Free The Distance by Alexa Land Page B

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