We make our way toward the combination living room and kitchen, and with my roomie’s help, I’m now one vanilla-scented hoody lesser. The twins give off a light buzz, a gentle reminder of the promise I made this morning. We’ll have some fun after I figure this gender shit out, soon, I promise.

Meanwhile, Riley mumbles to herself while digging through the fridge. “It’s sorta my fault,” she confesses, “I was the one who cracked your egg. One compliment at a time.”

She closes the door and turns, trying to contain her smile, but the egg in hand makes for a few shared giggles.

“Think of this like birds and the bees for queer folk,” the now serious woman declares, composing herself as she fetches a sharpie from a kitchen junk drawer.