Page 91 of Show Off

Jamila picks up her book. She’s frowning as she flips to the bookmark, visibly ruffled by this shift. When she looks up at Lana, uncertainty fills her eyes. “What year were you born, Lana?” She presses on as the audience titters. “You’re—what? Twenty-seven years old?”

A murmur rolls through the audience. Someone in the front row pulls out a phone, and I watch her toggle to the calculator app.

“A lady never tells her age,” says Shirleen, but Lana interrupts.

“I’m not ashamed to say I’m twenty-seven and found my first gray hair last week.” She smiles and tosses her sleek blond waves. “Guess there’ll be more where those came from, huh?”

It’s a chance for viewers to sympathize. To see her as human, as the daughter of someone being picked on. A few women in the front row nod supportively, but then someone shouts.

“Who’s your daddy, Lana?”

It’s a faint call, coming from close to the back row. The person’s not miked, but the audience laughs just the same. Jamila cups a hand to her ear and widens her eyes dramatically. “Hold up now. What was that?”

Lana’s eyes blaze. She sits straighter in her chair, assessing. Calculating. What’s happening here?

Uncurling her fingers, Lana clears her throat. “She asked, and I quote, ‘Who’s your daddy, Lana?’” She smiles like the question doesn’t shake her, and I’m baffled. How is she doing this?

Then she glances my way and I get it.Oh, shit.

“Which I’m taking to mean the cat’s out of the bag about my new romance.” Lana gives me a wave and my gut clenches. “You all know Dal Yang as the head chef at Serenade onFresh Start at Juniper Ridge. Well, now you know him as the man I’m hopelessly in love with. Dal, honey? Wave to the camera.”

Holy shit. She’s taking me up on my offer. To deflect from Shirleen’s drama, Lana’s thrown us both in the spotlight. She’s there in her tutu, twirling on the red carpet for the world’s amusement.

But I play my part, goddammit. With a wave and a smile, I let the cameraman get his shot. This will all be over in a minute. They have to cut to commercial soon.

“Just a minute, now.” Jamila gives me a great big wave. “Dal Yang, world-famous chef, son of Yang’s Spicy Sauce Blend’s empire—you’redating?”

Someone sticks a mic in my face as I nod. “That’s right.”

Lana gives me a grateful look, and I clear my throat. “I doubt anyone will be surprised to know I’m madly in love with this woman.”

The audience applauds, and that’s it. Lana’s done it. She’s successfully diverted the limelight from her family drama. But at what cost?

“Come out here a minute.” Beckoning me, Jamila points at her producer. “Have we got time? We’ve got time! Come on out here, Dal. Let’s get this man a mic.”

Someone springs out from backstage and fixes a lavalier mic to my collar. With my palms sweating, I’m led to a chair someone’s parked beside Lana. She stands up to kiss me, quickly tapping the mute switch on our mics. “Thank you,” she whispers, shielding our mouths so the audience thinks we’re just kissing. “We’ve got one minute and thirty-three seconds ‘til commercial break. Just let me handle this, and it’ll be over quickly.”

I nod so she knows I’ve heard her, then catch her hand before she unmutes my mic. “Are you okay?”

She smiles, and it almost looks genuine. “I will be.”

We take our seats and Lana makes sure both our mics are hot. “My apologies to Dal for dragging him out here like this.” She laces her fingers through mine and smiles at Jamila. “It’s still pretty new, but we’re really happy.”

“I’ll say.” Jamila slips into bestie mode now. “Look at you two—you’re glowing.”

That’s anger she sees in my eyes, but whatever. All I need to do is sit here and support Lana.

“Well.” Shirleen settles back in her chair, at ease now that Lana’s taken the heat off. “Isn’t this cozy?”

Lana laughs like we’re all in on a joke together. I can’t make myself chuckle, but I manage a look that’s nearly a smile. Her hand feels sweaty in mine, and I give hers a squeeze so she knows I’ve got her.

“What do you think, Mama Judson?” Jamila winks at Shirleen. “Or should I say ‘grandma’? At least a couple of your kids have babies now, don’t they?”

“Gigi.” There’s ice in Shirleen’s voice. “In our family, I go by Gigi, notgrandma.”

Jamila winks. “Right, I’ve got you,Gigi.”

I don’t know what makes me say it. “Jiji in Korean means support or sustenance.” I pause for a moment too long. “It can also meanshove.”

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