It seemed like Torrance and Seth were getting along. I don’t think I imagined that. And not just getting along—actually enjoying each other’s company. The conversation on the retreat, that lack of passive-aggressive signs in the newsroom, the yacht . . .
Maybe the truth is that we’ve never had control over them at all.
18
FORECAST:
Look to the sky for a dazzling natural phenomenon; temperatures reach all-time highs toward the evening
“FAIR WARNING,” I say when Russell picks me up for our first official date the following Saturday in an aging Subaru, “this is going to be extremely nerdy.”
“Good.” He leans over to kiss me, and I’m thinking it will be a peck hello, but it’s deeper, longer than I imagine, one hand sliding into my hair. It’s midmorning, and I can still smell the clean citrus of his soap. “I feel like I need to ease back into this. We can’t go rock climbing or ax throwing right away.”
“You did a lot of ax throwing five years ago?”
His mouth pulls into a crooked smile I want to bite right off his face. “Guess you’ll never know.” When he starts the car, the Hadestown soundtrack starts playing. “Elodie was messing around with my phone. My Spotify is show tunes and only show tunes.”
“A hero.”
I put our destination into Google Maps but I won’t let him see where we’re going. This week, we’ve stolen kisses in the Dugout or in the kitchen when no one else is there, but they always end too soon. We’re not hiding it, necessarily, but I think we’re reluctant to go public before we’ve had the chance to discuss what it means. And now that we’re finally on a date, I’m determined to make it the best first date I can.
“Technically,” Russell says as we head toward I-5 from my Ravenna neighborhood, “we’ve already been on a date. It was just Torrance and Seth’s.”
I groan. “Let’s leave them at work today.”
Fifteen minutes later, Google Maps lets us know we’ve reached Discovery Park.
“Wait,” Russell says as he pulls into one of the last parking spots. I picked this place because I was hoping it wouldn’t be as crowded as some of the other parks, but perhaps I’ve underestimated the general public’s interest in weather phenomena. Which does make the meteorologist in me happy, so I can’t be too upset about it. “Is this the solar eclipse?”
“You got me.”
We’ve been reporting on it all week, including the best spots to watch. It’s always one of the coolest things to see people get excited about. While solar eclipses happen a few times a year, the path of totality can be pretty limited. Total eclipses themselves are quite rare, and this one is only a partial eclipse.
With my right arm, I reach into my bag and produce two pairs of solar eclipse glasses I ordered online. “We’re going to want these. Since you’re not supposed to look directly at the sun, which I usually think is a given, but based on what I’ve seen on KSEA’s social media, apparently it isn’t.”
We head toward the park, the sky already beginning to darken. It won’t get as dark as it would during a total eclipse, since the moon is passing between the sun and the earth but will only cover part of the sun. Sun, moon, and earth won’t be perfectly aligned. Even so, eye protection is a must.
“The wild thing about an eclipse,” I say, twirling the end of my eclipse glasses, “is that it lasts for such a short time. So people will sometimes trek all this way, even camp out for a couple days, just for two minutes.” I pause and flash him a grin. “And it’s totally worth it.”
“Have you ever done it, camped out somewhere for an eclipse?”
“Nope, but I’ve always wanted to. There’s a lunar eclipse next year when Portland will be in the path of totality. Also, you can tell me to shut up if you just want to enjoy it. I’ll understand.”
“Are you kidding? You let me ramble plenty about hockey.” He drapes an arm over my shoulders, careful not to jostle my sling. I’m a little chilly in a floral midi dress and jean jacket, complete with a bumblebee brooch, but I wasn’t about to bother with tights again. Not with Russell involved. “Besides, eclipses are fascinating. I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know very much about them.”
People are standing in clusters and in larger groups, some with snacks and almost all with their cameras ready, pointed at the sky. There’s a palpable energy here. An electricity. They all know what’s about to happen is special. Russell and I find a spot in the grass, near the edge of Puget Sound.
“Are you nervous?” he asks. “You’re so quiet.”
I shake my head. My heart is pounding, but it’s all giddy anticipation, not nerves. All we have to do is watch and let the universe do its thing.
As 1:02 approaches, the park falls silent. The sky is a grayish green now, this haunting loveliness in the middle of the day. Russell and I slip on our glasses, his fitting a little awkwardly over his regular ones. He slides his hand into mine and squeezes, and then—
Magic.
The whole sky seems to shimmer as the sun becomes a brilliant yellow crescent.
For those two minutes, everything is perfect.
* * *
? ? ?
THE DATE ISN’T over yet. Our next stop is an aging mall on the Eastside, one Alex and I used to go to all the time growing up, before millennials like us started killing malls the way we killed bar soap and napkins. I am sure there are still nice malls, the kinds of places with luxury stores and five-star restaurants and fountains that have been cleaned at some point this century. This mall, with its neon-patterned black carpet and food court full of bizarre knockoffs like Pizza House and Wowzaburger （which actually isn’t that bad）， is not one of them.
“Oh my god,” Russell says once we’ve navigated through body jewelry kiosks and packs of sullen teenagers, arriving at a section of the mall with ARCADE spelled in glowing letters. “I haven’t been to a place like this in forever.”
The empty arcade is about as decrepit as the mall itself, with games that probably haven’t been updated since the early nineties. But there’s a nostalgia to the way they’re all beeping and buzzing and enticing us to play.
And most importantly, it has an air hockey table.
I feed a five-dollar bill into the machine, and as I’m waiting for my quarters, a warm body presses behind me.
“This is really great,” Russell says with his mouth next to my ear, breath rushing over my skin. I shiver against him, distantly aware we’re in public and wondering how it’s possible to be this turned on in a mall that still has a Sears. “Thank you.”
“I had to bring my A-game to welcome Russell Barringer back to the world of dating.” The air hockey table turns on and lights up with a low whooshing sound. I hold up my sling as I grip the scratched-up red paddle with my right hand. “I’m just going to point out that you have a distinct advantage here.” This distracts him, as I hoped it might, and I slam the puck right into his goal. “Ha! I thought you played goalie.”
“You tricked me!” He blows on the puck as if for good luck before dropping it back on the table. “Well then. It’s war now, weather girl. I’m not going easy on you.”