Weather Girl(7)
Torrance is in her office, gleefully feeding a stack of Seth’s signs through a paper shredder.
Instead of allowing it to get to me, I square my shoulders and stop by the cluster of intern desks in the draftiest part of the newsroom, telling them how glad all of us at KSEA are to have them here, and if they ever have questions about broadcasting or about the weather, they can feel free to ask me any time. Their strange looks are worth it for the way the tension eases in my chest, ever so slightly.
“Does anyone know how to fix a paper shredder?” Torrance yells.
They say don’t meet your heroes. Don’t work for them, either.
3
FORECAST:
Take shelter and brace for Hurricane Torrance
“WELL . . . THEY TRIED,” I say.
“Did they, though?” asks traffic reporter Hannah Stern, pushing aside a tree branch.
We lean closer to inspect the Christmas tree in the hotel ballroom—more specifically, the single menorah ornament, dangling in all its blue-and-silver glory behind a surfing Santa carrying a red bag. Seems like an inefficient way to deliver gifts, but okay.
“It’s one more Jewish decoration than last year,” I say, searching for a positive. And because beaming out a compliment always seems to help, I gesture to Hannah’s gold T-strap heels. “And I’m obsessed with your shoes.”
This Jew is not backing down from a Christmas party, especially since it took me three hours to get ready. I straightened my hair before worrying it looked like I was trying too hard, so I spritzed it with water and scrunched to bring back the waves. Then I took out my flat iron to add more curl to the ends, burning my palm in the process and rushing to the kitchen for an ice pack. All I found was an overpriced Amy’s ravioli I’d been saving for a special occasion. It’s quite sad, how much I’ve been looking forward to that ravioli, which I bought during my first post-Garrison grocery trip. My life may not be on the right track if the sole bright spot is a box of frozen pasta.
Maybe that billboard really was an omen.
The hotel ballroom is decked with garlands, snowflakes, and multicolor lights, a band onstage playing “Jingle Bell Rock.” Our holiday party is Seattle black tie, which means you can get away with wearing jeans. I tried on no fewer than four outfits before settling on the black lace dress I wore for my engagement party. I’m giving it new life, freeing it of its association with my ex. To further sell that to myself, I swapped my usual lightning bolt necklace for a vintage pin Alex found at an antique shop and gave as a birthday gift one year, a little gemstone-dotted cloud. It was missing half the jewels, so I scoured Etsy and Seattle bead shops to fix it and strung on a few blue crystals for rain. I am nothing if not tragically predictable. That repair mission grew into a full-fledged hobby, one that takes up half my kitchen table, complete with an entire drawer unit and all kinds of tools I wouldn’t have known the names of a year ago, and relaxes me when the world is too much.
I’m doing great! is what this outfit says, only I’m not exactly sure who it’s declaring it to. Maybe I’m trying to prove it to myself.
Hannah and I are the only two Jews at KSEA, though because Hannah works afternoons, we don’t often cross paths. As a result, we haven’t broached the gap between work friends and outside-of-work friends, which is starting to feel like a pattern with me. Maybe I’m the common denominator, which would require a whole lot of self-reflection I’m not sure I’m ready for.
I follow her back to a table with her boyfriend Nate and a few other reporters, at which point it becomes clear that I’m one of the only people at this party who didn’t bring their partner. Despite my comfort on camera, I’ve never been naturally outgoing, able to strike up a conversation with strangers. I don’t have my forecasts and graphics as a safety net.
“Any chance of snow this year?” Gia DiAngelo’s husband asks me, in that good-natured way you ask someone you know precisely one thing about. I imagine it’s similar to asking a doctor acquaintance whether they’ll take a look at a mole on your inner thigh.
“All my models are predicting warmer weather than usual,” I say. “If we get snow this winter, I don’t think it’s going to be in December.”
He lets out a long sigh, like rising global temperatures are my fault. “My kids’ll be disappointed. Just once, I’d like to have a white Christmas.” He waves a hand at the fake snow that’s part of the table’s centerpiece. “Wouldn’t that be something? Get everyone on the air wearing Santa hats, too—I bet viewers love that.”
“They absolutely do,” I say with a false smile. Hannah’s on my other side, talking animatedly to our weekend meteorologist, AJ Benavidez. I stand to head for the buffet. “Excuse me.” The line is already long because there are few things that get a roomful of adults excited like free food. To be fair, I am one of those adults.
I realize I live in a city with a Jewish population of less than two percent, but the assumption that everyone celebrates Christmas has never not rubbed at me like the softest sweater’s sharp-edged tag. This time of year, it’s nearly constant. I’ve been the only person ever not wearing a Santa hat during a broadcast, and our social media blew up with accusations that I hated America.
“Weather girl,” someone says from behind me in line, and I feel myself relax when I turn to find Russell, wearing black jeans and a burgundy tweed jacket over a black button-up. His jackets are always a little more colorful than any of our coworkers. Tonight he’s more dressed down than he is on camera: no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. A shadow of stubble along his jaw that I don’t recall seeing earlier in the week.