Chapter 25 - The Internship Offer
Noah received an internship offer from a research institute in California. He called on a Monday morning, spoke so quickly I barely understood the first sentence, and then grew quiet as though enthusiasm itself might make the opportunity disappear.
"They want me for the summer," he said.
"Do you want to go?"
"Very much."
"Then congratulations."
He exhaled. The offer was competitive and came with housing support, a stipend, and a project that closely matched his interests. He had applied without telling Vincent because he wanted to see what happened before discussing another opportunity that might be mistaken for family influence.
"You can tell him now," I said.
"I will. I wanted to tell you first."
I felt the old fierce pride rise, mixed with the fear of watching him move farther away. California was not Boston. I couldn't take a train there on a day's notice. Noah knew that, and he watched my reaction through the screen.
"Mom, are you okay?"
"Yes. I'm calculating travel distances against maternal instincts."
He laughed. "Don't. I'll be twenty-one soon."
"That is not helping your case."
Vincent congratulated him without offering a private apartment, car, or connection. Noah told me the conversation went well but was shorter than he expected. His father had asked about the research and whether the institute's housing arrangement was safe. Noah said yes. Vincent accepted it.
During the spring, Noah prepared for the move. He gathered documents, booked travel, and negotiated the start date so it didn't conflict with final exams. I offered practical advice about renter's insurance and medical coverage. He listened to some of it and found the rest irritating. That was normal.
I worried most about whether he would have friends. He had become comfortable at Harvard, where he knew who could be trusted with a problem set and who would argue fairly about an answer. In California he would arrive among strangers with an impressive title and very little local history.
"That's part of why I want to go," he said. "I want to find out who I am somewhere nobody knows about Dad."
The sentence hurt and delighted me at once.
"You deserve that," I replied.
At work, I faced my own version of unfamiliar territory. Teresa asked me to represent the nonprofit at a regional conference on education funding. I had once been comfortable only with the details inside a spreadsheet. Now I would speak on a panel about designing grant systems that supported flexibility without sacrificing accountability.
My first instinct was to decline. Then I thought of Noah moving across the country and felt embarrassed by my fear of a two-day conference in Connecticut.
I accepted.
Rachel helped me practice. She sat in my living room while I spoke for twelve minutes about reporting deadlines and program outcomes. She interrupted twice to ask whether anyone outside accounting would understand the language.
"They're accountants," I protested.
"They still deserve sentences."
I revised the talk.
The conference went well. Nobody recognized me as Vincent's former wife. People asked questions about community programs and wanted copies of our policy templates. I returned home exhausted and pleased with work that had nothing to do with the Moretti name.
Noah called the following evening. We compared our nervousness about new places. He told me he had found a shared apartment near the institute and checked the bus route. I described standing on a stage and explaining why receipts mattered.
"We're becoming exciting adults," he said.
"Don't let it go to your head."
The week before his flight, Noah came home to Providence for a farewell dinner. Rachel made chicken. Ethan brought dessert. Vincent drove in from Boston after a meeting and sat beside Noah, asking about the project without trying to turn it into a business plan.
Near the end of the meal, Noah stood to say something. He seemed embarrassed by the attention.
"I know everybody helped me get here," he said. "But I want you to know I'm excited to do something where I have to figure things out on my own."
Rachel raised her glass. "Then go make some mistakes."
"Reasonable ones," I added.
Everyone laughed.
At the airport, I hugged Noah and watched him carry his own suitcase toward security. Vincent stood a few feet away because Noah had invited both of us. Neither of us offered to follow him through an airline lounge or ask the gate staff to make an exception.
Before disappearing into the line, Noah turned and waved. We waved back.
Vincent looked at me.
"I wish I'd seen him leave for college the first time," he said.
I understood. "You can't. You can be here for this one."
He nodded.
We walked to separate cars. I felt sad, proud, and unexpectedly light. For years, my life had been defined by the challenge of keeping Noah near enough to protect. Now protecting him meant helping him travel confidently beyond the reach of my ordinary routines.
Before Noah left for California, he asked me whether I had ever wanted to move somewhere far away when I was young. I admitted that I had imagined working in New York or Seattle before meeting Vincent. I had chosen Chicago partly because the marriage seemed to offer room for my own career, then slowly allowed that ambition to disappear. Noah listened without treating the history as a warning about every relationship. He asked whether I regretted staying in Providence after the divorce. I looked around our kitchen and told him no. The life we made there had been real and worth loving. Regret about one choice did not require regret about everything that followed. He seemed pleased by the distinction.
Before boarding, Noah also gave me a small envelope containing a copy of his housing agreement and emergency contact information. He had made the list without being asked. I thanked him and told him I would keep it in my records but wouldn't use it to supervise his daily life. He grinned. 'A rare example of paperwork making both of us happy,' he said. I hugged him again and let him go.
May you like
That night he sent a photograph of the California sunset from his apartment window. Beneath it he wrote: Made it. The bus route works. Tell Rachel I haven't eaten frozen pizza yet.
I smiled and replied: I'm proud of you. Buy groceries.
