"Remember when I didn't have my license yet?" she asked. "You'd pick my ass up all the time, drive me everywhere. For years. Who does that? You would always come over on your days off even when you're super tired from your shifts, even when you have hundreds of errands to do. Because you knew I was lonely. Because you knew I needed help with Ma. You helped me and Ma so much without expecting anything in return. I always do things for other people, but it's the first time anybody's done it for me." "You're my best friend." "My point exactly!" She pointed a finger at me. "I had best friends before, but if I'm bone tired after work, I wouldn't drop by to check how their sick mother is doing. I'd go home and sleep. Maybe text and ask how they're doing. That's about it. That's what everyone I know would do. But you..." She paused, sniffed. "You made me and my mom your family." Her eyes dropped to her lap, staring at her hands. "You do things for other people because you genuinely care," she said. "You like to help because it's who you are. And it makes me feel good to know that you're my best friend. No one really liked me, not the real me because I always show them my fake side—the nice and polite version. With you I'm real. I'm not quiet anymore." What am I going to do when she leaves? If I miss her now, how much more would I miss her once she's gone? "Yeah, you're a real noise machine, Tal." Now she giggled, and it made the tightness in my chest dissipate slightly. "That's another thing, you know. Sometimes you say the most awkward things in serious situations. I love that about you and I'm really going to miss that." She reached for a stick, poked at the logs. "When mom told me that we're moving back to the Philippines, I wasn't really surprised. She'd been hinting at it for a while now. But when she sat me down and told me, it felt more real. Suddenly it hit me that I was really leaving. And that the person I hate to leave the most is you." The ache in my chest bloomed again—the sadness of losing my best friend. Life liked playing cruel jokes on me. Tala had been an extension of myself. Someone I believed would always be close to me no matter what. She had become my tree. "You are one of the strongest people I've ever met," I said. "You're just saying that because I'm leaving." I shook my head. "I meant every word. I wish you'd see yourself the way I see you." Instead of responding, she reached for the pack of marshmallows and opened it, carefully poking the fluffy candy onto a stick. I knew she was feeling self-conscious. She was generous handing compliments to other people, but she didn't know how to handle receiving them. Jokingly receive them, yes, but not when they were handed to her sincerely. "I know your life is not easy either," I went on. "Taking care of a parent alone is not a small feat. Maybe that's why we've bonded so fast. I think people who've been through a lot recognize each other—almost like there's an understanding of each other's pain. It draws them together. My life feels like an exhausting endless road, and I always seem to miss the rest stops. But when I met you, I didn't want to just pass by." "Aw, Kar." We looked at each other, a quiet understanding passing between us. I felt sad, but also grateful and comforted. Then the marshmallow burnt, melted, then plopped onto the embers. "No! My marshmallow!" she cried out. She glanced up at me with huge, horrified eyes, her mouth formed into an O. We stared at each other for a beat, then we started giggling. After a heavy conversation, it felt good to laugh. I told her to hand the stuff to me and took over. I might not know how to cook, but I did okay with roasting marshmallows. Dad took us camping often when we were kids and roasted marshmallows were Dylan's favorite. "Here." I handed her a slightly burned marshmallow. Well, at least it was better than hers was. "Stuff your face and be happy." "Thanks. Make me more please, madam." "K." Comfortable in each other's company, we didn't speak for a while. I roasted more marshmallows and she got busy eating them. And then I asked, "When are you leaving?" She lowered her head, wrapped the blanket tighter around her. "Tuesday." "So soon?" Today was Saturday. I thought we had more time. "Ma said she wants to be there before Christmas." "Do you want to leave?" She was quiet for a moment. Then said, "I thought a lot about it. I don't know what I want yet and sometimes I'm miserable about it. I'm so confused about everything and I realized that it's okay not to know. Just keep going, right? You discover things along the way and sometimes if you're lucky, you discover yourself too. Right now, all I know is that I can't leave my mom. I can't live with myself if I didn't take care of her. I want to." I respected that. And I understood it. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Tal?" "You were going through a lot at the time. You were like a zombie. I wish I was there for you more, but I wasn't in the right headspace either at the time." "I'm sorry. Was I really that selfish that I didn't even notice this was all happening?" "Kar, no. You know how I am with confrontations and goodbyes. I hate them and will put them off until the very last minute. I wasn't there for you as much as I wanted to either. There was no point in both of us feeling sad. That's why I didn't tell you." Still it was terrible that I didn't know. We could've spent more time together, but I understood it was Tala's way. "I wish you didn't have to leave," I said quietly. "You'll be okay, Kar." Suddenly her eyes turned glassy, and her face had crumpled as though she was in pain. "But beware of the one who holds the dog." The skin on the back of my neck prickled. "What?" She blinked, then she looked like Tala again. "I don't know why I said that. It just popped in my head." "More psychic stuff?"