Of course, there were plenty of other reasons why he wanted to marry Mimi, just as their initial questionnaire had told them: they both wanted three kids; they both liked the same snack at the movies: a large buttered popcorn with Milk Duds dumped in; they both (remarkably) liked the same movies too: brainy period pieces preferably with British accents. They agreed on where they would live (the suburbs outside the city), on dogs or cats (dogs, always; besides, Ezra was allergic to cats), they both were early risers and were polite enough to tiptoe around if the other was sleeping. He took window seats, and she preferred aisles; he liked the soft middle of bread rolls, and she exclusively ate the crusts. It was true that of late, she was always on the go—to a Datify rock climbing event or a softball game in Central Park or a Rollerblade 5K—and that she had started hinting that Ezra needed more hobbies. But Ezra had hobbies—he liked reading, and he still ran in the park at sunrise whenever his company wasn’t required alongside hers at the gym, and if he really wanted to get into it (he didn’t), he’d given up his one passion—poker, cards, blackjack—because she’d asked him. So he begrudgingly tried rock climbing and attended an event at the Met with her (opera was really not his thing) and he put on a smile because that made Mimi smile, and really, it wasn’t all that hard, even if he was exhausted by it all too. He literally showed up for her because she figuratively showed up for him, and honestly, in a world where plenty of people didn’t, Ezra thought that was really something. He was thirty-two; he wanted to be married. He’d wanted to be married really his whole adult life. He found a woman he loved who wanted to build a life that echoed his own. That felt magnificent.

Admittedly, Mimi was puritanical about Ezra’s gambling. For one thing, Mimi liked control. She found being out of control, she’d say with a grimace, unattractive. On this, she and Ezra actually agreed! They were both so measured that nothing about their lives felt complicated. But Mimi also explained that for a span in her childhood, her uncle lost his house, had to move into their garage. He couldn’t stop, Mimi said: he went to the track; he routinely lost money on sports all the way down to Triple-A baseball; he’d try to lure her dad or her brothers into any sort of bet: who could run down the sidewalk the fastest, who could beat him at Donkey Kong, who could drink a can of Tab in under thirty seconds? He didn’t have to be at a card table in Vegas to feed his habit, Mimi said. It was everywhere; it was all-consuming. It was, she noted, a cautionary tale.

Ezra wanted to explain that he was different. His wasn’t an impulse; he wasn’t an addict. He just happened to know how to do it, how to win, and besides, it wasn’t her money to lose (though he rarely, rarely lost). But the corners of her mouth turned down whenever they discussed it—going to Vegas for some blackjack or a casual poker night with his law school friends (who he really didn’t see much of now anyway)—and Ezra didn’t want to argue. Avoiding the issue by agreeing with her felt like the best tack to take. It didn’t even feel like that big of a sacrifice—who can’t stop playing poker for the woman he loves? So though he had actually jump-started his career with his innate ability to count cards, win hands, read the room, he more or less stopped. No, he stopped. He sold his platform for more money than he ever imagined would come his way, and Google recruited him to build part of their back end if he were willing to relocate to San Francisco, and that was that. Poker was in his rearview mirror. Until last night, evidently.