“Riley,” I ask, “Did I ever get implants?”

Finally chill and acting somewhat like her old self, she replies with a quick trill. ”Pphhtbp — On you? You’re already bigger than my little mosquito bites.”

My lanky roommate continues lamenting her lack of chest while I casually sneak a hand toward my own, concealed under the counter, searching for some hint of a scar.

“It’s not fair,” she whines, “I’ve been stuck at B-cups since college*,* and you’re already competing with that lady on the T.V. who smashes watermelons.”

The woman doesn’t ring a bell, but just the thought is enough for my twins to clench. “Ouch!” I squeal, clearing my throat to try it again with some grit, ”Ahh-ouuch…I mean — ahem — Does this sound like me?”

Ugh! That’s terrible! There’s something so cringe when I hear Alexa’s voice come out. But oddly, Riley almost looks proud, cheering me on with a mouthful of pancake. “I think you’re getting the hang of it!” Even stranger, she adds, “But not so deep though. Heady voice, remember?”