Weather Girl(22)

“That’s a good start,” Russell says as he types.

“What do we know about Seth?”

“He likes to have a hand in everything going on in the newsroom, but sometimes he goes a little overboard. Gets too involved. Everything has to be just so, or he loses it.” He dunks a chip in salsa. “Uh . . . let’s see. He gets takeout from that Greek place on Vine at least once a week. Oh, and he loves Garamond—that’s what all his signs are typed in. Like he thinks it’ll make them less aggressive because Garamond is such an innocuous font.”

“I do like Garamond. It’s professional, but in a friendly way.” I reach for another chip. “So this is what we’ve got. Fonts and milk.”

A woman at the counter calls out our order number, and Russell hops up to grab our taco plates, with sides of black beans topped with cotija. For a few minutes, we eat in silence, save for the occasional sound of approval. That push we’re going to give Torrance and Seth—we’re going to have to use heavy machinery.

“Did you always want to cover sports?” I ask once I’ve demolished my first taco, carne asada with a verde sauce so spicy it nearly makes me weep. Sure, this dinner isn’t strictly for socializing, but this is the first time Russell and I have been out alone, not counting that night at the hotel bar, and I’ve been curious about him. This is my chance to learn what’s beneath that modest professorial exterior.

“Actually, no,” he says. “I’ve always loved them, but I didn’t think you could do something like this as a career. Like, getting paid to go to games? Sounds fake. But I liked writing, and I liked sports, and it wasn’t until college that I took a sports journalism class and realized I might want to do it professionally.”

“And you didn’t start out in broadcasting, either.”

He shakes his head. “I was covering sports for a paper in Grand Rapids, where I grew up. I wrote about high school sports at first—that’s where most people start.”

I have to hold in a laugh. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m imagining you at a high school football game, taking very serious notes while the homecoming king and queen ride out onto the field in a convertible.”

“You laugh, but . . .” The single light bulb above our table glints off his glasses as he leans forward. “My first season there, I did a story about the homecoming queen. Who was also the starting quarterback. She took them to the state championships for the first time in the school’s history. Sports—it’s not just about the numbers. It’s not just wins and losses, like weather isn’t just about the little suns and clouds that pop up on-screen. There are entire personalities and stories behind the players, and that’s what I’ve always loved. It’s about the people, more than anything.”

“I’m not sure if I’ve ever thought about it that way,” I say. “But I like that. I didn’t go to any football games in high school or college. The whole school-spirit thing kind of missed me.”

“It doesn’t have to be solely motivated by school spirit. When you go as an adult, I’m guessing it’s not because you’re all rah-rah Seattle. Most people go for the atmosphere.”

I give him my guiltiest cringe.

“Holy shit.” He pauses with a chip halfway to his mouth. “You’ve never been to a sporting event.”

“It’s not that I don’t like sports,” I say quickly, not wanting to offend him. “I didn’t play any growing up and neither did my brother, and no one in our family watched anything. It wasn’t part of the Abrams culture, I guess.”

Russell leans closer to place a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Ari Abrams. This is an absolute tragedy.” His hand is warm through the fabric of my shirt, and when he pulls back, I find myself wishing he’d lingered a few moments longer. We broke the touch barrier the night of the party, but something about this feels different. “So you’re telling me you’ve never been to a Sounders game? They’re as un-sports as sports can be. Most people don’t even go because they love soccer; they’re just there to drink or eat garlic fries.”

“Wait, wait, what? Garlic fries? No one ever told me about garlic fries.”

“The best eight twenty-five you’ll ever spend.” When I gasp at this, he winces a little. “Okay, yeah, they’re way too expensive for fries, but the overpriced food is part of the whole experience. There’s this infectious energy in a stadium I’ve never found anywhere else, all these people coming together for the same thing.”

“You’ve convinced me. I’ll go to a sports.”

He just shakes his head at me, his eyes crinkling at the edges when he grins. I’m not sure I’ve noticed that about him before. “What about you? How’d you get into weather?”

“It’s mostly those little suns and clouds,” I say, and this deepens his smile. “I was one of those kids who was obsessed with storms. Any severe weather, really. I used to track it in a notebook, week by week, and try to make predictions. As I got older, I got more curious about the science behind it. The news can be so dark. So grim. And then I get to come on-screen and be goofy and give people good news. News that might help them make immediate decisions. Like I told you during the party, I grew up watching Torrance, and what she did felt so powerful. I’m still awed by the elements, and all of us, no matter who we are—we have to obey.”