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 becausehedoes. 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…notworkwork. 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?”
Mae pauses. “What?”
“Your friend. Don’t forget to tell her I wouldn’t even harm a spider.”
“I will,” she says with a smile.
Outside the compartment, she begins to work her way down the length of the train, feeling like a pinball as she’s jostled from side to side. The halls are lined with rooms, some small like theirs, others much bigger, with private bathrooms and sinks and seats lined up to form couches. She can see the people inside leafing through books and examining maps and staring at their phones, their socked feet propped up on the seats, and she thinks of Hugo alone in their compartment, his legs stretched out in the empty space where she’s meant to be.
When she reaches the café, she buys a cup of coffee and sits at one of the picnic-style tables. There’s an old man reading a newspaper behind her and an Amish couple eating a packed lunch nearby, but otherwise it’s empty.
Just as she’s about to call Priyanka, she notices a new text.
Nana: Well? Have you fallen in love yet?
Mae: No!
Nana: Tell him he has lovely eyes. That works every time.
