Hugo: I really, really want it.
Alfie: Then I hope they say yes.
Hugo rests the phone on his chest, watching it rise and fall in the gray light. He feels caught somewhere between asleep and awake. Before he can think better of it, he’s searching his contacts for a name: Nigel Griffith-Jones, Chair of Council, the University of Surrey.
When Hugo’s finished with the email, he thinks of the text from his dad again, the empty plate among all those fuller ones. Then he takes a deep breath and hits Send.
Hours later, when Mae begins to stir, Hugo is still awake. He’s staring at the ceiling, feeling slightly frozen, paralyzed by what he’s done. She twists to face him, her hair tangled but still smelling like lavender from the hotel shampoo, and rests her hand so casually on his chest that he relaxes again.
“Did I snore?” she asks, yawning.
“Only…a lot.”
She laughs. “You’re not so quiet yourself. How long have you been up?”
“A while,” he says, and there must be something odd in his voice, because she lifts her head to look at him. The edges of the curtains are laced with light, and her eyes still look sleepy and unfocused.
“What were you doing?”
“Some planning. Some worrying. Some thinking.”
“About?”
He wonders if she can feel his heart pounding underneath her hand. “About possibly taking a gap year.”
She stares at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he says, allowing himself a small smile. “I emailed someone on the university council to see if it’s possible to defer the scholarship. I want to be sure before I get my hopes too high.”
“Your hopes are already high,” she says, looking at him fondly. “Have you told your family yet?”
“Just Alfie. George will hate it. And my parents will think that I can’t manage on my own or that I’ll just be skiving off. But this wouldn’t be a lark. I’d obviously love to see some of the world. But it’s so much more than that.”
Mae rests her chin on his chest, listening.
“I want more time,” he says, and there’s a catch in his voice. “It’s always been easier for the others somehow. To be themselvesandpart of the group. But being here this week—it’s made me realize that I need space to sort that out for myself.” He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I know you’re not a detour person—”
Her forehead crinkles. “What do you mean?”
“Only that you know exactly what you want,” he says. “Which is a good thing. But I think maybe this can be too.” He traces a finger over the back of her hand, deep in thought. “Did I ever tell you my mum used to call me Paddington? Getting lost was my specialty.”
She smiles at him. “Maybe it still is.”
“I’ve spent my whole life trailing after them, and this is the first chance I’ve had to be on my own, and I suppose I’m just not ready for it to end yet.” He laughs. “Does this make any sense, or do I sound like someone having a midlife crisis?”
“It makes total sense.”
He nods. “I just hope the university lets me. Alfie thinks they might only be interested in a complete set.”
“A complete set of what?”
“Sextuplets,” he says, his voice flat. “That’s how it always works. For interviews and photos and ads; for anything, really. People always want the whole six-pack.”
Mae rolls her eyes. “You’re people, not cans of beer. Besides, it’s only a year, right? They’ll still get all six of you eventually.”
“I don’t know if they’ll see it that way. It would be one thing if I had a good reason….”
“You do.”
