The Distance (8 page)

He left the house in a hurry, and I went downstairs and watched him through the living room windows, standing back a bit so he didn’t see me. He was driving one of the cars I’d seen at his garage, a black ’67 Impala. It was the same model used in the TV show Supernatural. I wondered if that was what he was going for.

Trigger opened the car door, stood there for a few moments, then slammed it and headed back toward the house. I waited for the knock, but a couple seconds later, I saw him retreating to the Chevy again. He did that four more times over the next minute. Conflicted much? I considered going out and getting him, but I was every bit as conflicted as he was, so I stood my ground. Finally, he got in the car, started the engine, and took off like a shot, apparently looking to put some distance between us as fast as he could after finally making up his mind.

I sighed and dropped onto the sofa. I couldn’t believe that had happened again. I also couldn’t wait until the next time. The second half of that made me want to whack my forehead against the wall. I was wildly attracted to someone I couldn’t stand. What was I supposed to do with that?

I was still contemplating my conundrum when Nana, Ollie and their dogs got home sometime later. Nana’s huge, hairy, brown mutt was named Tom Selleck, for reasons that made sense only to Nana. He ran over and tried to climb on me as soon as he spotted me on the couch, while I flailed around and tried to fend off his advances. He’d always been way too interested in me, in every inappropriate sense of the word. But then, Diego Rivera, Ollie’s little Chihuahua (who was dressed in a pink sweater with a red heart) yipped and left the room. Tommy immediately forgot about me and ran after the Chihuahua. It suddenly occurred to me that I was, through no fault of my own, in a gay love triangle with two dogs. That was so messed up.

“Hey there, Sweet Pea,” Nana said, sticking her head in the living room. She was dressed in a tasteful pink Chanel suit, which she’d paired with red sunglasses with heart-shaped frames. “I didn’t see you at first. Ollie and I bought a bunch of stuff to make a nice Valentine’s Day dinner at home, since all the restaurants are so crowded today. Do you want to join us? We’re about to start cooking, since my homemade marinara is best when it simmers for a few hours.”

Nana meant well, but wow did that make me feel pathetic. My best Valentine’s Day offer was to be a third wheel to my eighty-year-old employer and her honey. I got up and said, “Thanks, but I’m just about to go out, right after I run upstairs and change.”

“Okay, Jessie, have fun! We’ll save you some dessert,” she called before heading to the kitchen.

I’d forgotten all about the wall-to-wall balloon dicks until I opened my bedroom door again, and spent the next few minutes untangling the giant junk Jenga and lining them up in the hallway. Dante (presumably) had really made an effort to fit as many dicks as he possibly could into my little room. The last one was tucked under the covers in my bed. I left that one there because it made me chuckle, then got dressed in a fitted pink button-down shirt and one of my best pairs of jeans. I figured I might as well sell the idea that I actually had somewhere to go by dressing nicely.

I grabbed my leather jacket and jogged downstairs, where I found Nana and Ollie in an embrace. She was giggling while he dotted kisses on her cheek. Oh yeah, definitely a third wheel. “Happy Valentine’s Day, you two,” I said. “See you later.” They called goodbye as I headed to the front door.

When I got behind the wheel, I didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, I rolled back my sleeves, pulled out my phone and found Zachary’s name in my friends list. I texted him and asked if he wanted to hang out, but he wrote back:
Wish I could. I let the Chinns talk me into going to Six Flags in Vallejo with them. They wanted to do something special for the boys on Valentine’s Day. We’re about to get on a huge, puke-inducing roller coaster. Pray for me
.

I grinned at that and thought for a moment, then messaged River, but he was on his way to go surfing at Fort Point. I scrolled through my contacts list, looking for single friends that wouldn’t be with their boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse that day. Haley came to mind, but I didn’t have his number and didn’t know him well enough to ask to hang out anyway.

There were several more single guys in my contacts, but the problem was, I’d slept with them. Many of my friends started out as love interests. After I smothered each one in turn and we broke up, we usually remained friends. But there was something beyond awkward about sending a, ‘hey, wanna hang out?’ message to an ex on Valentine’s Day. It just reeked of desperation, in addition to announcing loud and clear, ‘why yes, I am still single and completely alone today’.

I chastised myself for always needing to be with other people in the first place. Why couldn’t I just go to a movie or a restaurant by myself? What was so hard about that? Although, okay, doing either of those things alone on that particular holiday would make me look like an enormous loser. If I couldn’t make myself go places on my own the rest of the year, I sure as hell couldn’t do it on Valentine’s Day.

After a while, I realized what I really needed to do was stop thinking about myself and turn my attention to other people. I drove across town to one of my favorite bakeries (ignoring all the happy couples on the sidewalks, the people carrying flowers or balloons for loved ones, and every other reminder of just how single I was). When I got to the bakery, I bought every cookie they had. I had them divide them up into ten little boxes of half a dozen each, and the rest went into three great, big, pink boxes. “Sorry to wipe you out on Valentine’s Day,” I told the woman behind the counter as she neatly arranged rows of heart-shaped sugar cookies in one of the containers.

She flashed me a smile and said, “Honey, don’t you worry. We already have dozens more coming out of the oven in back. The shelves will start filling up again in just a few minutes.”

Once my car was loaded with cookies, I stopped off at a drugstore and bought a pack of the type of Valentines kids took to school. They were Star Wars themed and painfully corny, which made me happy, and sported slogans like ‘Yoda Best’ and ‘You R2 cool, Valentine’ and ‘I Chews You to be my Valentine’ (that one featured Chewbacca, of course). My favorite had a picture of Princess Leia on it and said ‘You’re my only hope, Valentine.’ I stuck one of the Leia cards to Sharona’s dashboard.

I spent the next couple hours driving all over San Francisco, delivering cookies and Valentines to my friends. I saved a box for Nana and Ollie, which I’d deliver when I went home that night. Until then, those two needed a little privacy.

Next up were the three big boxes. The first went to a soup kitchen and community center for the homeless, where my friend Christopher Robin volunteered. I took box number two to the LGBT community center where I’d met Nana, and where I used to attend a weekly support group. For the final delivery, I drove to SOMA. The busy South of Market district included an eclectic blend of high tech companies, museums, shops, and the city’s huge convention center, and was also home to my friend Christian’s nonprofit.

The Zane Center offered free art and music lessons to the community, with an extensive program for children. I volunteered there one day a week. I had nothing to teach since the center obviously didn’t include classes on rebuilding engines, so I mostly just helped out in the office.

I paused for a moment when I walked up to the building and admired the bright, colorful mural that adorned the entire façade. It made me happy every time I saw it. Christian had painted a whimsical playground and had included kid versions of everyone who’d helped get the center off the ground, including his husband Shea, his best friend Skye, Nana, and even me. A seven-year-old towheaded Jessie was off to one side, pushing a red toy car across the blacktop. Christian had totally nailed it.

The center was hosting a Valentine’s Day open house, and it was crowded. For some reason, I’d thought it wouldn’t be very busy so I hadn’t signed up to work it, but I realized as soon as I walked in the door that I should have. Also, several of my closest friends were volunteering, and I could have just handed them their cookies in person instead of going to each of their apartments.

I paused at the wide front counter, put down the bakery box and took off my jacket. The reception area was sleek and industrial. It was also sunny, thanks to several large skylights in the three-story ceiling. Overhead, a graceful kinetic sculpture of a couple dozen mixed-metal wings spun slowly on the air currents. Skye had really outdone himself on the giant mobile.

Heather, one of the volunteers who worked at the reception desk, smiled and said, “Hi Jessie, glad you could make it. Want me to stash your coat behind the counter?”

I thanked her and handed over my jacket, then gave her a heart-shaped cookie before carrying the box to the long buffet table in the community room. The vibrant space was adorned with framed artwork made by students and furnished with colorful couches, tables and chairs. At the moment it also held a couple hundred people, mostly families.

Christian came up to me and said, “Aw thanks, Jessie, that was nice of you,” and after I put down the cookies, he gave me a hug.

“I should have planned ahead and ordered more. I don’t know why I thought the open house wouldn’t be crowded.”

“I’m surprised at the turnout myself. I thought a lot of people would have plans on Valentine’s Day.”

I took a good look at Christian as he was talking. He’d had a brain tumor and believed he was going to die when he founded the nonprofit, and the Zane Center was meant to be his legacy. Since then, he’d survived experimental drug treatments, brain surgery to remove the tumor, endless rounds of chemotherapy, and had come out on the other side with only a few lingering effects. His fine motor skills weren’t completely back to one hundred percent, but he worked hard in physical therapy and had regained much of what he’d lost.

He’d regained something else as well, and I wondered if he realized it. When he’d thought he only had a few months to live, Christian had lost his spark. He went from being colorful and outrageous to sort of closing in on himself, and his outward appearance had reflected that. But that spark was back and shining like a beacon. One of the most obvious changes was the fact that he was growing his light brown hair into a wild, tousled mane, after losing it during chemo. Even more significantly, the light was back in his big, green eyes. He’d ringed them with guyliner and was dressed like a rock star with lots of silver jewelry, which also told me the old Christian was back and better than ever.

I felt a little prickle of tears at the back of my eyes, and crushed him in another hug. When I finally let go of him, he grinned and said, “What was that for?”

“I’m just happy to see you, Christian.” There was a lot more to that than he realized and he probably thought I was nuts, but that was fine with me. “Now tell me what I can do to help. It looks like you’re short a few volunteers.”

“Dare could use a break, it’d be great if you took over the Valentine table for a little while. It’s set up against the back wall,” he said, pointing to his right. “Shea and I are about to run out and buy some more snacks, we planned for a crowd a third this size.”

“On it,” I told him and started to make my way across the room. My friends’ alternative rock band was playing, and when I waved at them, Dev, the lead singer, gave me a salute. I greeted several more friends on my way to the craft table. All of them were helping out, and I felt like a shmuck for not having volunteered in the first place.

Dare was covered in a fair amount of glitter and seemed happy to see me. After we exchanged hellos, he rubbed his nose, transferring even more purple glitter to it, and said, “It’s pretty self-explanatory. The kids can make cards for whoever they want, most are choosing to make them for their mom or dad. Since the paint and glue needs time to dry, they can hang them up over there if they want to.” He gestured to his right, where three long, red ribbons had been fastened to the wall. Each was lined with clothespins and held dozens of colorful kid creations. The card station had clearly been popular.

After Dare left for his break, I took a seat behind the long folding table and tidied up the supplies a bit. There were watercolor paints and markers and dozens of little pots of glitter, which explained the sparkly tabletop. I gathered up the cardstock and patterned paper into neat piles and outfitted each of the four work stations with a few basic supplies, then sat back and waited. The four yellow chairs lined up in front of the table were empty, but I wanted to be ready in case a second wave of kids descended.

After a while, I noticed a pair of big, brown eyes watching me. A little girl was peeking out from behind a concrete pillar, and when I waved at her, she waved back hesitantly. She seemed really curious about the art supplies and kept getting up on her tip-toes to take a look at what was in front of me, but seemed too shy to actually approach the table. I had an idea for putting her at ease and picked up a pair of safety scissors and a sheet of pink paper. I then stuck my tongue out in a pantomime of concentration, waved the paper and scissors around a lot and made a few wild cuts. The little girl cracked a smile.

I got up, carried my cut-out blob over to her, and knelt in front of her as I said, “I tried to make a heart, but it looks like a marshmallow.” That made her smile again. “Do you think you could help me? Maybe if you draw a heart for me, I can cut it out and then it won’t look so squishy.”

The girl followed me back to the table, then hesitated again. She was wearing a pink knit dress over a pair of flowered jeans, and she twisted the hem of her skirt between her chubby little fingers for a few moments as she took a look at the art supplies. She was a pretty serious kid, which struck me as kind of unusual for a five- or six-year-old. But what did I know? It wasn’t like I spent much time around children.