When I got the keys to my Montreal apartment in August 2022, I felt like I had arrived. My new place overlooking the Lachine Canal had marble counters, underfloor heating and even a rooftop pool with a view of the skyline.
Still, after years of working hard to save for my… dream house and isolating during the COVID-19 pandemic, I had become overly attached to routines and the comfort of my apartment.
Most days consisted of evening walks with my dog, ordering the same coffee, the same view of the canal. My parents and friends pushed me back into the world and I reluctantly booked one trip to California.
My simple plan was to escape winter for a few weeks, write by the ocean, and return home inspired. Instead, I fell in love.
During my journey, I discovered a whirlwind romance that pushed me towards California
I found myself growing attached to Venice Beach and to a particular person I met there. Joecho-16/Getty Images
During my trip I decided to try it Venice beach paddle tennis and booked a lesson at Hit with Marcus, run by local coach Marcus Canillas.
I thought I would learn a new sport and get some local recommendations. I did – but I also found myself connecting with the coach, a California native.
Long conversations followed after the lessons. When I wasn’t practicing, I started riding around the tracks on a colorful bike I bought on Facebook Marketplace, just to wave goodbye.
One evening after a class, I finally worked up the courage to ask where in the area I should go for sushi or a drink. He suggested a small place called Hama, and I left it at that. I thought if we met there it was fate.
Later that evening my phone buzzed.
“Good job today,” he texted. “You only hit a few balls over the fence.”
I told him I was distracted, followed by a winking smile. We kept texting until he casually mentioned he was in Hama.
“Oh,” I replied. “Is that an invitation?”
“It’s a free country.”
“America!” I replied.
I found myself becoming more attached to California than I expected. peeterv/Getty Images
Ten minutes later I was on my way. It was probably the most reckless thing I had done in years.
Back in Montreal my life was safe. Neighbors picked up my packages and watered my plants while I was away. Concierge staff kept an eye on my building. Even in my 40s, I emailed my parents’ itineraries every time I went somewhere alone.
When the night was over, Marcus made sure I returned safely to my rental. Then I started thinking that maybe this could become something more.
When my trip finally came to an end, we met again at a local bar, trying to fit everything into one final farewell evening.
Time stretched on like when two people know that parting is going to hurt. At one point we looked at the clock and realized it was after 2am – I still had to pack and go to LAX.
He dropped me off and two hours later I was in a taxi to the airport. As my dog and I sat at the gate, exhausted and emotionally hungover, my phone buzzed again. We kept talking.
The view from my apartment in Montreal didn’t look the same after I got back. Janine Canillas
When I returned to Montreal, I opened the door to my spotless apartment. My place was exactly the same, but not me.
Over the next few weeks, Marcus and I talked constantly, sometimes until early in the morning. When a residual check arrived unexpectedly, instead of reinvesting it, I booked another ticket to Los Angeles for Valentine’s Day.
This time Marcus picked me up with flowers.
I rented another place in Venice and invited him. We watched movies, walked around the neighborhood and slowly started to build a life together without naming what we did.
When it came time to fly home again, leaving felt impossible. After a few more trips back and forth, we got engaged.
Moving to my partner was far from glamorous, but I’m grateful that I found love
Although it wasn’t easy, I’m glad I moved to California for love. Janine Canillas
After our engagement came the part that no romantic movie really shows you: the difficult aftermath and challenging logistics.
I donated or almost everything sold I owned, except for a few boxes and some artwork. I ended up selling my beloved apartment below market value.
When I crossed the border into the United States, I was no longer the woman who had done so bought her dream house in Montreal.
I arrived with no social security number and no US credit history. So many apartments in California Marcus and I turned down because I had no financial paper trail in the US.
Finally he found a 500 square meter plot for us rent controlled apartment in Venice. It costs more per month than my apartment, despite being a downgrade in almost every way, from the mold to the security lights shooting through our bedroom window.
I lost my jobmy employment conditions and access to socialized healthcare. I went from being an established name to sending my resumes into a void while immigration paperwork went through a faceless bureaucracy.
My life’s savings immediately shrank under an exchange rate that did not work in my favor. Still, we kept going.
We are married and we make sure everything works in our small rental home. Some days I miss the version of myself that was financially secure and knew exactly where she belonged.
But I now understand that the apartment was never really a dream. The dream was finding someone who was willing to hold my hand despite the uncertainty and say, “We will figure this out together.”
This story was originally published on June 11, 2026 and last updated on August 25, 2026.
