Page 84 of Knot My Type

After breakfast, as the men get ready for their respective days and Luna settles into her elaborate morning ritual of choosing books for show-and-tell, I find myself staring at my phone again. The tour schedule seems more daunting now, six weeks of hotelrooms and event venues and conversations with strangers about my work.

It's what I've always wanted—the recognition, the success, the validation that my stories matter. But somehow, wanting it feels different now that having it means time away from this life we've built.

"Second thoughts?" Rhys asks, appearing beside me with the quiet perception that's always been his gift.

"Third and fourth thoughts," I admit. "Is it wrong that part of me wants to turn it all down? Stay here, keep writing, maintain what we have?"

"It's not wrong," he says carefully. "But it might not be realistic. You've worked too hard to get here to walk away now."

"Have I, though? Or have I just gotten caught up in other people's definitions of success?"

It's a question that's been nagging at me for months, intensified by watching Luna grow and change and needing us in ways that won't wait for convenient scheduling. The woman who fled her marriage five years ago was desperate for independence, for the freedom to pursue her dreams without compromise. Now I'm discovering that true freedom might actually be the ability to choose what matters most, even if it means saying no to opportunities others would kill for.

"What does your gut tell you?" Rhys asks, using the question that's become our shorthand for working through difficult decisions.

"That I'm scared," I admit. "Scared of making the wrong choice."

He nods, understanding without judgment. "We could make it work, you know. The tour, the travel, all of it. We've figured out harder things."

"Could we? Really? With you three potentially taking on projects that require relocation, and Luna needing stability, andall the logistics of maintaining a four-way relationship across multiple time zones?"

The questions hang between us, highlighting the complexity of our situation in ways that have no easy answers.

"We need to have a real conversation about this," I say finally. "All of us together, after Luna's in bed. Figure out what we actually want versus what we think we should want."

"Agreed," he says, but I can see the worry in his eyes.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of routine activities that feel precious precisely because they might be changing. I work on my current manuscript while Luna is at preschool, losing myself in the fictional world where problems can be solved with the right combination of words and imagination. But even my characters seem to be struggling with questions of commitment versus independence, love versus ambition—apparently even my subconscious is wrestling with our real-life dilemmas.

Luna comes home full of stories about her day, chattering about finger painting and story time and how Marcus Thompson said her family was weird but she told him that weird just means special. The casual resilience with which she handles questions about our unconventional structure never fails to amaze me—she's grown up so secure in our love that external judgments simply bounce off her.

"Mommy," she says as I help her out of her school clothes, "if we moved to a new house, would it still be our house? Or would it be different?"

"What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"Like, would the daddies still make pancakes on Saturday? And would we still have movie nights? And would my room still have the stars on the ceiling that Daddy Kael put up?"

"If we ever moved," I say carefully, "we'd make sure to bring all the important things with us. The traditions, the love, thefamily time—those things aren't about the house, they're about us being together."

She considers this with the seriousness she applies to all important matters. "But I like this house," she says finally. "It feels like home."

"It is home," I assure her. "And no matter what happens, we'll always make sure you have a home with us."

That evening, after Luna is tucked into bed with her elaborate collection of stuffed animals and has extracted promises for pancakes again tomorrow, the four of us gather in the living room for what I've been thinking of as The Conversation.

"So," Fen begins with characteristic directness, "we need to talk about logistics."

"Logistics," Kael repeats with a slight smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"It's what it is," Fen insists. "We have multiple opportunities that could significantly impact our financial security and professional growth. We need to evaluate them rationally."

"And emotionally," I add. "Because this isn't just about career advancement—it's about our family, our relationship, our quality of life."

Rhys settles back in his chair. "Let's start with the facts. Eliana, your tour schedule?"

"Six weeks, thirty cities, starting next month," I recite. "Followed by potential television meetings in Los Angeles, which could lead to months of development work."

"The Seattle contract?" he asks, turning to Fen.

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