“Hey!” Dad proclaims as he enters the dining room with the salad. “It is Rosh Hashanah. We don’t talk about work. We don’t think about work. Tonight, there is no band!”

“Excuse me?” Mom enters the dining room with Rebecca and takes a seat next to Dad.

“It’s called work-life balance, Michelle,” Dad says.

Mom frowns. “Who are you and what did you do with my husband?”

Reid and I fixate on our own plates and actively ignore each other, now that dinner is served. It is a typical Jacobson- Callahan affair—a cacophony of people talking over people.

“Natalie!” Rebecca says, calling my attention from the far end of the table. “How are classes going? Are you having trouble with Ms. Santiago?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Reid’s eyebrows pinch together.

“She expects a lot, but as long as you follow instructions, you’re good.”

Rebecca smiles like I’ve impressed her and that always feels good. She’s a child pediatrician doing research at Children’s Hospital in Boston and who I wanted to be when I grew up… until I fell off a bike and learned the hard way that I get woozy at the sight of blood.

“Maybe you could teach Reid how to follow instructions,” Leonard says. His tone is almost teasing, but not quite.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Reid says, his ears burning.

“Don’t take it personally, Natalie.” Leonard leans back in his chair and scratches his beard. “Science is my specialty, but Reid won’t accept my help either.”

Leonard is an electrical engineer at an architectural firm and pretty much responsible for this dream kitchen. It’s a kitchen that scientists get to have, a reward for their practical pursuits. Rebecca and Leonard are dominant in their fields—totally life goals and couple goals.

“Junior year can be an adjustment,” Mom says.

Rebecca stabs her salad with her fork. “Oh, absolutely. SATs, college research, AP classes… I don’t miss it.”

Mom shakes her head. “Me either. I don’t think I ever felt more lost.”

“We had the luxury of figuring it out along the way,” Leonard says, reaching for the breadbasket that has made its way down the table. “But in this economy? With tuition costs?”

And there it is, the feeling of existential dread that burrows deep in my bones whenever this subject comes up, which is more and more frequently. I like school. I like my classes. But when I close my eyes and picture the future… I have no idea what I see myself doing. Right now, the thought of listing a major on a college application is enough to make me break out in hives.

Undecided.

I hate that word.