Standing in the doorway was a woman I had never met in person, but whose naked torso I could describe in forensic detail. Chelsea.

She held a gift bag. It was silver, metallic and garish, with purple tissue paper blooming violently from the top. She scanned the room, her eyes raking over the exhausted mothers in yoga pants and the fathers checking football scores on their phones, until they landed on me.

She smiled. It wasn’t a nervous smile. It was a predator’s grin, wide and confident, the kind of smile that says, I know something you don’t.

“Hi!” Her voice was bright, a wind chime in a hurricane. She stepped fully into the room. “I’m Chelsea. A friend from your dad’s work.”