Page 63 of Knot My Type

"They didn't rescue me," I snap, my grip tightening on the phone. "I rescued myself by leaving Marcus. They just provided shelter during a storm."

"And now you think you're in love with all three of them?" Her voice carries that particular tone she uses when she thinks I'm being naive. "Come on, Ellie. You know how you get. You fall hard and fast, and you always think this time is different, this time is forever. Remember David? Remember how sure you were that he was your soulmate right up until he cleaned out your bank account?"

The comparison stings because there's just enough truth in it to hurt. I do tend to love deeply, completely, sometimes unwisely. But this is different, and the fact that she can't see that makes me want to scream.

"This isn't the same thing," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm not some helpless romantic who falls for the first pretty face that shows me attention. I've spent a month getting to know these men, seeing how they treat each other, how they handle conflict, how they respect boundaries. They're good people, Rebecca."

"I'm sure they are," she says, but her tone suggests she's humoring me. "But honey, you've been through so much trauma lately. The divorce, the thing with Marcus, losing your job. You're vulnerable right now, and vulnerable people make choices they wouldn't normally make."

"Stop." I'm tired of being treated like a child who can't make her own decisions. "Stop psychoanalyzing me and listen. I'm happy, Rebecca. Happier than I've been in years. I finished my book. I know what I want. And what I want is to stay here with them."

The silence that follows is heavy with disapproval and worry. When she speaks again, her voice is gentler but no less concerned.

"Okay. Let's say this is real, that you really have found your happily ever after with three mountain men. What happens when the novelty wears off? What happens when reality sets in? You can't all live in some fantasy bubble forever."

"We're not living in a fantasy," I insist. "We've talked about the practical stuff. They have a business they're starting, I have my writing. We're going to figure out how to make it work day by day, just like any other relationship."

"Any other relationship doesn't involve four people, Eliana. The logistics alone—"

"Will work themselves out," I interrupt. "Because we want them to. Because we're committed to making this work."

Another pause, longer this time. I can hear her breathing, can practically feel her struggling with how to respond.

"I'm worried about you," she says finally, and the genuine concern in her voice softens some of my anger. "This is so unlike you. The Eliana I know analyzes every decision to death, weighs pros and cons for weeks before making any major life choice. And now you're telling me you've decided to completely upend your life based on a month-long fling with three strangers?"

"They're not strangers anymore," I say quietly. "And maybe the old Eliana was the problem. Maybe all that analyzing and second-guessing was just fear dressed up as prudence. Maybe sometimes you have to trust your heart instead of your head."

"Your heart has gotten you into trouble before."

"So has my head," I counter. "My head told me to stay with Marcus even when my heart knew he was wrong for me. My head told me to take that corporate job even though it was making me miserable. Maybe it's time I stopped listening to everyone else's opinions about what's best for me and started listening to myself."

The words surprise me with their vehemence, but they feel true in a way that settles deep in my bones. For too long, I've let other people's expectations and judgments shape my choices. Safe choices, reasonable choices, choices that looked good on paper but left me feeling empty inside.

"I love you, Becca," I continue, my voice softer now. "You're my best friend, and your opinion matters to me. But this time, I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing. I need you to trust that I can make good decisions for myself."

She's quiet for so long I start to wonder if the call has dropped. Finally, she sighs, a sound heavy with resignation and worry.

"Are you safe? Are they treating you well? Are you truly happy, not just caught up in the romance of it all?"

The questions are fair, and I take a moment to really consider my answers. "I'm safe. Safer than I've ever been, actually. They're protective without being controlling, supportive without being suffocating. And yes, I'm truly happy. Not just romance-happy, but deep-down, settled-in-my-bones happy. Like I've finally found where I belong."

"And if I asked you to come home, to take some time away from them to think about this clearly?"

The question hits like a test, and I realize I know the answer immediately. "I'd say that this is home now. That I have thought about it clearly, more clearly than I've thought about anything in my life. And that while I love you and want you in my life, I'm not going to let fear or other people's expectations drive my decisions anymore."

Another long silence, then a soft laugh that sounds more sad than amused. "You really have changed, haven't you? You sound so certain. I don't think I've ever heard you sound this sure of anything."

"Because I've never been this sure of anything," I admit. "I know it seems fast, I know it seems crazy from the outside. But sometimes crazy is just another word for brave."

"God, you sound like a greeting card," she says, but there's fondness in her voice now along with the worry. "Okay. I can't say I understand it, and I can't say I'm not concerned. But you're a grown woman, and if you say you're happy..."

"I am," I assure her. "I really, really am."

"Then I guess I have to trust you. But I have conditions."

I smile despite the seriousness of the conversation. "Of course you do."

"I want to meet them. All of them. If they're going to be part of your life permanently, then they need to pass the best friend inspection."

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