Page 4

After an incredibly long day, I’m relieved to step foot in my apartment as the sun begins to set behind the Rocky Mountains. I’m greeted by my frantic golden retriever, Thunder, who acts like he’s been alone for years. Maybe that’s how long it feels like to him. Honestly, the mathematical concept of dog years doesn’t make much sense to me.

“I missed you too, buddy,” I whisper into his fluff as he peppers me with kisses. Thunder is the epitome of a golden retriever: there are no strangers, he’s always beyond excited for everything, and he’s possibly missing a few brain cells. He makes me laugh every day.

I quickly change into comfortable clothes, grabbing Thunder’s leash, harness, and a ball as I walk past the kitchen. My small one-bedroom apartment is convenient for work, but expensive as hell. I’ve been debating on moving further into the suburbs, hoping I might be able to save some money, but I can’t find anything within the budget I’m willing to shell out toward housing.

Thankful to have daylight for a little while longer, I jog to a small dog park on the edge of downtown so Thunder can get a little off-leash exercise. Dog zoomies in an apartment are not enjoyable for anyone, and the neighbor below me already hates me. I have no idea what I did to offend her, but our interactions have only gotten colder the longer we’ve both lived in the building. I’ve never had good luck with female friendships. My analytical brain seems to compute differently than a typical woman. I think the only reason Danica still puts up with me is because of our common bond of work. Usually, if I meet another woman with a job that could be called nerdy, I fall all over myself trying to make a good impression. Poised I am not.

After throwing the ball for fifteen minutes, I call Thunder back so we can begin the walk home. Excessive panting tells me Thunder enjoyed the time to stretch his legs, and I mentally cross my fingers that he’s burned enough energy so he’ll sleep well tonight.

As we’re getting into the elevator back at my building, my phone vibrates with a message.

StickUM92: Am I allowed to ask something personal?

NerdGirl1025: I guess you can ask, but I don’t know if I’ll answer.

StickUM92: That’s fair.

StickUM92: I’ve been thinking about you all day. You gave me a little piece of information about your past, and your family, but I left you hanging. I didn’t mean to. I just wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask anything, or provide you with an opportunity for you to talk if you needed to.

NerdGirl1025: Honestly, at that moment, I probably would have shut you down. But after a really long day, I’m open to it. I don’t really have a relationship with any of my family. Any time we talk, it’s usually because of something they think I’ve done wrong, or something they need from me.

StickUM92: All of them?

NerdGirl1025: Yup. I had a pretty rough childhood, I guess, with a lot of verbal abuse. As soon as I could get out of there, I did.

StickUM92: Verbal abuse?

NerdGirl1025: Yeah. I asked a lot of questions as a kid. I wanted to know why everything worked the way it did, or why people were a certain way. I never really learned how to filter what I said, and my parents felt embarrassed by me a lot. It just kind of snowballed from there, with my sibling getting in on the verbal beatdowns as well. Once I became the family punching bag, I was a very easy target for everything.

StickUM92: Fuck. I’m so sorry.

StickUM92: Want me to go beat ‘em up?

A bark of laughter breaks from my lips as I usher Thunder into my apartment. Removing his leash, I feed Thunder his dinner and toe off my shoes. I head to my favorite spot on my couch, where I have a perfect view of the mountains between two buildings. I curl into the plush blanket I keep on the back of the couch as I settle into the conversation.

NerdGirl1025: Tempting, but no. I paid my way through college with multiple jobs, and a loan I’ll be paying off for years, and I’ve only been home twice in the last decade when the only family members who I did have a good relationship with each passed away. My parents and sibling are basically dead to me. It sounds harsh, but I had to cut the toxicity out of my life.

StickUM92: I should probably do that with my mom. I only hear from her when she needs money, or when something dumb happens like a box of olives shows up.

NerdGirl1025: I’m not sure what is worse: having no relationship with a family member, or having one where it’s clear you’re an afterthought and not important at all. I’m sorry you’ve had the latter.

StickUM92: Eh. It is what it is. It’s taught me a lot about who I want to be as a person. For that, I’m grateful.

NerdGirl1025: You’re a glass-half-full kind of guy, aren’t you?

StickUM92: Who says I’m a guy? Maybe I’m Norma. I’m seventy, and a grandmother to fifteen. My entire personality is my grandchildren. Oh, and knitting.

NerdGirl1025: As long as it’s knitting. I can’t stand crocheting.

StickUM92: *adds learn to knit to to-do list*

NerdGirl1025: Are you trying to impress me, Norma?

StickUM92: What man — I mean, grandmother — wouldn’t want to impress a pretty girl?

NerdGirl1025: How do you know I’m pretty? I could be a middle-aged man with a horrible receding hairline and a beer belly that sticks out of my shirt along the waistline, no matter how hard I try to tuck it in.

StickUM92: Are you tucking your shirt in, or your belly in? Because that is incredibly important information.

NerdGirl1025: My belly, obviously. Duh.

StickUM92: YES. It’s going to go so well with my gout when I shove my old feet in your lap.

NerdGirl1025: You can’t. I have to go take out my teeth to soak them for the night.

StickUM92: Watch it, baby. A toothless mouth may not be a bad thing.

NerdGirl1025: But you’re a grandmother, not some guy looking for a place to shove his wiener. Which I very much am, by the way. A dude. Shoving my wiener into you.

StickUM92: Oh, I plan to roll up my boob and shove it in your gummy mouth. Side note: don’t call it a wiener. Dick, cock, length, whatever. Never a wiener.

NerdGirl1025: I’ll call my middle-aged wiener whatever I want.

StickUM92: Does that mean I get to call my titties whatever I want?

NerdGirl1025: By all means.

StickUM92: I’ll get back to you on that. I need to think about it.

NerdGirl1025: I get it. Took me a while to name mine.

StickUM92: Yours have names?

NerdGirl1025: Of course.

StickUM92: Don’t hold back on me now, NerdGirl. I need to know.

NerdGirl1025: Thelma and Louise.

StickUM92: 100% nowhere close to what I thought you’d say.

NerdGirl1025: What did you think I’d say?

StickUM92: Something cute or sweet. Like Vanilla Cupcake and Frosting.

NerdGirl1025: You know, I had thought about Cupcake and Frosting, but went with Thelma and Louise instead. Bummer.

StickUM92: Missed opportunity, NerdGirl. Such a missed opportunity.

NerdGirl1025: I’ll consider applying to the boob administration and ask for a name change whenever you tell me what your dick’s name is.

StickUM92: Thank you for not calling it a wiener.

NerdGirl1025: If you don’t tell me its name, I’ll revert back to wiener.

StickUM92: Noted.

Laughing, I drop the phone next to me on the couch, leaning my head back to rest on a cushion. That conversation was exactly what I needed. StickUM always has a way to make me laugh, helping me to look past my troubles ,and focus on the positives in life.

Thunder sighs heavily, and when I lift my head to look at him, I find his deep brown eyes staring intently at me. “You know, I bet StickUM has your energy in real life. I bet he’s the quintessential golden retriever. You’d probably like him more than me.”

As if recognizing my comment as a cry for help, he slowly gets up, ambling over to me, laying his head on my knees. When I scratch the edge of his snout, he attempts to lick me twice, as if to say he’d never choose someone else over me. Sliding down so he’s beside my feet, Thunder lets out a long exhale as he gets comfortable. I close my eyes and rest my head back again, thinking about what I can throw together for a quick meal before I pass out on the couch.

My alarm jars me awake. I immediately notice I have a sore neck, and I realize I never left my spot, sleeping in an upright position on my couch, with Thunder at my feet. It’s just after three in the morning, and I need to quickly get Thunder out and fed before I report to work. Two to three times a week, Thunder attends a doggie daycare, so I need extra time today to get him to that building … in the opposite direction from where I live and work.

Dressing in my standard outfit of workout leggings and an oversized t-shirt, I carefully roll up a dress and slide it into my backpack. About a year ago, I had a very scary experience with a homeless man who followed me, making lewd comments and threatening to harm me. According to him, I was “dressed like a slut,” and he’d make sure I’d “take what he wants to give me.” The clothing I was wearing happened to be a very modest dress, but fit my body snugly. I reported him to the police, and the station, and I never saw him again. As a precaution, however, I began dressing casually, then changing at work. This also allows me to wear sneakers in case I need to run from someone. As much as I love Thunder, he doesn’t think anyone is a stranger.

After dropping Thunder off at his doggie daycare, I start the trek back across town. Denver has a great train system from the suburbs into downtown, but in the area of the daycare, there are no nearby stations. Sometimes I’ll splurge on an Uber, but today I’m walking back. It’s a beautiful morning, and as the sky begins to lighten slightly, I take a deep breath of gratitude as I take in the scenery. Sometimes I can catch glimpses of the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, many west of Denver climbing to fourteen thousand feet. This morning, however, clouds dot the sky. A rare humidity is evident in the air, and I know we’re due for some thunderstorms this afternoon. If storms get going, as I assume they will, I’ll end up with another long day. I make a mental note to order lunch from my favorite Italian restaurant in town. If I’m going to have an exhausting day, I might as well enjoy some good food while I’m at it.

Two blocks from work, in the heart of downtown Denver, my eyes drift toward a figure stretching next to a large brick half-wall. Almost unconsciously, my hand finds my keyring, fingers wrapping around the small bottle of pepper spray I’ve carried since my college days. My steps slow as I wonder if I should make a run across the street, but one look at this man’s calves tell me he’d easily catch me if he wanted to. His stance is oddly familiar, as I take in the shorts, tank top, and cap-covered hair. When he removes the cap to run one hand through his tousled curls, I realize who it is a mere moment before he turns around. I’d question his motives, but even I recognize the surprise on his face. Does that mean he lives downtown like me?

“Well, well, well,” Jacob drawls, a beautiful smile covering his perfect face. “If it isn’t my favorite little Spitfire.”

“Favorite?” I ask. “You have more than one? You know what? Don’t answer that. I really don’t want to know.” I hurry past him, not surprised when he falls into step beside me.

“I wouldn’t say I have a ton of women who deserve the nickname. You’re definitely in a league of your own. Sure would help if I knew your first name so I could call you something else, darlin’,” he says, and when I look out of the corner of my eye at him, he winks. I stifle a laugh.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” I murmur, keeping my voice even-keeled.

“Life is too short to worry about stupid shit, Spitfire. It’s a beautiful day. Hockey season is about to ramp back up. Going up to Red Rocks for a concert this afternoon with my buddies. Not much to be that unhappy about.”

“Watch it today. There’s a forecast for storms,” I say absentmindedly.

“Really? Huh,” he muses. “I don’t really pay attention to the weather. They’re never right anyway.”

“Excuse me?” I shout, my hackles rising. Of course Jacob would inaccurately judge meteorologists. “We’re right often, you jerk. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to forecast the weather? We’re trying to predict the future, and if a storm way out in the Pacific Ocean deviates even fifty miles, it changes everything. Then you add in the mountains and the Palmer Divide, and it’s like dropping a penny from one hundred feet above a bullseye and hoping it hits somewhere on the target.”

Jacob stops, staring at me incredulously. His eyes light up as he snaps his fingers. “That’s where I recognize you from! You’re that weather girl. Becca something or other.”

I growl at him. Legitimately growl. “I am not a weather girl, asshole. I’m a certified meteorologist. Chief meteorologist, to be exact. I actually studied in college, which is probably more than I can say for you.”

He lifts his eyebrows in challenge. “You think so?”

I shrug. “Probably. You sports guys are all the same. Coasting by because you happen to hit a puck well.”

He smiles proudly. “So you do know who I am.”

“I work in news. Yes, I know who you are.” Realizing I stopped when he did, I continue on. “I have to get to work.”

“Why this early? Not a good time for a lady to be roaming around by herself,” Jacob comments.

“It’s either this shift or the evening shift. I prefer this one.”

“You got a concealed carry permit?”

“What? Why?”

“Gotta protect yourself, Spitfire.”

I shiver. The thought of carrying a gun makes me queasy. It’s why I have pepper spray, and why I’ve taken more than one self-defense course. Even my keychain has a pointy end where, if all else is lost, I can channel my inner prisoner and shank someone. “I can protect myself.”

Jacob hums noncommittally. “Good to know. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

As he jogs away, I stop walking. He’ll see me tomorrow morning? What the hell does that even mean?

The following morning, already planning a new route to walk in hopes of avoiding Jacob, I stop dead in my tracks when I find him standing in front of my building, a gleeful grin on his face. Stubble covers his chin, but his perfect white teeth gleam under the baseball cap pulled tightly across his forehead. I can’t help but wonder if his teeth are real. Aren’t most hockey players missing at least one tooth? His look too perfect to be real.

He is at my apartment. It’s basically the middle of the night, and he’s waiting for me. This brings back some incredibly bad memories, and I need to nip this in the bud — whatever Jacob thinks is happening here.

“Fancy meeting you here —” he begins, but I cut him off.

“Are your teeth real?” I blurt out.

“What?” Jacob asks, chuckling lightly.

“Your teeth. Are they real? Or do you have one of those things that people put in there? What’s it called, a porpoise? A dolphin?” I know it’s called a flipper, but I want to aggravate him.

“A flipper,” he murmurs, the smile sliding off his face. “I don’t have one of those. I’ve been lucky.”

“Eh. Why are you here? You know this is stalking, right?” I routinely search my own name to make sure my address doesn’t appear anywhere. Female meteorologists have to be way too careful. I’m a little apprehensive about Jacob finding my address, but assume he has connections somehow.

“A friend of a friend works at your station,” he says hesitantly.

“I need a name, please.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait. There isn’t much light at this time of morning, but I can still see a faint red blush creep up his neck.

Jacob reaches up to scratch absentmindedly against the back of his neck. “I’m not revealing my sources.”

“Whatever. I’ll find out on my own then,” I say cheerfully, walking around Jacob. He falls into step beside me, holding a disposable coffee cup from one of my favorite small coffee shops a block away. I hadn’t even noticed he was holding two cups in one hand. His hands are big enough to do that, which makes me think of — get your mind out of the gutter, Becca .

“The friend of a friend also told me your favorite coffee order, and I’m hoping this small token of appreciation convinces you not to look into the friend of a friend, because they only did it to help me. I’d feel awful if they got fired,” Jacob says quietly.

“How would you feel if I managed to get your home address?” I ask softly. “I can only assume you know what it’s like for people to show up at your home uninvited. Why would you think it would be okay to do that to me?”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his face paling noticeably. “I swear I didn’t even think about it like that. I didn’t intend to make you feel threatened or anything.”

We continue walking silently, and as I’m about to turn to speak to him, Jacob grabs my elbow carefully. “I’m sorry, Becca. I wasn’t thinking.”

I’m not used to a man so confidently admitting their own fault, and my mouth drops open in shock. Jacob looks down quickly, but his eyes pop back up to mine, his gaze never wavering as he waits for my response.

“I’ve had a stalker before,” I whisper. “It was bad. You showing up at my apartment hit too close to home.”

His face falls as he processes my words. “Here? In Denver?”

I shake my head. “No. It was when I first started out. I had to move twice, and it sucked. I was already a private person, but that just exacerbated it. I don’t like finding men I don’t know outside my building.”

He nods, looking down at his feet. “It, uh, won’t happen again.”

“Thank you,” I say politely, turning away from him again. After walking a few steps, I look back, finding Jacob staring intently at me. “This coffee shop isn’t open for another hour. How’d you get it?”

He shrugs. “Friend of a friend.”

I shake my head, a light giggle bursting from my mouth. “Is that your answer for everything?”

“No, just for things concerning you.”