She rolled her shoulders back, shimmied her chest. “Mine are big Brazilian B-cups,” she said. “I had like, mosquito bites before. My followers grew after I healed, though obviously I don’t tell them about things like surgery, that’s TMI.” She looked at her reflection in the phone again. “If you admit to doing little tweaks like filler or whatever, everyone will believe you when you’re like, ‘I didn’t get implants, I just gained weight.’”

“Did it hurt?” I asked.

“It was rapid recovery. Literally I went in at 9 a.m., home by noon, and then I just lay around popping pain pills and eating, it was the best. I was at the Grove buying new tops two days later.”

I considered my own B-cups, how slight a change I’d have to make, how small a surgery. I considered my followers, the continual transformation required to nurture their attention, make it grow. I considered the journeys I’d seen on other people’s stories. Fitness journeys, wedding journeys, weight loss journeys. Journeys into marriage, motherhood. Journeying was my job now, not personal, just work. I opened my phone, took a selfie shaped like a kiss. Before I edited and posted, I searched @Naurene48, and blocked her.

“NOTICE ANYTHING DIFFERENT about me?” I asked when I returned to Jake.

He looked me up and down. “You’re hydrated,” he said.

“Nothing else?”