. I’m a light packer,” she adds when she sees him glance at her bag; then she cracks a grin. “Just kidding. We shipped the rest.”

  Above them, a final boarding announcement for the Lake Shore Limited comes over the loudspeakers, and Hugo hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his rucksack.

  “Well,” he says with a smile, “I suppose this is it.”

  She smiles back, but there’s something steely about it, and he can almost see it then, the way this means something to her too. It isn’t simply a lark or a freebie or an adventure. It’s something bigger. And from nowhere, the thought pops into his head: This is going to be okay.

  Another announcement comes over the speakers, more urgent this time, and it stirs him to action. “Ready?” he murmurs as he adjusts his pack, but when he looks up again, she’s several steps away, moving through the crowds toward the platform.

  “Ready,” she says over her shoulder, but he can barely hear her.

  She’s already on her way.

  The minute they step onto the train, Mae feels it like a bubble in her chest: a sense of exhilaration so light and airy that she suspects she could float all the way to California.

  It doesn’t matter that she lied to her dads. Or that her grandmother can’t keep a secret. It doesn’t even matter that her strategy of regarding Hugo as nothing more than a human train ticket has already been complicated by the very fact of him standing beside her.

  She’d looked him up, of course. She wasn’t an idiot.

  But whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t what she found: a disarmingly good-looking Brit who was biracial and extremely tall and apparently somewhat famous for being a sextuplet, of all things. As she sifted through the articles and blog posts and family photos, Mae was surprised—and a little alarmed—by how excited she was to meet him, even though she already knew what this was. She needed a ticket. And he needed a girl named Margaret Campbell. That’s all.

  But now, here he is, no longer pixilated or imaginary, no longer just an email address and a crazy idea. Instead, he’s a person with an adorable accent and a kind smile, who has to bend a little to get through the door of the train as he climbs aboard.

  An attendant named Ludovic leads them down a narrow hallway toward their compartment. “We only have a couple of dinner seatings still available, so I suggest you make a reservation now.” He checks his notebook. “Six-thirty or nine?”

  Hugo and Mae exchange a look.

  “Six-thirty is great,” Mae says to Ludovic, who marks the time down.

  When they reach their compartment, they all three form a knot around the door. Mae’s first instinct is to laugh. Beneath the large window, two blue-cushioned seats face each other, so close it’s hard to imagine how their legs will fit in the space between. Around them are various shelves and compartments and hooks, but that’s about it. The whole thing is no bigger than a coat closet.

  Beside her, Hugo is frowning. “I don’t get it.”

  “What?” Ludovic asks.

  “Where are the beds?”

  “The seats fold down,” he says, reaching up to a slanted board above the window and tugging on the silver handle. It falls open to reveal the top bunk, which is maybe ten inches from the ceiling and comes with what looks like a cross between a net and a seat belt.

  “What’s this?” Mae asks, pointing to the straps.

  “I think it’s so you don’t fall out,” Hugo says. She must look stricken by this, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. I’ll take the top.”

  She peers up at him incredulously, the long legs and lanky torso, the way his dark hair is nearly brushing the ceiling.

  “I’ll manage,” he says good-naturedly. “I’m half pretzel.”

  “Well,” says Ludovic, “I hope the other half is sardine.”

  And then, without another word, he turns and walks back down the hall, leaving them at the door of their tiny room.

  “A bit cozy, isn’t it?” Hugo says, and then his face flashes with panic. “I only meant cozy like small, not like—”

  “It’s okay,” Mae says, charmed by his earnestness. “As long as you’re not a serial killer, we’ll be totally fine.”

  “I’m not,” he says. “I swear. Though I suppose that’s what a serial killer would say too.”

  She smiles at him. “I guess I’ll just have to trust you,” she says, stepping inside and dropping into one of the seats. They’re still stopped beneath Penn Station, so the enormous window beside her is mostly dark, and she can see Hugo’s reflection in the doorway. “You can sit, too, you know.”

  “I was just thinking that I hadn’t thought to ask if you’re a serial killer,” he says, but he’s already taking the seat opposite her. His legs are so long that their knees brush against each other, and Mae feels it like a bolt of electricity.

  “I wouldn’t say serial,” she says, and he looks slightly startled. “Just kidding. The only thing I’ve ever killed is a spider.”

  He grins at her. “Whenever I find one, I take it outside in a cup.”

  “You do not,” she says, but even as she does, she’s thinking that it’s probably true. How odd it is to have known someone for all of twenty minutes and still feel so sure of this.

  “What if I were to kill it and then its friends and family came back for revenge?” he says very seriously. “I can’t take that sort of risk.”

  She laughs. Beneath them the train stirs, a low rumble that vibrates up through their feet. Their eyes meet, and there’s a hint of a smile in Hugo’s, an excitement that matches her own.

  “Last chance,” she says, and he looks confused.

  “For what?”

  “Second thoughts.”

  “None for me,” he says. “You?”

  “Nope. Let’s do this.”

  There’s a hiss and a squeal, and then the blackness out the window becomes blurrier as they lurch away from the platform, moving deeper into the system of tunnels that wind their way beneath the city. It’s a strange, disjointed feeling, to be surrounded by nothing, hurtling through a darkness so deep that all they can see is their own ghostly reflections. But then, all at once, the light comes slicing in, and they blink as the train emerges into the sun-drenched afternoon.

  Mae’s phone buzzes, and when she digs it out of her pocket, she sees that there’s a message from Priyanka: Are you on the train yet? How’s it going so far? Does he seem shady? Are you okay? If you’re okay, give me a sign…like maybe an O and a K.

  Smiling, she types the two letters, and another message pops up: Good. Phew. Call me later. I want to hear everything.

  “You know, if you need to ring anyone…,” Hugo says, nodding at the phone. “I did promise you’d have your own space, so I’m happy to nip over to the café.”

  “No,” Mae
says quickly. “It’s fine. Just my best friend checking to make sure I haven’t been murdered yet.”

  He laughs. “Fair enough.”

  Out the window, flashes of graffiti brighten the dull grays of the city. When Mae turns back to Hugo, he’s pulling out a book, and it occurs to her that maybe he only asked if she wanted space because he does. After all, it’s not like this is some vacation they’re taking together. He was supposed to be here with his girlfriend, and Mae has only come along to do what she’s already done: stand in line at the station and show her driver’s license and present the ticket with another Margaret Campbell’s name on it.

  Now that part is over, and maybe that’s all it was supposed to be.

  She stands so suddenly that Hugo looks at her with alarm. “Actually, I think maybe I will go make a call.”

  “Oh.” He blinks at her. “I was just—”

  “In case you need a little space—”

  “No,” he says, flipping the book around so she can see that it’s a collection of facts about the United States. “I was just going to—”

  “It’s okay, I should probably try to do a little work anyway.”

  “Work?”

  “Yeah, I mean…not work work. Just film stuff.”

  “Oh, brilliant.”

  “Thanks. I might…” Hugo’s green-brown eyes follow her as she spins in the small space, reaching for her camera and then her computer too. “It’s only a couple of hours till dinner, so I’ll probably just hang out in the café, as long as you don’t mind—”

  He shrugs. “I don’t mind at all.”

  She pauses for a second, and they stare at each other. Her bag is already dangling from her shoulder, and her phone is buzzing in her pocket again.

  “You sure?” she says at the exact same time he does.

  They both laugh.

  “Yeah,” Mae says. “It’ll be good to do some brainstorming on my own.”

  “And I live in a house with seven other people, so I can probably cope with some time to myself,” he says, sitting back and opening his book. But just before she walks out, he looks up again. “Hey, be sure to tell her about the spiders, yeah?”