“Some part of me knew you were here,” she told me, wondering at it.

“I couldn’t have told you my own name.

But something in me was still looking for you.” We had lived, at times, less than an hour apart.

Twenty years, and our two lives circling each other in the dark, never quite touching, until a millionaire with a soup ladle and a daughter with a pair of rubber gloves finally closed the distance.

When we got home that evening and Alejandro came running out to the driveway and saw us holding hands, he stopped short.