“Hugo was going to give me the hotel rooms, but then he lost his wallet in Chicago, and we’d already shared the smaller room on the train, so it didn’t seem like such a big deal to—”
“To what?”
“We got a cot,” Mae explains, deciding it’s better to leave out any logistics beyond that. “It wasn’t a big deal. Honestly.”
“So let me get this straight. You lied to us, went off on a cross-country train trip with a boy you’d never met before, and then shared a hotel room with him in a strange city?” Dad says in a strangled voice. “Sure. Yeah. No big deal at all.”
Pop folds and then unfolds his hands. “Were you, uh…,” he says, braving a glance at Mae, then quickly lowering his eyes again. “You were…safe, right?”
She groans. “Nothing happened. Not like that.”
“Not likethat?” Dad says, his eyebrows shooting up again. “So does that mean…something did happen?”
“Look, it was just…I didn’t think you guys would say yes if you knew.” She ignores the matching expressions on their faces, which tell her she’s absolutely right, and keeps going. “But I needed to go. You were the ones who said I had some living to do, and it seemed like fate for this to just fall into my lap. It was never about him. The idea was to figure out my next film, and we were supposed to just give each other plenty of space. But then…I don’t know. Something happened. We really liked each other.”
The worry has eased from Pop’s face, and he’s watching her now with a bemused smile. But Dad still looks slightly murderous. “I swear, if he touched a hair on your head…”
“He did,” Mae says, trying not to laugh. “But really, it’s okay. He’s a nice guy. You’d like him. And anyway, it’s over now.”
“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, heisa 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.”
