What the Palm Reader Said

The palm reader had traced the line on my hand with a nicotine-stained finger and said, 'You're about to lose something you thought was permanent.' I'd laughed it off, tipped her twenty bucks, and walked out into the Miami heat.

Now here I was, three weeks later, sweat stinging my eyes as I smashed a padel ball toward the back fence. It sailed wide, clanking against the metal.

'Your head's not in the game,' Elena called from across the court. She stood with her hands on her hips, her racket dangling from one finger like it weighed nothing.

I wiped my palm on my shorts. 'Rough night. Bear kept me up.'

'The dog again?' She shook her head. 'Marcus, he's fourteen. Maybe it's—'

'Don't. Please.' My voice cracked. 'Not today.'

She held up her hands. 'Okay. Sorry. You want to finish up?'

We sat on the bench afterward, sharing a water bottle. The palm trees along the court edge cast long shadows in the golden hour light. A groundskeeper was coiling a thick power cable near the fence, the black snake of it gleaming.

'I'm moving to Portland,' Elena said quietly.

I turned to her. 'What?'

'Job offer. Twice what I make here. Remote work, but I need a change.' She studied her hands. 'I was going to tell you after the game.'

'When?'

'Next month.' She looked at me. 'Marcus, we've been friends for ten years. And in the last two, you've hardly let me in. You're going through something and you won't talk about it. I can't keep waiting around for you to decide you trust me.'

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The palm reader's words echoed in my head. Permanent things. The dog. Elena. My marriage to Sarah, which I hadn't mentioned was crumbling under the weight of all the things we'd stopped saying to each other.

Elena stood up. 'I'm going to head out. Think about what you want to say to me before I go. Or don't.'

She walked toward the parking lot. I watched her go, then looked at my palm — the same one the fortune teller had read, the same one that had gripped the racket moments ago. The lines were just lines. The future wasn't written anywhere except in the choices I refused to make.

I stood up and called her name.

She turned.

'Bear has cancer,' I said. 'And Sarah moved out two months ago.'

Elena walked back toward me, slowly, like she was giving me time to take it back. Instead, I kept going, telling her everything, and for the first time in years, I wasn't losing anything at all.