Page 16 of Home in Nevada

The cool air doesn’t help settle the anxiety twisting in my chest.

“You in the doghouse or something?” Lucy calls after me, her tone dripping with amusement. “Does she know where you were last night?”

I flip her off without looking back.

In the backyard, I pace nervously, phone pressed to my ear. Just as I’m sure the call will go to voicemail, Tiffany picks up.

“Hey, babe!” Her voice is bright, cheerful, and completely unexpected.

“Hey, Tiff…”

Her enthusiasm throws me off, but maybe she’s just been busy with family stuff. She’s with her parents and her siblings—a four-brothers-and-one-sister kind of chaos I can’t relate to as an only child. Jamie’s the same. Maybe that’s why we clicked so easily growing up... He’s the closest thing I ever had to that kind of bond. That thought settles me a little. She probably hasn’t had time to stew over my radio silence.

“How’s your Mom and Dad?” she asks.

“They’re good,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “Stayed up late playing board games with Lucy. They weren’t thrilled about me leaving so soon, though.”

“Aw, they’re adorable. Tell them I said hi, okay?”

“Yeah…” I hesitate. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday. I—”

“Oh, babe, it’s fine,” she cuts in. “I’ve been swamped here anyway. My stupid sister’s been driving me crazy, and I just wanted to chat. No biggie. What board game did you play last night?”

I freeze. Should I correct her? I wasn’t even there.

Thankfully, she doesn’t wait for an answer, launching into a detailed rant about her sister and her parents, bouncing from one topic to another like a runaway train. That’s just Tiffany—talking in circles, losing herself in her own whirlwind.

I listen, or at least try to. For thirty solid minutes, I’m trapped in her endless monologue, unable to get a word in. Boredom and frustration build with every second.

It’s annoying. She probably thinks I’m just being my usual quiet self, but I actually have a lot to say. Things I need to say. But I can’t find a way to break in, to steer this conversation toward anything meaningful.

No more secrets. No more letting things fester. I promised myself that.

But tonight isn’t the night. I’ll tell her in person.

“Anyway,” Tiffany finally says, slowing down after what feels like hours. “Please be safe driving home tonight, okay? Leaving after dinner will get you back around 3 a.m., right? Call me when you’re at your dorm. I’ll try to stay awake.”

She’s always so worried about me. I sigh, torn between affection and frustration.

Then my phone pings against my ear, and my heart skips.

Jamie.

Did he text me? Does he want to hang out again?

“Okay, okay. Bye, Tiff.”

“Bye, baby!” she sings, adding a kissy sound.

I hang up and glance at my phone. Jamie. My heart jumps as I open the text.

Jamie: Yo.

I laugh under my breath, running a hand through my hair. Tiffany could fill hours with chatter, but Jamie’s clipped messages? They’re… refreshing. It reminds me of that first night we texted—quick exchanges, no fluff, just easy.

Jeff: Yo.

As Jamie’s name pops up as "typing," I grip my phone tighter, anticipation buzzing in my chest.

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