He is forty-three.

He is an architect who specializes in retrofitting old buildings, which is a thing I now know far more about than I would like.

He is divorced, amicably, which I did not believe was a real category until I watched him and his ex-wife plan a birthday party over the phone without either of them saying anything sharp.

And he has a daughter, Maya, who was fourteen when we met.

I told him about my medical history on the fifth date, in a restaurant, and I had rehearsed it, and I got about two-thirds of the way through the rehearsed version before he reached across and took my hand and said, “Thank you for telling me.