I've attached a more detailed outline of my research and the potential collaboration I envision. If nothing else, I hope it demonstrates the scientific merit of what I'm proposing.
Respectfully,
Dr. Jonah Reed
I read it over three times, making minor adjustments, before I finally hit send. The moment the email whooshes away, I'm seized with immediate regret. The carrier pigeon joke was too much. She'll think I'm not taking this seriously.
I close my laptop with more force than necessary and check my watch. Four hours until dinner with Lucas. I need a distraction.
I head to the department's lab, where my graduate assistants are running simulations on the latest data sets. The hum of computers and quiet concentration usually soothes me, but today even this sanctuary feels claustrophobic.
“Dr. Reed!” Aisha looks up from her workstation, her expression brightening. “I think we've got something interesting in the Oklahoma data.”
I force myself to focus as she pulls up a visualization showing pressure differentials across a developing storm system. The swirling patterns of reds and blues normally captivate me, but today they just remind me of the footage from Lila's presentation—real storms, not digital approximations.
“See this anomaly?” Aisha points to an area where the colors shift abruptly. “The model predicted this rotation pattern would dissipate, but it actually intensified.”
“That is interesting,” I say, leaning closer to examine the anomaly. “The intensification pattern matches what I've been theorizing about secondary rotation development.”
“Exactly!” Aisha's eyes light up. “But we can't explain why the model failed to predict it.”
“Because models can only account for variables we program into them,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. This is exactly the kind of discrepancy that field observation could clarify—the kind of data Lila Brooks collects.
I spend the next hour reviewing Aisha's findings, but my mind keeps drifting back to that email sitting in Lila's inbox. Has she read it yet? Deleted it without opening? Is she drafting a scathing response?
By the time I leave the lab, I've checked my phone seventeen times. No response.
I arrive at Malone's Pub fifteen minutes early, claiming our usual corner booth. The familiar smells of beer and fried food should be comforting, but my stomach is in knots. I order a club soda while I wait, watching the door.
Lucas arrives five minutes late, looking uncharacteristically subdued. His usual swagger is replaced with something approaching contrition as he slides into the booth across from me.
“You look terrible,” he says by way of greeting.
“Thanks.” I take a pointed sip of my drink. “You're not looking so great yourself.”
“Yeah, well, turns out alienating the best storm chaser in three states wasn't my brightest career move.” Lucas flags down the waitress and orders a beer. “My producer wants to use her footage from the EF-3, and guess who is now dodging his calls?”
“I can't imagine,” I say dryly.
“Look, I know I messed up.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I was trying to help.”
I shake my head. “That wasn't helping, Lucas. That was...I don't even know what that was.”
“Misguided wingmanship?” he offers with a weak smile. “Come on, Jonah. You've been buried in that lab since Claire left. When's the last time you even talked to a woman who wasn't a colleague or student?”
“This isn't about my social life.” I feel heat rising to my face. “It's about respect. You made both of us look unprofessional.”
The waitress brings Lucas's beer and takes our food orders. I wait until she's gone before continuing.
“I emailed her today,” I admit.
Lucas nearly spits out his beer. “You did? What did she say?”
“Nothing yet.” I fiddle with my napkin. “I only sent it a few hours ago.”
“Well, that's progress!” Lucas brightens considerably. “What did you say to her?” Lucas asks, leaning forward eagerly.
“I apologized for your behavior,” I say pointedly. “And I explained the scientific merits of a potential collaboration.”
