How do I tell her I went into meteorology becauseshewent into meteorology?
School was never my favorite thing growing up. I liked sports and hanging out with my friends and having a good time. My grades were always decent enough to scrape by academically, but when it came time for college, I panicked. I had no direction, no idea of what I wanted to do. Not a damn thing interested me.
Declaring as a meteorology major started as a plan to mess with her our freshman year. I registered for the same classes and pretended to be interested in physical sciences and thermodynamics if it meant spending more time with her.
I always loved riling her up.
There was uncertainty in almost every part of my life, but Quincy was the same.
I didn’t account for the power she had—has—over me, though.
Things got messy.
I deviated from the path.
It became less about irritating her and more about being awestruck myself. I listened to a pretty girl throw out big, important words, and for the first time in my life, it felt like I was doing something that mattered.
I saw the way she smiled when she talked about wind and rain and weather patterns. I had never been that happy aboutanything—ever—and I wanted some of that happiness for myself. I’ve been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it over the last two months, and fuck if her excitement about the mundane things isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.
I fell in love with weather too. It happened fast, a fascination I dove into headfirst. There was freedom in the drives I took out to the middle of nowhere north Florida to watch flurries fall for the first time in decades. Excitement when a tornado touched down.
Maybe Quincy was the catalyst. Maybe it’s why when it rains in the city, I wonder if it’s raining wherever she is and hope she’s staying dry. Maybe she’s the reason why I’m burned out. Her joy is infectious, the fuel to the fire I’ve needed to kick-start my joy all over again, and without it, everything seems really fucking dull.
When she’s around, everything makes sense.
I’ve been looking for the cure, not knowing it’s been right in front of me all along.
“I don’t know.” I wipe a drop of syrup away from my mouth, stalling. “I put a list of majors UCF offered on a wall, closed my eyes, and picked one.”
“You’re so unserious.” She knocks my arm out of the way so she can have one last bite of pancake. “And we have a show to do.”
Her office is exactly how I remember it. The addition of a second chair and a microphone makes me grin. There are two glasses of water on the desk, the space cramped but something we can work with.
“One day I’d like to have someplace bigger.” She pulls out a chair and takes a seat, adjusting her fancy microphone. “It gets the job done for now.”
“Why am I so nervous?” I sit next to her, fanning my cheeks. “I’m on the news every night.”
“Is it because you have a fan club?” Her laugh is sunlight on your face after a long night of rain. My favorite sweatshirt she hasn’treturned, but I haven’t asked for. “My comment sections have been overrun by Sebastian Dunn groupies. You’re good at what you do.”
“That’s going down as the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Think we need to document the occasion.” I fish my phone from my pocket and pull up the camera. I move close, our cheeks almost smushed together. “Smile, Pres.”
“Not bad.” Quincy leans over and watches me post it to Instagram, a short caption under the photo:Talk weather to us. With an umbrella emoji after it. I make sure to tag her. “Hopefully your groupies don’t mind my appearance on your social media page.”
“They didn’t mind the first time. The picture of you with your ski goggles is one of my most liked photos of all time.” I knock my knee into hers. “One minute until showtime. Are you ready, Quinny baby?”
“Yeah. Same process as last time.” She smiles at the camera, a natural when it comes to talking to people. “Morning, chasers. This isThe Rainy Day Show, and if you’re new around here, I’m Quincy Monroe. Today I’m joined by a special guest and a fan favorite. His appearance has been highly requested. Seriously. Half of my messages are asking when he’s going to be back. You love when you see him on the screen. Y’all even have a nickname for us.”
“Wait. They do?”
“You haven’t seen it? They call us Quibby.”
“I’m kind of offended your name is first, Monroe, but you know what? It’s your show, so I won’t argue.”
“That’s what we call collaborative effort. Chasers, please help me welcome Sebastian Dunn back to the program.”
I can’t keep up with the speed of comments popping up on the screen. I catch some of them:Dream duo.I can’t pick a favorite.So glad to see Sebastian again, hope this is a regular thing. They all make me flash my TV grin, and I wave.
“Morning, folks. Thanks for having me, Quincy, and I’m glad we’re not in the middle of a natural disaster this time. Or handling your injury. Wow. I feel like we’re prone to bad luck whenever we team up.”
