Page 53 of Knot Your Karma
“That sounds... complicated. And important.” Mom cuts her pot roast with deliberate movements. “I have to admit, I don’t really understand what makes these things valuable, but I can see it matters to you.”
“Age, rarity, craftsmanship, historical significance, provenance—who owned it and how it was used.” I lean forward, animated despite myself. “That chronometer yesterday? It came off a whaling vessel that made three successful Arctic expeditions in the 1890s. The ship’s log documented every voyage, which means I could trace exactly where it had been and what it had seen. The story makes it worth ten times what a similar piece without documentation would bring.”
“You can tell all that just by looking at it?” Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth, genuine curiosity replacing polite interest.
“Sometimes. Other times it takes research, cross-referencing maker’s marks with maritime records, checking auction histories, even tracking down family members who might have documentation.” I gesture with my fork, warming to the explanation. “It’s like detective work, but with objects instead of people. Every piece has a mystery to solve.”
“No wonder you love it.” Mom’s smile is genuine. Her posture straightens slightly, and genuine pride crosses her expression. “You always did like puzzles. Remember those thousand-piece jigsaws at Grandmother Rose’s? You’d work on them for weeks, refusing help until you found the last piece yourself.”
The memory makes me smile despite the tension. “Grandmother Rose used to help me with the border pieces, then let me figure out the middle on my own.”
“She’d be so proud of what you’re doing, carrying on herlove of history and beautiful things.” Mom reaches across to squeeze my hand briefly, her warmth immediately soothing my anxiety. “I just worry about the practical side, honey. Can you really build a secure future on something so specialized?”
And there it is. The central concern that drives every conversation we have about my life, dropping into the space between us like a weight.
“I’m doing okay, Mom. The business is growing, I love what I do, and I can support myself?—”
“But what about long-term stability? What about when you want to buy a house, start a family?” Her voice takes on that particular maternal edge, but her nature keeps it concerned rather than demanding. “I see your friend Jenna posting about her new house, her steady marriage, and I wonder if you’re making things harder for yourself than they need to be.”
The familiar criticism hits exactly where it always does—right in the center of my insecurities.
“I’m not planning to start a family anytime soon.”
“I know, but biology has timelines, sweetie. And good partners get claimed early.” Her honesty is gentle but carries the weight of someone who learned this lesson the hard way. “If you wait too long focusing on compass collections instead of building real relationships...” She doesn’t finish, but I can hear the unspoken end,you might end up like me, replaced by someone younger and more omega-ish when your pack finds their real match.
“What if I don’t want a traditional timeline? What if there are other ways to build relationships that don’t involve rushing toward bonding because that’s what everyone expects?”
“What do you mean?” Her radar immediately picks up on something significant in my tone, eyebrows raising slightly.
“What if there are different kinds of partnerships? Different pack structures that work for different people?”
Mom’s eyebrows raise, her instincts clearly sensing something significant in my scent signature. “Are you involved with someone? Because you’ve been very mysterious about your personal life lately, and there’s something different about your energy today.”
“It’s complicated,” I say, which is the understatement of the century.
“Complicated how? Is it a traditional pairing situation, or...” Her training kicks in, voice careful and diplomatic. “Because honey, if you’re considering pack dynamics, that’s a big decision.”
The slip happens before I can stop it. “They’re definitely interested. It’s just... different than what you’d expect.”
Mom goes very still, fork halfway to her mouth. “They?”
Shit. Double shit. Triple shit with a side of family drama and interrogation techniques.
“I meant... there are multiple complications. Professional stuff, you know? Client relationships can be tricky when?—”
“Karma Rose.” Mom sets down her fork with deliberate precision, the china clicking against the table like a gavel. “Are you being courted by a pack?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, which is both true and completely inadequate.
“What is it like, then?” Mom goes very still, and I catch something complicated flickering across her face—hope mixed with old pain, like she wants this to work out for me but can’t quite believe pack dynamics ever end well for anyone who isn’t atrueomega. “Pack courtship is serious, honey. Make sure they wantyouspecifically.”
Unfortunately she knows this better than even I do.
“Maybe I don’t want traditional pairing,” I say quietly, my voice barely carrying across the formal dining room.
“Traditional pairing or pack bonding—either way, you deserve partners who respect what you do and who you are.” Her wisdom surfaces, diplomatic but firm. “These modernpeople who want partners but don’t want to commit properly, who string multiple relationships along without clear intentions...”
“They’re not like that.” The words come out stronger than intended, fueled by days of being treated like I matter. “They think my work is important and my expertise valuable, and they want to prove they’re worth my time instead of the other way around.”
