Cable Ties and Palm Lines

August humidity wrapped around us like a second skin as Maya and I sat on her front porch, nursing warm sodas like they were the last drinks on Earth.

"You look like a zombie," she said, grinning. "Third night in a row of binge-watching that apocalypse show will do that to you."

"Speak for yourself," I shot back, but she wasn't wrong. We'd been surviving on cable TV and cheap snacks, counting down the days until she moved across the country. Three weeks left. Every sleepover felt desperate now, like we were trying to cram a lifetime of friendship into a shrinking window.

Her golden retriever, Buster, nosed my knee, demanding attention. I scratched behind his ears, his fur soft and familiar. "At least someone's happy to see me."

Maya's expression softened. "I'm going to miss you doing this."

"Walking your dog?"

"Everything."

The silence stretched, heavy with things we weren't saying. Then she grabbed my hand, flipping it over. "Let me read your palm."

"Seriously?" I laughed, pulling away. "You don't believe in that stuff."

"Humor me. It's not like we have cable in the afterlife."

I let her trace the lines on my palm with her index finger, her touch light and careful. "You're going to do something big," she said quietly. "I can see it."

"Or maybe I'm just going to win another goldfish at the county fair and kill it in two weeks like last time."

She laughed, but her eyes glistened. "That fish was not your fault."

"My mom disagreed. Said I couldn't keep anything alive."

"That's not true," Maya said. "You kept our friendship alive for seven years. That's gotta count for something."

A lump formed in my throat. We sat like that, fingers intertwined, while Buster drifted into an exhausted heap at our feet. The porch light flickered once, twice, then stayed steady.

"Promise me something," she said.

"What?"

"When you're famous and whatever, don't forget who helped you win that pathetic goldfish."

I squeezed her hand. "I promise."

That night, we stayed up until dawn, not watching anything, just talking. Zombies, both of us, but alive in a way that mattered more than sleep.