“That’s a lot of baby stuff. Don’t tell me you and Waters are jumping on that train now, too. ”

She gives me a look. “I’m not jumping on that train. Alex is another story. He keeps buying things; it’s a compulsion. On the upside, he’s taken a break from buying me new bras.” Violet abandons the clothes-sorting project and shoves everything back in the bag. “Okay, so one more time with this. You’re going out on a date with a girl you banged when you were a teenager?”

“No. I never banged her. I kissed her.”

“I don’t get why this is a big deal.”

I’ve been trying to give Violet the abridged version of events. She probably knows the most of anyone about my history, and that’s still not very much.

“It was in a closet. I was her first kiss.”

Violet frowns. “Why a closet?”

“We were at a party, playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Wow. Huh. How old were you?”

“I was almost fifteen.”

“How old was Poppy?”

“She said she was fourteen.”

Violet arches one of her brows and taps her manicured nail on the counter. There are jewel things on the end. They’re a little distracting. “Was she actually fourteen?”

“No. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“I guess not, if you didn’t bone her. Okay. So let me put this all together. You were her first kiss at a party in a closet—which sounds like some weird horror movie business—and then you met her again last year at a bar, but you don’t actually remember meeting her because you were drunk off your ass. Do I have it so far?”

“Yup.”

“And she came back to your house, which you also don’t remember, and you almost slept with one of her friends, but instead you drew a dick on Miller’s forehead and posted it online, which caused the friend to have a meltdown because she was dressed like a slut and everyone on social media saw it.”

“She was wearing my T-shirt.”

“She was acting slutty. It’s okay. I mean, I had crazy sex with Alex the first night I met him, and that’s a pretty slutty thing to do, even though in general I’m not a slutty person. I had a slutty moment. He’s so hot. He was hard to resist. I’d also had a lot of beer.” She waves her hand in the air, like maybe she realizes she’s pulling one of her overshares. “I’m just saying I can’t judge her for being in a T-shirt and looking like a slut; although I can say that stupid dickface drawing caused a lot of tension between Alex and me for a while. So thanks a lot.”

“That was a year ago.”

“And I still remember not getting any for several days.”

“Sorry.” I’m not sure what else to say. I didn’t know Violet all that well at the time.

“It’s fine. I’m over it now that you’ve apologized, even if it’s insincere.”

“I’m not being insincere.”

“Whatever. Okay. So back to this girl’s slutty friend who you didn’t sleep with.” She motions for me to continue.

I try to explain again, as best I can without providing too many details, but it’s not easy. And when I recount the events out loud, to another female, it makes it sound a lot worse.

“Wait a second, you don’t even remember seeing her the next morning?”

“I was preoccupied. Tash was there, and she was pissed off.”

Violet slaps the counter. “Hold the fucking salami. Tash came over? While you had hockey hookers in the house?”

“It was before anything happened between us.”

Violet assesses me, maybe trying to decide if she believes me or not.

I raise my hands in the air. “Seriously. I’m telling you the truth. It was after that when things started to get…whatever they got. But that’s irrelevant anyway, ’cause this has nothing to do with Tash.”

Violet rubs her temples. “You need to take it from the top again. This is like a hockey-style soap opera.”

When I’m finished explaining the whole thing from beginning to end, with a couple extra rewinds thrown in for clarification, Violet closes her eyes for a moment.

“So tell me if I’ve got this. You were this girl’s first kiss back when she was fourteen, or however old she was, and then you didn’t see her until a decade later. But you don’t remember meeting her again, because you were wasted and you almost hooked up with her friend, but you didn’t. Then fast forward another year later and she ends up being your massage therapist, and you still had no idea who she was until recently, and she’s agreed to go out with you?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Wow. So that’s either the most romantic thing ever, or the most twisted. Are you sure she’s not some kind of weird stalker?”

“She didn’t come looking for me; I just happened to find her.”

“Then it’s totally romantic; it’s like fate keeps throwing you together! Except the part where you don’t remember her being at your house and almost sleeping with her friend. That’s not romantic at all.”

“No. Not really.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Based on the look on her face, I’m probably not going to want to answer.

“Does she know about your…” She makes a bunch of random gestures.

“My what?”