The Distance (9 page)

When she finally sat down, she picked up a crayon and knit her brows in concentration as she carefully drew a heart on a piece of red paper. When she handed it to me, I said, “Thanks for helping me. I want to make a card for someone special. Is there someone you’d like to make a card for?”

“My daddy,” she said.

I took a look at the paper in my hand and said, “Wow, that’s a perfect heart, thank you. I’m going to cut it out and put glitter on it, and then glue it to this purple paper. What color do you want to use for your card?”

I fanned out the stack of cardstock, and she pushed her long, dark brown hair out of her eyes and thought about it for a few moments before selecting a light blue piece. “Great choice! Blue’s my favorite color,” I told her.

“It’s my daddy’s favorite, too.”

“Is your daddy here?”

She nodded. “I don’t want him to see the card until it’s done, so will you help me hide it if he comes over here? I told him not to because I wanted to make him a present, but sometimes grown-ups don’t listen.”

“For sure. Should we have a secret code if you see him coming, so I’ll know it’s time to hide the card? Maybe you can say pink puffy poodle, and then I’ll throw myself on top of the table so he won’t see what you’re working on.”

That earned me another smile. “You’re silly,” she said.

“Thank you.” Her smile got a little bigger.

We both worked on our cards for the next few minutes. I carefully cut out the heart she’d drawn, and filled it in with a glue stick before sprinkling it with red glitter. Meanwhile, she folded the paper in half and concentrated on drawing a picture with markers. After I glued the heart to the front of a purple card, I wrote a message inside it and fanned it a bit to speed the drying process while idly scanning the crowd.

A tall, dark-haired figure halfway across the room caught my attention. His back was to me, and I admired the view. Tight, black jeans accentuated a perfect ass, and the black t-shirt he wore showed off big biceps, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist. Damn.

When he turned around and I realized it was Trigger, I was startled, but then I took the opportunity to study him as he looked around the room. He really was a handsome guy, with strong, even features, flawless olive skin, and lips so full and sensual they gave me a million bad ideas. In fact, when he wasn’t saying anything, he was damn near perfect.

If I’d had the word ‘perfect’ written on a piece of paper, I would have crumpled it up and tossed it over my shoulder after what happened next. A tall woman with short, dark hair joined him, and I knew in an instant she wasn’t just a friend. There was way too much of a connection between them, something in the way they interacted that gave the impression they just belonged together. His expression when he looked at her was tender, loving. She rested her hand on Trigger’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear, and he tipped his head back and laughed while I considered throwing up in my mouth.

Ugh, I felt dirty. I absolutely hated cheaters. I wanted to go over there and punch him for using me to cheat on his girlfriend, but no way was I going to make a scene at Christian’s event. Next time I saw Trigger though, it was going to get ugly.

I finally tore my attention away from the happy couple, who were taking turns whispering to each other and laughing, and pushed down my anger so I could focus on the little girl sitting in front of me. She was studying her drawing with a grave expression. She’d drawn an adorable picture of herself holding hands with her dad in a field of flowers. “It needs something,” she said.

“Glitter?” I gathered several little plastic containers and lined them up in front of her.

“I don’t want to make a mess,” she said.

“Why not? Making a mess is fun. See?” I scooped a bit of glitter from the tabletop and tossed it in the air. Okay, so maybe teaching a kid to make a mess wasn’t exactly on page one in the Responsible Adult Handbook, but there was something in her big, dark eyes that just made me want to see her smile. I had a feeling she didn’t do nearly enough of that.

The glitter toss earned me a little grin. “It’s in your hair now,” she told me.

“Does it look pretty?” The grin turned into a smile and she nodded. “Well, good. As long as it looks pretty, then I’m glad it’s there. Do you want some in your hair, too?”

She seemed to thoroughly weigh the pros and cons of that suggestion, and finally said, “I better not.” Aw. It kind of bummed me out that she’d turn down glitter.

The girl picked up a red pen and drew a few hearts on the card, then said, “I think it’s done. Do you have a en’lope?”

“I do. What color?” I fanned out the envelopes and held them in front of her, and she picked a blue one.

“I almost forgot to write inside.” She picked up the red pen again and drew some squiggly lines inside the card as she recited, “Happy Val-times Day Daddy, Love, Izzy.”

“That’s a pretty name,” I said. “My name’s Jessie.”

“My real name’s Isabella, but everybody calls me Izzy.”

She put the card in the envelope, drew another squiggly line on the front of it and slid off the chair. “Thank you, Jessie. I liked making cards with you.”

“Remember when I said I was making mine for someone special?” She nodded and I handed her the card. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Izzy. I made it for you.” The big smile she gave me was the best thing ever. “There’s a secret message inside, you can have your daddy read it for you. Do you see him? It’s pretty crowded in here.” She looked over her shoulder, then turned back to me and nodded again. “If you come to the Zane Center to take classes, maybe I’ll see you again. I volunteer here.”

“Daddy thinks I should learn to play a insta-ment. I told him I don’t want to, but we came here today anyway. I’m happy we did, because you’re nice. Plus, there’s cookies.” I smiled at her before she turned and dashed into the crowd. When she ran up to Trigger and handed him the blue envelope, my jaw dropped.

Oh my God, what a sleazeball! He was the worst kind of cheater, one with not only a girlfriend (or wife!) but also a kid. And I was a total moron. Even if I hadn’t known he had a family, I
had
known he was a jerk, but I’d slept with him anyway. Who knew he’d stoop that low, though?

Izzy opened the card I’d made and held it up to show him the inside. I’d written, ‘Will you be my Valentine? Check the box’ and I’d drawn two squares next to ‘Yes’ and ‘Ewww no, boys are extra super gross and have tons of cooties’. I’d also drawn a funny picture of a bug-eyed cootie.

When Izzy turned and ran back to me, Trigger looked to see who’d been helping his daughter at the card table. His eyes went wide when he saw me, and I scowled at him for a moment as I walked around to the front of the table. The little girl finally reached me, grabbed a pen and drew a big X in one of the boxes. She then held the card up to show me what she’d marked and yelled, “Yes!” I threw my hands in the air, jumped up and down, and whooped and cheered wildly. She laughed delightedly and ran back to her father.

Someone chuckled behind me and a familiar voice asked, “Yes what?”

I turned to Skye, who was balancing a plate of snacks on a red plastic cup, and said, “I just got picked to be the Valentine of the cutest girl in this place. You should be super jealous.”

“Oh, I am.”

Dare joined us and handed me a cup of punch as he said, “Thanks for watching the table. Was it busy?”

“No, just one little cutie.” I glanced over my shoulder as Izzy and her parents disappeared into the crowd. I felt bad for that sweet child. She deserved so much better than an adulterous father.

*****

I stayed for the duration of the open house, helped clean up afterwards, and lingered as long as I could with the last of the stragglers. Skye and Dare took off for their reservation at a romantic restaurant, and Christian and his husband Shea invited me to their house for dinner, but it was still Valentine’s Day (ugh, would it never end?) and I knew they’d rather be alone, so I told them I had someplace to be.

Since that wasn’t even remotely true, after I left the art center I just ended up driving around for a while. For no real reason, I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and circled the edge of the bay. I pulled over at a parking lot with a phenomenal view, sat on Sharona’s hood and zipped up my jacket against the breeze.

The scene was straight out of a postcard, between the bridge to my right and San Francisco’s iconic skyline sparkling in the distance against the purple early evening sky. Of course, the spot was hardly a secret, and plenty of other people were enjoying the view as well. I tried to ignore the fact that everyone else was on a date. Next Valentine’s Day, I was definitely hiding in my room.

Despite myself, my thoughts drifted to Trigger and were accompanied by a sharp stab of disappointment. But why? I should be mad that he had a girlfriend, not disappointed. I had no business sitting around moping over him.

It still hurt, though.

*****

When I got home later that night, I put Nana and Ollie’s box of cookies on the kitchen counter, beside the note they’d left me. I’d purposely stayed out late to give them some privacy, but the message said they’d decided to head to a pet-friendly B and B after dinner and would be back in the morning. Had I known, I would have skipped driving around aimlessly for hours and the lonely fast food dinner I’d eaten in my car.

The note also said there was dessert in the fridge, which perked me up a bit. I decided to change before indulging in something sweet and a whole lot of Netflix, so I went upstairs and consulted my flannel pajama collection. The pair I chose were green with a repeating pattern of skateboarding Santa Clauses, because they in no way reminded me it was Valentine’s Day. Since I was going for maximum comfort, I also put on a pair of thick wool socks. I then scooped most of my hair into a messy ponytail, which rose from the top of my head like a whale spout, and because no one was around to judge me, I tucked my three-foot-tall stuffed polar bear under my arm. Before returning to the kitchen, I pulled the last balloon peen out from under the covers and added it to the row of stiffy sentinels in the hallway, so I could fall into bed when I came back upstairs.

Since I was planning to cocoon in front of the television and binge watch Supernatural until I passed out, I decided to gather plenty of supplies. I got a bag of popcorn going in the microwave, then checked to see what was for dessert. Even though living with Nana had taught me to expect the unexpected, I still jumped a bit when I opened the refrigerator.

What at first glance looked like a row of ejaculating penises proved to be bananas topped with one large strawberry each, dipped in either white or milk chocolate. They’d been assembled on wooden skewers, neatly arranged in a block of florist’s foam to hold them upright, and apparently they’d each been topped with a dollop of whipped cream at some point. But as the cream deflated, it had trickled down the sides in a pretty unfortunate way.

I gathered a light and dark fruit peen, a bottle of water, and a couple cans of soda, to minimize the number of times I’d have to get off the couch. By the time I added the bag of popcorn, my hands were pretty full, so I scooped up the bear in a headlock under my arm. Then, just because, I also found a box of red licorice in the cupboard and added it to my bounty.

There was just one TV in the house, in the family room on the ground floor. It was accessible by a long hallway that extended off the foyer, past the curved staircase. I’d just started to head that way when someone knocked on the front door, and I muttered, “Really?”

Using my index fingers, I managed to get the door unlocked and turned the knob, then used my foot to push the door open. I’d expected it to be one of Nana’s friends, since she knew half of San Francisco. What I most definitely had not been expecting was Trigger.

He was dressed in the same t-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing at the art center, plus a black leather motorcycle jacket, and he was fidgeting nervously with a bouquet of daisies. I was so dumbfounded that all I could do was stare at him. My appearance pretty thoroughly threw him off, too. His mouth actually fell open as he took it all in, his gaze lingering on the chocolate cocks as he knit his brows and tried to work out what he was looking at.

Trigger was the first to regain the power of speech, and mumbled self-consciously as he held up the flowers, “I, um, brought you these. Looks like your hands are full, though. What exactly are you doing?”

I stared at those pretty, white daisies for a long moment, and a lump formed in my throat. I turned and almost ran to the kitchen, and he followed me and said, “Shit, was this wrong? I debated the idea of giving flowers to a guy for a long time, but finally decided, why not? I guess I fucked up, though. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Every surface in the kitchen was still covered with bouquets, and I had to push some aside with my elbow before I could put down the food and drinks. I perched the bear on a barstool, took a deep breath and got my emotions in check before saying, “All my life, I wished someone would give me flowers. But, God, not like this.”

“Not like what?”

I’d been so mad at him, but now I just felt heartbroken as I turned to him and said, “Take those home and give them to your girlfriend, Trigger.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”