Page 21 of Home in Nevada

Chapter 21

The one where Jeff overshares and Lucy spills everything.

It’s been over a week since Jamie went back home to Nevada. The time we spent together feels like a blur—beach days, late nights, and moments I can’t stop replaying in my head. I’ve tried to distract myself, keep busy, but everything just circles back to him. Now he’s miles away again, back in Middle-of-Nowhere Nevada, and I’m stuck here in LA. The space between us feels heavier this time, like every passing day stretches it further. It’s only been nine days, but I’ve already started counting, like keeping track of the time will somehow make it easier. It doesn’t.

“Okay, finish the sentence. Jamie has a beautiful…” Lucy says, her voice slow and syrupy, like she’s fighting to stay upright. Her glassy eyes land on me, daring me to answer.

“…butthole,” I mumble, barely able to stifle a laugh that bursts out before I can stop it. It’s ridiculous and uncontrollable, and yep—I’m utterly wasted.

“…No, what?!” Lucy recoils like I’ve committed some cardinal sin. “Jeff, GOD! Why can’t you ever take me seriously? Just once in your life, be serious! ”

I keep giggling— giggling. I don’t do that. Ever. But apparently, a few too many beers turn me into some alternate version of myself who does. How many have I had? Five? Seven? My brain’s too foggy to figure it out.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to sound sincere but failing miserably because I’m still grinning. “It was just the first thing that popped into my head. It’s true, though. It’s the best. He’s the best. His tight little ass is the best—”

“Oh my God, that’s enough. Please stop,” Lucy groans, dragging her hands down her face like she’s trying to physically erase my words from her brain.

She tugs at her messy blonde hair, pacing in tiny, wobbly circles on the sidewalk while we wait for the Uber. Where even are we? Downtown LA? I squint at the neon blur of signs and streetlights, but nothing looks familiar. My brain feels like it’s moving through molasses, and honestly, I can’t bring myself to care.

Lucy’s still muttering under her breath, probably about me, but I’m too busy fighting off the dumb grin that won’t leave my face. Jamie does have the best ass. It’s not my fault the truth comes out when I’ve had a few too many beers.

It’s unseasonably cold for LA tonight, a total slap in the face after the heat earlier. I hug myself, swaying a little to keep warm, while Lucy teeters on the edge of the curb in her heels. And somehow she still looks annoyingly put together. Her purplish lipstick hasn’t smudged, her outfit’s on point, and her hair looks perfectly disheveled in that effortless way I’ll never understand. Meanwhile, I’m standing here with a sauce stain—ranch, maybe?—smeared across my shirt. Did I eat wings? I honestly don’t remember right now.

I rub at the sticky mess absentmindedly, and then it hits me: it looks like someone blew a load on me. Fantastic. Jamie would take one look at me right now and roll his eyes so hard they’d fall out of his head.

God, I miss him.

Lucy’s babbling again, wobbling on her heels, and I snap back to the moment just as she says, “Jamie has a beautiful…”

“Uh,” I hesitate, running a hand through my hair. “Fuck. He doesn’t have a beautiful anything, Lucy. He just is beautiful. He’s a beautiful fucking person. What do you want me to say?!”

She stares at me, her expression softening for a moment like she might actually let it go—but no, she just sighs dramatically, tossing her hands in the air.

“You’re so fucking hopeless, Jeff.”

And maybe I am. Because no matter what I say or how hard I try to sound cool about it, one thing’s for sure: Jamie really is the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And I’ll probably never stop thinking that.

She narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to solve a math problem. “You said you wanted to stop thinking about Jamie, so talk about it—and then we’ll stop. You’ll feel better.” She pauses, then completely derails. “Butter. Hey, margarine is shit, Jeff, don’t you think? Like… what is it, really? God. How do we even know we can trust it?”

I blink at her, completely lost. I’m not sure if I zoned out or if she actually jumped from Jamie to margarine that fast.

Finally, the Uber pulls up, and we climb in. Lucy launches into her usual drunken small talk with the driver, while I stare out the window, trying to piece together how many drinks I’ve had tonight. Would Jamie be impressed or horrified? Probably horrified. Definitely horrified.

“I want to call Jamie,” I say suddenly. “I want to talk to Jamie.”

“Wait until we get back to your place, at least,” Lucy whines, clutching the side of my jacket like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Her fingers are digging into the fabric, and her bottom lip is sticking out in a ridiculous pout. “Don’t do that now. That’s super fucking boring for me.”

I sigh, nudging her hand off my jacket with my elbow. “Lucy, let go. You’re acting like a toddler.”

“No! Come on, Jeff, at least wait until we get inside…”

“Lucy,” I groan, putting my empty hand back in my lap, “what does it matter?”

She leans in close, her face just inches from mine, her eyes wide and deadly serious, like she’s about to drop some earth-shattering revelation.

“Jeffrey, hey… listen. Listen to me really closely…”

I blink, bracing myself for whatever dramatic nonsense is about to come out of her mouth.

“…Can we please order pizza?” she whispers, her voice so earnest it almost throws me off.

“What?!”

She bursts out laughing and throws herself back against the window, clutching her stomach like she just told the joke of the century. I stare at her, baffled, like she’s just landed from another planet.

I groan, shaking my head. “You’re so dumb.”

“And you’re so drunk,” she counters, sticking her tongue out at me like we’re five.

I don’t even bother arguing. She’s right.

“We literally just ate!” I throw my head back against the car seat, groaning louder this time as the memory finally clicks into place. Wings. We did eat wings tonight. “You know, I’m pretty sure you ate half my wings, dude!”

“Come on!” Lucy wails, throwing her hands up like I’ve just ruined her entire night. “I can’t believe you right now... Who even are you?!”

She looks like she’s about two seconds away from bursting into tears. Over pizza. Seriously? Why the hell is not ordering pizza such a big deal to her?

I glance over at her, and she’s clutching her purse like it holds the last shred of her sanity. Her eyes are big and glassy, and for a second, I almost feel bad—until she lets out a loud, dramatic huff and glares at me like I’ve betrayed her.

“Lucy,” I start, but she cuts me off with an exaggerated sigh.

“No, Jeff. No! You don’t understand. Pizza is everything. ”

I let my head fall back again, groaning into the ceiling of the car. “I can’t with you right now.”

Lucy folds her arms, pouting, and mutters under her breath, “You don’t deserve pizza anyway.”

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, a short ping that I recognize immediately. Jamie. My heart jumps like it always does when it’s him.

I want to grab my phone right away, but I don’t. I’m too drunk to think straight, and Lucy’s already on edge. Is she really about to cry over pizza? I don’t get it, but I also don’t want to deal with it right now.

I sink further into the seat, trying to disappear until we get back to... wherever we’re going. I can’t even remember. My brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and all I can think about is the way my phone keeps buzzing in my pocket. Another ping. Then another. Ten texts? Seriously? How can I not look at my phone right now?

The Uber finally pulls up outside my apartment, and Lucy bolts out like she’s on a mission, her high heels clicking unevenly on the pavement as she stumbles toward the door. I follow behind at a slower pace, rubbing my face and wondering how the hell she still has so much energy. Once we’re inside, she doesn’t say a word—just makes a beeline straight for the bathroom in her skintight dress, her purse swinging wildly at her side like it’s barely holding on. The door slams behind her with a little too much force, and I hear the lock click a second later, sealing her in.

“Thanks for the chat,” I mutter under my breath, the sarcasm thick as I toss some pillows and a blanket onto the couch for her to crash on tonight. They land in a messy heap, but I don’t bother fixing it. She won’t care, and I’m too tired to put in the effort.

The second I hear the faint sound of water running in the bathroom, I’m reaching for my phone, my hands fumbling as I pull it out of my pocket. My heart’s already racing, my brain spinning with possibilities. What did Jamie text? Something funny? Something sweet? Maybe a picture?

I know Lucy’s going to be in there for a while—probably puking, reapplying her lipstick, or some combination of both. She’s predictable like that.

Leaving my bedroom door open, I flop down onto the bed, the springs creaking under my weight. I stretch out on my back, staring at the ceiling for a second before pulling up Jamie’s messages.

My fingers hover over the screen, and my chest tightens with anticipation. It’s stupid how just seeing his name makes my heart do that. But it does. Every time.

I take a breath, bite my lip, and tap the screen to open the thread.

Jamie : Yo.

Jamie : I finished the photos I took of you on the beach.

The next dozen or so texts are pictures of the beach, and a few of them actually feature me. They’re... really damn good, even on my phone’s tiny screen. I can’t stop staring. I don’t have many recent photos of myself—definitely nothing this impressive.

There are a couple of shots of me catching waves, though none of them are close-up. Jamie must’ve been far away when he took these. I hadn’t even seen him out there.

The second-to-last shot is me walking along the beach with my surfboard, silhouetted against the setting sun. The last photo? A close-up of my face, wet and dripping, looking down at the sand with my damp hair falling into my eyes. I’m guessing it’s from when I walked back to shore after finally spotting him.

The orange light of the sunset is incredible in these pictures. The way all the colors pop is unreal. Jamie killed it. He edited the hell out of these, and it shows.

Before I even realize it, my fingers are already flying across the screen, dialing him. Butterflies take flight in my stomach the moment I hear his voice, low and soft and familiar.

“The photos are amazing,” I blurt out before he can even say hi. “How’d you make me look that good?”

Jamie laughs, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard all day. “Jeff, that’s you. You always look good, dude.”

“Not that good.”

“Yes, that good… Are you serious? You’ve always been such a fucking stud.”

I grin, my chest tightening. “I miss you.”

I’m the one who always says it first these days, but I don’t care. I’ve long since accepted that I’m a mess when it comes to Jamie.

“I know. I miss you too, Jeff.”

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair as I roll over on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about... stuff. Like, a lot of stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Jamie’s voice dips with curiosity. “Like what?”

“Like... I want to be with you. All the fucking time. I don’t know what to do. I just want to be where you are. I wish I was glued to you. With like... hot glue, not that crappy Elmer’s glue that doesn’t stick to anything but paper. Hey, Jamie, you remember that kid in fourth grade who licked all the Elmer’s glue off his fingers? I wonder if he’s okay now.”

Jamie’s laughter breaks through the line, clear and bright. “Jeff… are you drunk?”

“Yeah,” I admit, biting back an embarrassing giggle. “Me and Lucy spent the day at that queer bar she loves. We got free drinks because she’s friends with the bartender—Justine, I think? She was pretty hot, but her nose looked kind of weird. Probably a botched nose job. I felt bad. It’s rough when your one flaw is smack in the middle of your face, you know? Anyway, she hooked us up. Some guy hit on me… He was like six-five or something, at least ten years older. I was afraid for my life. Spent the whole night running away from him. You would’ve gotten a kick out of it. I really wished you were there and—”

Jamie’s laughing so hard I finally stop mid-ramble, smirking at the ceiling.

“Dude, why are you laughing at me so hard?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.

“Jeff… You’re wasted. You’re cracking me up.”

I sigh dramatically, running my fingers through my hair. "I want to feel you so bad right now. I want to put my hands on you, Jamie.”

His laughter is contagious, and I find myself giggling again, which is absolutely mortifying.

"Oh, yeah? …Where?” he teases, his voice dropping a notch.

I hesitate, caught off guard by the question. I didn’t mean it like that—not entirely. I just want to hold him, lie next to him in bed like we did at the beach. I miss having him here. I just want him back.

“Where, Jeff?” Jamie asks again, his voice softer this time, almost hesitant.

I glance toward the bathroom door to make sure Lucy’s still in there before I whisper my answer into the phone.

Jamie laughs again, this time even louder. “Jeff… why are you whispering?”

“Lucy’s spending the night,” I explain, lowering my voice even more. “She’s still here.”

“Oh.”

“She’s in the bathroom right now,” I add, whispering like it’s a state secret. “Probably throwing up, so I’ve got a solid ten minutes before she comes out. I’ll check on her if she doesn’t come out in five. Gotta make sure she doesn’t pass out and crack her head on the toilet or something. I don't want her to have to suffer through a botched nose job.”

Jamie’s laugh is so loud I can’t help but smile. He’s totally laughing at me, but I don’t care. I’m mentally taking the credit anyway.

“Tell me more about what else you’d do,” he says, his voice playful but with that edge that makes my chest tighten all over again.

I’m talking to Jamie, completely unfiltered, letting things spill out that Sober-Long-Distance-Relationship-Jeff wouldn’t dream of saying. I’m on a roll—really leaning into it, to the point where, yeah, I’m sporting a semi—when the bathroom door creaks open.

Lucy stumbles out like she’s just emerged from battle, her heels clacking unevenly against the floor, her mascara smudged to hell. She pauses in the doorway, squinting at me like I’ve personally offended her by existing.

I sit up immediately, slapping a pillow onto my lap like it’s a reflex. I scowl at her and turn toward the window, but she’s already glaring at me.

“I threw up,” she announces, dead serious, like it’s a major accomplishment.

“Great,” I mutter, trying to keep my focus on Jamie’s voice in my ear.

Lucy doesn’t budge. She leans against the doorframe and raises her voice. “Jeff, did you hear me?! I threw up!”

I whirl around, my irritation spilling over. “Oh, congratulations, Lucy! What the hell do you want me to do about it?!”

She glares, her jaw dropping slightly in mock offense. “You were going to order pizza, Jeffrey...”

“No, I wasn’t. You’re insane when you’re drunk,” I snap, still holding the phone to my ear. “You just threw up because you drank too much, and now you want pizza?”

“Yeah. Why is this so hard for you to understand?!” she shouts, throwing her arms up dramatically. She looks up at the ceiling like I’m the dumbest person alive, then drops her arms with a huff.

I sigh, mutter my tearful goodbyes to Jamie, and hang up. When I walk back into the living room, Lucy’s sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it’s got all the answers.

“What’s up? Did you order pizza?” she asks, her voice calm now.

“Yeah,” I say, sitting on the edge of the couch and nudging her legs back into the cushions.

She shifts, propping her head on her hand as she glances at me. “You know... Some nights, I want to call Nichole too.”

There it is. I knew something was up.

“The time difference sucks,” she continues. “She’s three hours ahead, and it feels like we can never make it work.”

“It’ll be fine,” I say, giving her a reassuring smile and placing my hand on hers. “Hey, aren’t you graduating soon?”

She smiles softly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You moving? Closer to Nichole?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Maybe... Maybe I am, Jeff…” She hesitates, and the look on her face is like a punch to the gut. It’s like admitting this out loud physically hurts her.

I smirk, trying to keep it light for both of us. “I thought so. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was leaving you,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But... I can’t do this anymore, Jeff. Not if I don’t have to.”

I nod, swallowing the lump that’s suddenly lodged in my throat. “I get it. Trust me.” My voice cracks a little as I squeeze her hand tighter, anchoring us both.

She’s been acting off all night, and now it all makes sense. She’s been holding onto this, dreading telling me. I can see how much she’s struggling, and it hits me harder than I expected. My chest feels tight, my eyes sting, and I realize just how much I’m going to miss her.

“You’ve gotta do what’s best for you,” I say softly, hoping she knows I mean it. “And I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Lucy leans back, staring at the ceiling again, but she intertwines her fingers with mine as I scoot closer.

“I promise that if and when I do leave... we’ll still hang out. We’ll still talk and text... and see each other.”

“I know,” I say, chuckling a little. “Lucy, this long-distance stuff isn’t new to me anymore.” It still sucks, though.

Why do the people I care about always end up so far away?

“...Please don’t hate me,” she says, her voice wavering.

“I’ve already done that before,” I joke, grinning when it gets a laugh out of her. Who would’ve thought one of my exes cheating on me with her would lead to this? Back then, it broke both of us, but now she’s like a sister to me. It’s wild, but maybe things really do happen for a reason.

I nudge her hand, meeting her gaze. “You go get your girl, Lucy.”