My Long-Distance Friend Came to Stay With Us – 24 Hours Later, My Girlfriend Told Me to Kick Him Out Because of What He Did While I Was Gone #9

I’m plating the meatloaf with extra gravy when Jace bounces through the front door and calls my name like it’s been a year since he last me, instead of a month.

He smells of diesel and road dust, but his grin is warm as ever. His eyes scan the kitchen, and I swear they light up when they land on the steaming plate in my hands.

“Is that meatloaf?” he asks, already dropping his duffel by the door like he owns the place.

I nod, trying not to smile too widely. “Mashed potatoes and green beans, too. Your favorite.”

He groans in relief, and I mean really groans. “Marry me.”

From the couch, my girlfriend Kaylee laughs. It’s the first time they’ve met in person, and honestly? I’ve been a little nervous about this moment.

Jace is a long-haul truck driver, so I only get to see him once a month. When he’s in town, he always stays with me.

I worry about him feeling lonely on the road, you know? This is my way of keeping him grounded, making him feel like he has a home.

Kaylee and I have only lived together for two months, and she was away last time he visited. Bad timing, I guess.

Dinner goes smoothly on the surface.

While I carry plates to the table, Kaylee heads to the fridge and quietly throws something together for herself. It’s not unusual. She has specific tastes when it comes to food, and I never take it personally.

Jace demolishes his plate like a man who hasn’t seen home cooking in weeks. Which, to be fair, he hasn’t. Between bites, he glances at Kaylee’s sparse meal.

“You don’t like this?” he asks casually, nodding toward my meatloaf.

She shrugs. “I’m not big on meatloaf. Or gravy. Or mashed potatoes.”

Jace raises a brow and glances at me. Something flickers across his face (just a quick shadow), but he says nothing more.

When my mom calls mid-meal, panicked about a burst pipe flooding her kitchen, I look between Kaylee and Jace. Mom’s voice is tight with stress, and I can practically see the water damage spreading across her hardwood floors.

“I’ll be back in an hour, tops,” I say, already grabbing my keys. “You two good?”

Kaylee smiles. “Go help your mom. We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words, right?

I return a little over an hour later, waterlogged and smelling faintly of bleach. All I want is to collapse on the couch with Jace and Kaylee, and maybe watch something mindless on TV.

But the energy is wrong. Completely wrong.

They’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch, facing the TV like strangers in a waiting room. The space between them feels charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.

As soon as I walk in, Kaylee stands.

“I’m heading to bed,” she says, not quite looking at either of us. “Gonna read.”

I watch her disappear around the corner, then turn to Jace.

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs. “We were watching Wheel of Fortune. You didn’t miss much.”

Something about his tone makes my stomach tighten.

I go up to check on Kaylee, but she’s already curled under the blanket, face turned to the wall, breathing slowly. There’s no way she’s asleep already.

“Everything okay?” I ask from the door.

She doesn’t answer.

The next day, it’s like I live in two separate homes.

I make pancakes, fluffy ones with real maple syrup, the kind Kaylee usually devours. She declines and says she needs to rush out to run errands.

I make grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch, comfort food on a gloomy Tuesday. She says she’s already eaten.

Jace eats it all eagerly and seems oblivious to the tension, or maybe he’s just better at pretending than I am.

But the way Kaylee avoids him, ducking out to “grab something from Target,” then “go for a walk,” is deliberate.

I’m thinking they hate each other and don’t want to tell me, but the truth turns out to be way worse.

Jace is hardly out the door when Kaylee tells me, “We need to talk.”

She sits me down, and my heart starts racing before she even opens her mouth.

“He has to leave,” she says. “Immediately.”

I blink, sure I misheard. “What? But why? What happened?”

Her eyes fill with tears. “It’s because of what he did while you were gone last night. He… he said something.”

She pauses, and I can see her fingers trembling just slightly against the wood grain.

“He said it’s awful that I’m such a picky eater and don’t appreciate your cooking. Then he said…” She swallows hard and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “‘If I were in your place, I wouldn’t do that.'”

I frown. That doesn’t sound like Jace. He’s direct, sure, but not cruel. “That sounds—”

“That wasn’t all,” she interrupts. “I asked him what he meant. It felt like there was more behind it, and eventually, he admitted it.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “He’s in love with you.”

I want to deny it, to say she misunderstood, that Jace and I are just friends, but something in my chest feels like it’s cracked wide open.

“Kaylee…” I whisper. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’ll ask him to leave,” she says, voice shaking. “It’s too awkward for him to stay here now.”

She’s right, I guess, but the thought of asking Jace to leave… there’s just no way. I can’t even imagine the words leaving my mouth.

“I need time to think,” I mutter.

I go to my mom’s place for the night. I tell Jace I’m helping with the aftermath of the water damage, but really? I need space to figure out what the hell is happening to my life.

I lie awake on the pull-out couch, staring at the ceiling.

I can’t stop thinking about the dinners I’ve planned for Jace’s visits over the years, or the way I always count down the days on my calendar until I see him again.

The warmth that spreads through my chest every time he walks through my door… is that just friendship? Or have I been lying to myself about something much bigger?

The next day, I ask Jace to meet me at the diner by the highway where we used to kill hours over bottomless coffee and terrible pie.

He sits down, looks me in the eye, and says, “I guess Kaylee told you what I said.”

I nod. “Is it true?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but once I did… I couldn’t take it back.” He looks at me then, shy but steady. “I don’t want to take it back.”

And it’s like someone turned on a light in a room I didn’t know was dark.

Hours later, I return home, heart pounding like I’ve just run a marathon. Kaylee is in the bedroom, folding clothes with mechanical precision. She doesn’t look up when I walk in.

I start trying to explain, but the words come out jumbled and wrong.

How do you tell someone you love that you’ve just discovered you’re in love with someone else? That maybe you always have been, without knowing it?

“Stop, just stop. I get the picture.” She sits on the edge of the bed and puts her head in her hands.

I sit beside her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen; I didn’t even know.”

She nods, but her eyes glisten when she looks up at me.

“You two fit,” she says, and there’s no bitterness in her voice, just sad acceptance. “I saw it before you did. I… I think you’ll be very happy together.”

The next few hours pass in a blur. We say little as I help her carry boxes to her car. What is there to say?

At the end, we hug. Long and quiet, like we’re both trying to memorize the moment.

Three years later, Jace and I send Kaylee a card inviting her to our wedding.

We don’t expect her to come. How could we? But it feels right to include her, to acknowledge that she was part of this story too.

But just as we’re lining up for photos, I see her at the edge of the courtyard.

She’s wearing a blue dress, hair pulled back, looking exactly like I remember her, but somehow different too. Happier, maybe. More settled.

I hurry over and hug her.

“I told you that you’d be happy together,” she whispers.

I laugh, and something tight in my chest finally lets go.

Here’s another story: My mother believed cooking was “girl stuff” and never hid her disapproval of my son’s passion for baking. I thought she’d eventually come around, but I underestimated just how far she’d go to crush his dream. What she did made me throw her out of my house. And I’m not sorry.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.