“If you wear your onesie to Westfield, coffee’s on me,” I say.

“If you wear your onesie to Westfield, shopping’s on me,” she retorts. After a pause, she adds, “Three-hundred-dollar limit, though. The place is expensive.”

We shake on it. We both change into our onesies.

I race her to the car.

I win.

One shopping trip and a makeover later, Pippa is sitting in front of me at the restaurant. It is surreal. She is even more stunning than I remembered. She is wearing a sage summer dress. Her hair cascades all the way down her ass. She doesn’t have an engagement ring, but she does have a genuine Gucci bag, which was a lifelong ambition of hers.

“You look flawless,” I choke out.

“You look like a stranger, you asshole.” She squeezes my hand and orders us two cocktails. I’m guessing she is taking the BART and doesn’t have to drive. I Ubered it here, but I think I’m going to walk home. It doesn’t seem like she has plans for stopping at two or three drinks, and a girl has to save some money. Getting on the subway is not an option.

Pippa tells me that she is a web designer for a secondhand designer apparel site, which explains the Gucci bag. She lives with her boyfriend, Quinn, in Haight-Ashbury. When I congratulate her, she tells me that previously, she’s also lived with Bryan, Jason, and Dan, so maybe I shouldn’t be too excited.

“Is it not serious, then?” I ask, amused.

“It’s as serious as it can be this time of the year. I believe I have . . . twelve, maybe fifteen soulmates. So far I’ve only met seven, though.” Pippa giggles. “I knew Quinn was one of them when I brought him here and we both ordered the shellfish tower and champagne. I looked at him and thought: This man cannot sustain this lifestyle without getting rich. I’d better stick around.”

“Is he?” I laugh. “Rich, I mean.”

“He’s on his way there.” She sounds sure.

“What does he do?”

The food arrives. Pippa digs into her organic fried chicken, and I take a tentative bite of my burger. “He owns a nightclub in the Tenderloin.”

“Aren’t you worried? He is constantly around semidrunk, beautiful women.”

She waves a hand at me. “I know he’d never cheat on me. I trust him with our relationship. Hell, I even trust him with my Netflix password!”

Shaking my head, I say, “You can never know these things. Trust me, I speak from experience.”