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The wording throws me, seconds ticking as I scramble for puzzle pieces, baking in the lights. Then, thank god, I remember. “Somehow, yes.”

“You told me that you’ve almost unwittingly found yourself in a leadership role with your family.”

I take a sip of the water they provide on set before answering. My response is one of those anecdotes that cracked up all my friends, and the moment I told Trish, she said it was time to incorporate it into the late-night circuit.

“Yeah. So I’m Jewish on my mom’s side, and she’s one of five kids, so holidays like Passover were these huge family affairs for me growing up. I’m the second oldest of the cousins and started the, shall we say, rainbow train.”

This gets a laugh from the audience, who must be a little queer if they’re laughing at that.

“I come out to my larger family at twenty, and my mom warns me before Passover, saying, ‘Val, sweetie, you know everyone’s just curious. They’re just gonna be curious.’ Which, if you know, you know.”

The audience laughs as I give a shrug, quick to keep the story focused. It’s not that I’m unwilling to talk about being gay. It’s an integral part of my life. But I want to decide when it comes up.

“And I’m a bookish college student on spring break,” I continue, “that’s the absolute last thing I want to answer, so I decide I’m gonna buy weed to take the edge off.”

The audience rumbles in laughter.

“I’m sitting through Passover, and I’m blazed out of my mind. Definitely took too much. To the point where I don’t even really remember who talked to me or what happened during the seder. Just that maror and haroseth have never tasted that good before.”

Winston, who I think is Jewish, laughs especially hard at that.

“God, that is saying something,” Winston says.

“Yeah.” I sit up straighter, rub my hands together. “So the next year my cousin Eric pulls me aside before seder starts. He’s maybe seventeen at the time. He takes me into our grandma’s bathroom, and goes, ‘Can I have some of your weed?’ And, of course, I’m like ‘Hell no.’ I’m pretty dumb, but I’m not give a minor marijuana dumb. But this kid looks me right in the eye and goes, ‘I’m gay too, and the only way I’m getting through this seder is high.’ And—” I throw up my hands, getting into the dramatics a bit. “I give him one of my edibles, and we have a great time. I have to support the community. A couple more years pass of us secretly doing this. At this point, I’m twenty-five, working in Hollywood, should probably know better. But my teenage cousin Kenny pulls me aside—not Eric, mind you, who’s now twenty-one—and says, ‘Hey I’m gay, can I get the weed?’ And I’m thinking I already gave Eric the edibles, and what kind of cousin would I be if I didn’t also give Kenny some? So the duo became a trio.”

“You became the family drug dealer?” Winston says, holding back a laugh.

I grin and shrug. “I guess I did.”

“So what happened? Did a family member catch you, or how did it stop?”

I smile; now for the punch line. “Oh, no, it’s still going on. I prepared my grandma for this, said I was going to tell this story on the air, and all she said was ‘That’s fine, it’s not like you need your brain for acting.’ ”

The room roars in laughter and OHHHHs.

“Which, usually is pretty fair,” I continue, resisting the urge to bite my newly manicured nails. “But I gotta teach a guest semester at USC in a few weeks, so godspeed to me and the administration.”

The guest-teaching was another one of those anything you want to try requests from Trish. She said she would’ve secured it regardless of the fact that I finished my PhD a few months ago, but I still get a little flame of pride in my chest knowing that even if I weren’t famous, I’d still be qualified to teach the course. I couldn’t get a real adjunct professor job without more experience, but close. Another opportunity where I’m not my face, my body, my sexuality.

Now, to get deeper into academia with Winston.

“It sounds like your sexuality has been a big part of your life for a while, then. Were all your family surprised when you came out publicly last year?” Winston asks.

For a moment, I’m in my first dissertation defense again, getting my oral presentation notes out of order. The interview is supposed to go directing, Passover anecdote, USC, end. I only agreed to tell the drug story that makes me look like a clown knowing that we’d be focusing on my academics. That we’d end on a serious note. Under the armor of the black suit, I’m sweating. On camera, I adjust the way my legs are crossed.

“Not really. My family’s known for years and knew why I wasn’t out to the public. There wasn’t really anything new to ask.”

The fluttering panic drives nervous energy through me. I want to look everywhere but at Winston, so I keep my eyes locked on him. I watch the way his lips turn, how tightly he’s holding his hands in his lap, looking for clues, anything to guess what he’s thinking right now, where he’s going.

Still, I try to course-correct as smoothly as I can. “At this point, I find exploring sexuality comes more naturally from behind the camera—”

“Not even why you chose to come out when you did?”

I know somewhere behind me, there’s a countdown clock that will end this interview, but only Winston knows what it says. And as I process that question, each second in silence a second that some asshole body language expert will rip me to shreds for, every muscle in my body aches to turn around to see that forbidden clock.

“It was the right time,” I answer before I can think anymore. “Which was a theme I wanted to explore with this episode—”

Then Winston smiles. But it’s a pinch before the burn regardless. “No person who prompted it?”