If I’m going to college, if I’m taking on a lifetime of debt, I have to know what I want. Endless possibilities, creative possibilities, are not an option in that scenario. So I’ve been loading up on AP classes and peppering different electives into my schedule—Digital Marketing and Coding this semester, Economics and Anatomy next—hoping that something will stick.

“They still have time.” Dad’s voice is reassuring as he makes eye contact with me. In addition to our tendency to stew, we have the same I’m spiraling face—and mine is definitely on display.

“Exactly. Plenty of time to get that grade up, Reid,” Leonard says.

Dad breaks eye contact to rush to Reid’s defense.

“Reid is balancing a lot. For what it’s worth, his grasp on the AP Music Theory material is as if he already took the class.”

Leonard laughs. “You know that doesn’t count on a transcript, Aaron.”

Reid winces. Delia and Hannah’s eyes widen. Rebecca looks at the floor.

I… even think that’s harsh.

Dad frowns. “You’ve had too many beers, so I’m going to let that go.”

“It’s just good to have options, Reid,” Rebecca says. “That’s all we mean.”

“Right,” Reid says, but his voice is soft. “I know.”

“Maybe the clarinet-school balance is what’s off,” Leonard says.

“Rule seven!” I exclaim.

It’s supposed to be a joke, to lighten the mood. Everyone in our family knows the rule book. Natalie vs. Reid. Rule seven: Do not ruin family holidays. Art discourse will ruin Rosh Hashanah—especially when Leonard and Dad are not exactly sober and fall on opposite sides of the argument.

No one laughs.

Luckily, Delia shifts the conversation to bat mitzvah dress shopping—an important, all-consuming subject—and it works. My shoulders relax, grateful that the subject has moved away from Reid and me and the elusive Future. Sometimes I wonder if Reid and I were born to the wrong parents. Mom and Dad would jump for joy if I wanted to pursue the whole playwright/director thing. My parents are the epitome of a Dreams do come true! Disney ad. They actually believe I could be a Broadway playwright and Delia can make it to the WNBA. I’m like, Mom, you’re five-four! Dad is five-ten! Delia is not going to be pro basketball tall. I love that my parents aren’t forcing us down a path. But sometimes I want them to be serious, like Reid’s parents. To be honest about the reality of their creative dreams. Writer’s block. Playing music to half-empty venues. Student loans.

But following Dad’s path is what Reid wants. To go to conservatory and enroll in a composition program that will teach him how to score the next blockbuster film. The risks don’t scare him. Sacrificing a chem grade is worth it, in the big picture.