Page 66 of Smoke Signals

“Twist my arm.”

“Two mai tais,” he tells the waitress, nodding toward both of us.

Julia smiles politely. “I’ll have a glass of moscato.”

Tim barely glances at the menu. “Coke.”

The waitress looks at Alaska next, eyebrows lifting slightly.

“Sprite,” I say for her.

Alaska nods enthusiastically.

The waitress disappears and returns a few minutes later, balancing a tray. She sets the drinks down one by one. My mai tai lands in front of me in a little ceramic cup shaped like a chubby guy with a wide belly and tiny painted smile. I blink at it, then laugh.

“Okay,” I say, lifting it. “That’s incredible.”

We place our orders after taking a sip of our drinks.

Steak and rice for me and Tim, a kids chicken and rice for Alaska while Stellan and Julia both order the seafood and rice dinner.

Julia asks questions as we wait for the chef to arrive. Alaska’s school, her favorite treats, which shows she likes, and I answer her with enthusiasm.

Then she turns the conversation to my life.

“Where’d you go to school?” she asks.

“Local community college at first,” I say. “Then I did my massage program after.”

“And you like it?” she asks.

I think about my studio, the steady work, my hands knowing what to do. I think about how I built something out of grief because I didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

The chef arrives with a tall hat, grinning, and Alaska’s attention locks in. He quickly starts the show. Onion rings stacked into a tower, oil poured, flame whooshing up into a volcano. Alaska’s mouth opens in a silent gasp, then she claps hard, eyes shining. The chef flips an egg on a spatula, tosses it up like it’s nothing, then holds it out toward Alaska, inviting her into the game.

She freezes then looks at me.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You can try.”

Stellan’s hand rests on her back, steady. “You’ve got it,” he says.

Alaska tosses the egg and the chef catches it against his chest, then makes a big show of tucking it into his pocket like it’s a magic trick. Alaska loses it. She claps and giggles, shoulders shaking, and the sound hits me so hard I have to look down at my plate for a second.

Julia laughs too, eyes bright. “Oh she’s going to remember this,” she says.

Food starts landing in front of us as the chef cooks, the smell of seared steak and garlic filling the air, the rice hot and buttery. We eat and talk while Alaska watches every trick, mesmerized.

Julia tells stories about Stellan as a kid, stubborn, always climbing things he wasn’t supposed to climb. Tim adds details with dry humor, and I just know he’s been saving these stories for the right moment.

“He tried to build a ladder out of couch cushions,” Tim says.

Stellan groans. “I was six.”

“You were determined,” Julia says, smiling. “He always was.”

At some point Julia says, with zero subtlety, “It’s going to be so fun to be grandparents.”