James, ever the peacemaker when it served his interests, jumped in. “How’s your roommate Stephanie handling job hunting? Finance, wasn’t it?”

“Environmental science,” I corrected, “and she’s already accepted a position with a climate research institute.”

My father scoffed. “Another idealist. You certainly found your people out here.”

With each passing minute, the tension mounted. Nearby tables were celebrating with champagne toasts and warm speeches while our conversation grew increasingly strained. A family at the next table had just presented their graduate with a new car key, everyone laughing and taking photos.

“Now that’s a practical graduation gift,” my father remarked pointedly. “Useful for entering the real world.”

“I don’t need a car in New Haven,” I said. “The campus is walkable.”

“That wasn’t my point, Natalie,” he replied coldly.

The waiter arrived with our entrees, providing a momentary reprieve.

As we began eating, my mother made a valiant attempt to change the subject, asking about my favorite Berkeley experiences. I started describing my work with a legal aid clinic, explaining how we’d helped low-income residents with housing disputes.

“We managed to prevent three evictions last semester by pro bono work,” my father interrupted, cutting his steak with surgical precision. “Noble, but ultimately unsustainable. The legal profession isn’t charity work.”

“Some of us believe in using our skills to help others, not just enrich ourselves,” I replied, my patience finally beginning to fray.

His knife paused mid-cut. “And what exactly are you implying about my career, Natalie?”

“I’m not implying anything about your career, Dad. I’m stating facts about mine.”