Hanna glanced at Finn, who gave her an encouraging smile before she took her seat, feeling Mr. and Mrs. Callahan’s eyes on her as if they were cataloging every detail.
“So,” Mrs. Callahan began, folding her hands in front of her. “Hanna, what grade are you and Finn in now?”
“We’re both seniors,” she replied, her voice steady.
“Mm.” Mrs. Callahan gave a small nod. “And what are your plans after graduation? You must have some… ambitions.”
Hanna hesitated, then nodded. “I’m applying to some local universities. I’m interested in graphic design, maybe something in the arts.” She tried to sound confident, but her words felt small in the vast, echoing space of the dining room.
“Oh, a creative type,” Mr. Callahan said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Finn’s always been drawn to artistic pursuits, hasn’t he?” His voice held a note of mild amusement, as if this were some harmless phase he expected Finn to grow out of.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Finn replied, his smile looking a little forced.
“And what do your parents do, Hanna?” Mrs. Callahan inquired, her eyes flicking down to Hanna’s hands, where she was nervously twisting her fingers.
“My mom’s a nurse, and my dad… he’s in construction.” Hanna could feel her cheeks warming, but she pushed on. “They work a lot, but they’re both really supportive.”
Mrs. Callahan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Mr. Callahan before she responded. “Construction, how… industrious. And Finn tells us you’re planning to stay… local for school?”
“Well, I’m still deciding,” Hanna replied, keeping her voice steady, though she could feel her patience beginning to fray.
“Of course,” Mr. Callahan said, his smile thin. “It’s always best to keep options open, though I would suggest you consider some broader ambitions, especially if you’re planning to… keep Finn’s company.”
“Dad,” Finn said sharply, but Mr. Callahan waved a hand dismissively.
“It’s only an advice, Finn. We’re just trying to make sure you both consider all possibilities for the future,” he said, his tone firm.
Hanna looked down at her plate, her fingers clenching in her lap. The subtext was unmistakable: she was being told she wasn’t enough. But Finn reached across, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze under the table.