So, not checking me out, despite the pin’s close proximity to my breasts. “Oh. Thank you. I’m not sure when we as a society stopped wearing brooches, but I’m determined to bring them back.” I make to touch the pin, but I’ve lost so much coordination that I overshoot it and wind up cupping my own boob. Classy. “What good is being a meteorologist if I can’t use it as an excuse to make these very extra accessories?” I tuck a loose strand of hair back into my topknot, revealing a matching pair of sun-and-moon earrings.
Not flirting. I’m not flirting with him, because he’s not flirting with me. It’s the whiskey convincing me his gaze lingers a moment too long.
“You made those?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
“They weren’t that hard. I found the charms and then added the earring backs. I added these raindrops to the brooch, too. Brooch. That’s a fun word, and I am very not sober.” And there I go, cupping my boob again. “Something I do with all the free time that isn’t spent agonizing over my future.”
“That’s really impressive. They’re beautiful.”
It’s such a sweet compliment that I feel myself flush even hotter. “You’re telling me you don’t have basketball cuff links or something? Spoons in the shape of golf clubs?”
“Hockey’s more my thing,” he says. “Used to play, actually. In high school.” Then he clears his throat, changes the subject. “Here’s what I don’t get. If what broke them up was so bad that they’re still at each other’s throats, why are they still working together? Why subject themselves to seeing the other person every day?”
“It’s impossible to know what really goes on in a relationship.” I think back to Garrison again. Back to my parents, when my dad was still around. I barely remember him, but I used to wonder how long he’d been plotting his escape. “The worst part is, this is their normal, and no one can say a thing because they’re the ones in charge. Our GM sure doesn’t give a shit. HR is scared of them. They make work hell for us, and we can’t do a damn thing about it.”
Russell stops drawing a finger through the condensation on his glass, looks up at me through his thick lashes. “What if we could?”
“Is this about putting something in their coffee again? Because I don’t think I’d do well in prison. Redheads look terrible in orange.”
He leans in closer, the woodsy scent of his soap mingling with the tang of alcohol and a hint of sweat. “What if we figured out a way to get them back together?”
I blink at him before I burst out laughing. “Get them back together? Russell, they hate each other.”
“Hate and love are two sides of the same coin. As the saying goes.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I take another sip of whiskey, but it doesn’t taste sour anymore. I’ve probably burned off all my taste buds.
“Is it, though? They’re miserable, and they’re making work miserable. And not just for us. What if there was a way we could figure out what went wrong for them? A way we could fix it?”
I think back to what Torrance said at the party, about the intense passion they had. The look they shared onstage. How she lit up when Seth asked her to dance.
There’s still a spark there.
“If I’m humoring you,” I say, “which I am, because I am not at all taking this seriously, how would we even go about it? Are we taking cues from 1998 classic The Parent Trap, starring Lindsay Lohan and Lindsay Lohan? Because yes, it’s a perfect film, but I’m not sure it was intended to be a how-to.” Though I definitely spent summers wishing I’d meet a long-lost twin at camp. “And if so, in this scenario, are you the snobby rich Lindsay Lohan or the badass poker-playing Lindsay Lohan?”
“That’s the one where one of the Lindsays gets her ears pierced with the apple, right?” He pantomimes this with his hands, knocking his glasses askew again. “That freaked me out as a kid.”
“Yep. Iconic. God, Dennis Quaid was hot in that movie. He was my first crush, actually. And my first—” I break off because Russell does not need to know that Dennis Quaid as a rugged Napa Valley winemaker was so formative for my burgeoning sexuality that he was the first guy I pictured when I discovered another use for a high-pressure showerhead. “He was peak DILF,” I finish awkwardly.
“DILF?”
“Dad I’d like to—”
“Oh.” There’s something strange in Russell’s expression, which I’ve gathered is his go-to expression. “I think we’re getting off track. What I’m trying to say is, I really think we could do this. We work more closely with them than anyone at the station, right?”
Maybe we do, but I still barely know Torrance. The first year I worked with her, I was reconciling the real version of her with the idol I’d grown up with. It was sobering, to have that vision of her erased. Now I just try to stay out of her way. I don’t know what she does for fun. I don’t know what ended her marriage or what it would take to get her to give Seth another chance.
It’s still laughable, but I can play along.
“So we’d, what, write steamy love letters and sign their names?” I say.
“Or trap them in a stalled elevator and get them to remember all the good times they had together.”
“Light candles in one of their offices and play some Marvin Gaye.”
He taps the bridge of his glasses. “See? We’d be unstoppable if we tag-teamed this.”
I allow myself to picture a Torrance who sets biweekly meetings with me and watches my clips to give me advice. Without all their ex-marital strife, I want to think it would be a possibility.
“Fine, fine,” I say. I’m still joking—at least, I’m pretty sure I am. “I’m in.”
He raises his fifth or sixth drink to mine. “To peace and harmony at KSEA 6.”
“That, I’ll cheers to.”
Russell sets down his glass and checks the time. “Holy shit, it’s almost two in the morning.”
“This is usually the time I wake up.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you early morning people do it.”
“I like it,” I say. “There’s a different kind of energy in the mornings. It’s exciting to know you’re the first person someone’s hearing from that day.” I’ve had some coworkers who mainline caffeine pills to make it through the morning, but I’ve only ever needed a bit of coffee and the joy of weather forecasting models. “Tomorrow’s gonna be brutal, though.”
We pay our tabs—yikes—and when we get to our feet, he reaches out to prevent me from toppling over with a firm hand.
I’m going to regret all of this tomorrow. It’ll be something we laugh about in the break room—can you believe we wanted to get Torrance and Seth back together?
At least it gave me a flicker of hope for a few minutes.
“Good night, sports dude.” I give him this salute that’s meant to be cute but probably looks unhinged, given my current state of inebriation. I’m not sure I’ve ever saluted someone before, but it suddenly seems like the right way to say goodbye.