My Boyfriend was born in Montreal. I was born in Mexico City.

We grew up in different countries and amid vastly different weather conditions. His years had four seasons and a very long winter. I grew up where it was always warm and spent most winters at the beach.

Growing up, when he spoke, he spoke in different languages than the ones I used.

He is the youngest son of a couple who remained married until death parted them. I am the oldest daughter of a couple who got divorced.…more than once.

He was raised Jewish. I was raised religionless.

My boyfriend’s dad had a single profession his whole life. My dad made a victorious career out of reinventing himself.

I often wonder where my boyfriend was at different points in my life. I went to Montreal a couple of times before I met him, and he visited Mexico City long before he met me.

We found out on our first date that we worked in the same company, in the same building – one floor apart - a few years before we met. We probably sent emails to the same people at the same time at corporate headquarters.

We often joke that if we requested a surveillance tape of the building we were working in we’d see complex, winding, crisscrossed patterns of two people who kept missing each other. I’m sure we were often in the same lobby, maybe even riding the same elevator; or two different ones, me going up, he going down.

My relationship with him is improbable. We are vastly different people. This equation was not supposed to add up the way it did. And yet it works.

The fact that we managed to find each other in the lobby of that hotel bar in an infinity of time and an infinity of space is a miracle, but it’s not the one that astonishes me the most. It’s that at this very moment he’s making me dinner, and I’m here at my computer, and we occasionally turn and wrinkle our noses at each other. It’s the fact that we’re here at all.