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?”
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.
Mae: There’s no way I’m doing that. How does it feel to be home?
Nana: Wonderful, but your dads won’t leave. I told them I’m fine and they should go, but it was like swatting a couple of puppies on the nose. Now I think they’re staying the night.
Mae: Roommates for life!
Nana: So it would seem.
Mae: I’ll check in again tomorrow.
Nana: Sounds good. But don’t forget what I said.
Mae: What?
Nana: Tell him he has lovely eyes. Trust me on this one.
Mae: What if he doesn’t?
Nana: Does he?