Page 1 of Forecasting the Forward

“You’re a great friend,Dani, but I think I might die if I have another blind date. Even if it’s one set up by you.”

“Come on.”

“No. They keep getting worse,” I moan to my co-worker, Danica.

If I have one more well-meaning friend, or co-worker, attempt to set me up, I may lose my mind. Here lies Rebecca Stephens, meteorologist extraordinaire, killed by too much small-talk, overuse of Axe Body Spray, and way too many dick pics.

May she finally rest in peace.

Alone, but in peace.

“Okay, but seriously, this is the one for you. I promise!” Danica says, gripping my hand between her ridiculously cold ones. Goodness, how are her hands this cold? We are sitting outside in August, where the temperature topped out at a balmy ninety-nine degrees at Denver International Airport today. Courtesy of our studio being surrounded by concrete buildingsshooting up dozens of stories, I’m sure our downtown temp is into the triple digits.

“No more dates, Dani. Really. I can’t go on one more bad first date,” I moan.

“They couldn’t have all been bad,” she says hesitantly. “You’re the hottest meteorologist on Denver TV. Hell, maybe even in the entire state of Colorado. And you’re regularly featured on national shows. How could these guys perform so badly? Do you think they’re all nervous because you’re famous?”

“I’m not famous,” I murmur.

Danica scoffs. “In Denver we are. The only people who count as bigger celebrities here are the sports stars.”

I find myself grimacing. “And those are the guys I definitely avoid. They think they’re above everyone else, all cocky and self-absorbed. I have no desire to experience that day in and day out.”

Danica laughs, her pitch higher than normal, and I notice her face reddens slightly. I chalk it up to the warm temperatures and move on. “Should I give you a list of why every blind date has gone badly?”

“Uh, okay,” she says, avoiding eye contact. “Sure.”

I slap my hands together, rubbing them against one another as I excitedly launch into what should be a very bad list. Somehow, it’s become a code for me, and it’s almost as if it’s gotten so bad that I don’t think a man can give me a good first date. “I had the guy who told me his mother kept all of his hair clippings.”

“Like … as a kid?” Danica asks hesitantly.

“No. His entire life,” I say smugly. Her face screws up in disgust, and I soldier on. “There was the forty-year-old man who lived at home with his parents. And before you talk about the economy, prices of everything, and saving up for a house, just know, he’d never moved out.”

“Never?” Danica whispers.

“Never. He doesn’t even give money toward rent or food, and bragged that if ‘things got serious with us,’” I use air quotes, “It would be totally cool for me to move in with him. In his parents’ basement.”

“Oh, dear,” Danica says.

“One guy asked if I’d be a third for him and his wife. Another asked for him and his husband. They were curious, he said. They both liked my voice on television, and said I had nice calves.”

“Both? The husband showed up?”

“Yup. Then they did the dine-and-dash, leaving me to cover the entire bill.”

“It’s a pity the network wouldn’t consider a new piece called ‘Becca Dates in Denver.’ You wouldn’t need to do any research,” Dani muses.

“Which is why I can’t do any more dates. I’ve come to the realization that I’m not meant to have a relationship.”

“I promise I’ll leave you alone, but only if you let me fix you up this one last time,” she says hopefully. I sigh in frustration.

“Can I think about it?” I hate hurting her feelings, but I’m so over blind dates.

“You know what?” she says as she stands, “I’ll take it. That’s better than a flat-out refusal. I’ll see you back at the station.”

After Danica scurries off, I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, and enjoy the warmth of this beautiful day. I know I’ll miss the heat when we’re dealing with hurricane-force winds, and blizzard-like conditions, during the winter months. Colorado loves to advertise three hundred days of sunshine per year, but they neglect to inform visitors and newcomers that the remainder of the year is filled with cold, snow, thunderstorms, and fog … sometimes all in the same day. I thought I knew what chaotic weather was like when I moved here for my job at the ABC affiliate. Growing up in Indiana, I was used tosevere weather, snowstorms, and the kind of humid cold that could freeze the snot in my nose as soon as I stepped outside. Once I graduated from Valparaiso University with my degree in meteorology , I grabbed the first broadcast position I could find, serving the tiny market of Gulfport, Mississippi. Coming from the Midwest, I was thrilled to be on the coast, and assumed — incorrectly as it turned out — that I’d get to cover hurricanes every year. In my three years there, only one hurricane came close to Gulfport, and it happened the week I was back in Indiana for my grandfather’s funeral.

After Gulfport, I moved up to Knoxville, Tennessee. After two years there, I took a morning position with a station in Cincinnati, then moved again, to Kansas City. When the morning meteorologist position opened up in Denver, I was thrilled to apply. I’d always been fascinated by the Rocky Mountains, especially how the topography and elevation impact weather. I’ve been blissfully happy in my position here for five years, and finally accepted the chief meteorologist position a year ago. They’re going to have to forcibly remove me to get me out of here.

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