Graduate in the house

Sarah Chen has a master’s degree. I need everyone to sit with that for a second. The woman who color-codes her pottery glazing notes and runs half marathons on a Tuesday just walked across a stage and accepted an MSN. I’ve known her through enough late-night study sessions and anatomically questionable exam questions to understand what that actually took. So when she said she didn’t want a big thing, I said okay, and then I hung string lights in the living room and bought prosecco and a cake from the bakery two blocks over, because ‘not a big thing’ still deserves flutes.

Graduate in the house

Jake, to his credit, disappeared into the kitchen for most of it and then reappeared with a plate of whatever he could assemble from the fridge — which turned out to be actually good, because he’s been slowly learning that a celebration needs more than cheese crackers. He also apparently stood there long enough to catch us mid-toast without either of us noticing, which is very on-brand for him. The man moves quietly for someone that tall.

The cake was store-bought. We are not sorry.

We talked for three hours. About the program, about what’s next for her clinically, about the archive project and how Margaret’s family contacts are turning out to be a much bigger coordination effort than I anticipated — Sarah had thoughts on that, because of course she did. By the time we finished the cake it was dark outside and we were still at the breakfast bar just talking. That’s the thing about Sarah. You can celebrate the big things and then just… keep going. The conversation never runs out. Graduate in the house, and I’m so glad she’s in mine.