“Anyway,” I said, dragging the word out. “We were learning about Andrew, who is not a college dropout like Jeffrey Gu.”

“No, he is not,” my mother said fondly, giving Andrew all her attention. “Please, tell us about your family.”

Andrew was focused on the turkey, his eyes unreadable. “Our families have a lot in common, actually,” he answered as he dished a glistening cut of dark meat onto my mother’s plate.

She beamed and nodded her thanks.

“My parents met in Taipei at church, got married, and then immigrated here for medical school. My older brother and I were both born and raised in Chicago, in a supportive church community.”

“Chicago?” my mother interjected. “As in, they’re still there?”

She’d always hated how far I was from the West Coast, and I knew the idea of having Andrew’s parents nearby would please her. So of course he answered…

“Yes. They both work at the UChicago hospital.”

Strangely, my mother’s face darkened, the opposite of what I’d expected. The first time so far tonight, so overall I should be relieved, but I’d really thought I’d nailed all aspects of this.

Luckily, my father’s eyes were about to pop right out of his skull. Take that, Hongbo. Your family may be rich, but Andrew just checked the money and prestige boxes, sucker. And yes, we might have been playing into the fact that my parents wished they had gone into medicine instead of dentistry after hearing too many “couldn’t get into medical school?” jokes. I was not above cheap shots.

“What specialty?” My father’s voice was only a smidge louder than a whisper.

“Surgery.” A lauded field with a department large enough that my parents wouldn’t bother learning how to google just to confirm. And my dad might have once hinted at wanting to be an oral surgeon, but he hadn’t been accepted into any programs—if I was going to take a cheap shot, might as well go all out, right?

“Wow, surgeons at the University of Chicago,” my father repeated, like he was trying to make the information sink in. My parents called the university by its full name, as if that somehow made it more prestigious.

“So you went to the University of Chicago because your parents guaranteed you a spot?” my mother asked Andrew with one eyebrow raised.

“I did briefly consider Harvard and Stanford, but I couldn’t turn down a top biology program down the street from my family. Now, UChicago’s biology may not be as good as its economics”—he nudged me with an elbow—“but not all of us can handle a major that rigorous.”

Jackpot, on so many levels.

My father said, “You turned down Stanford?” at the same time my mother said, “You think economics is a good field?”