Page 55 of Knot Your Karma
Reed: I take food very seriously. Also ambiance. And whether they have good wine to go with important conversations.
Me: Important conversations?
Adrian: Just... things we’d like to talk about. Good things. Promise.
The slight hesitation in that message makes my pulse jump, but not with fear. With anticipation. Like maybe this Friday is going to change things in ways I can’t predict yet.
Me: Should I be nervous?
Declan: No. You should be... prepared for honesty. From all of us.
Reed: The good kind of honesty. The kind that makes everything clearer, not more complicated.
Adrian: Trust us?
I sit in my car outside Mom’s house, autumn air carrying wood smoke and fallen leaves through cracked windows, and realize I do trust them.
Despite everything, despite all my reasons to be careful, I trust these three men who coordinate dinner invitations instead of competing over my attention.
Me: I trust you. All of you.
Declan: Friday at seven. We’ll pick you up.
Reed: Wear something that makes you feel confident. You’re going to want to feel like yourself.
Adrian: Looking forward to it.
Me: Me too.
The drive home through the quiet October evening feels like driving toward something important instead of away from obligation. Streetlights cast pools of golden light on empty sidewalks, and the anticipation sitting warm in my chest has nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with hope.
Family dinners activate different responses than pack time. With Mom, I’m the child seeking approval, my scent shifting to something smaller, more anxious. With them, I’m the adult being courted—confident, valued, respected. The contrast makes me realize how much I’ve grown.
By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m smiling despite not knowing exactly what Friday will bring.
I settle on my front porch, wrapped in my grandmother’s Afghan that smells like lavender and decades of being loved, and send one more message.
Me: Thank you. For checking on me tonight. For wanting to have dinner. For... all of it.
Declan: Thank you for trusting us with it.
Reed: See you Friday, Karma. It’s going to be good. I promise.
Adrian: Sweet dreams.
I lean back against my front door, phone warm in my hands, vanilla scent finally settled into something peaceful and anticipatory.
Friday. Honest conversation with three men who coordinate dinner invitations instead of competing for my attention, who check in during family dinners because they care how I’m doing.
Whatever they want to tell me, I’m ready to hear it. Ready to trust that some good things don’t disappear just because they seem too perfect to be real.
Reed
The Newport rentalowner just said yes to everything—private reservation, oceanfront, even catering—and I’m pacing my cramped hotel room trying not to punch the air like I just closed a peace treaty.
Sometimes my charm actually works.
“November fifteenth, oceanfront property, completely private, and he’s throwing in catering,” I tell the empty room, unable to contain my grin. This is exactly the kind of breakthrough that justifies breaking our wait until Friday rule about big conversations with Karma.
