Knots by Chanse Lowell

I care about someone this deeply— fuck! —it doesn’t go well.” She grimaced, and her eyes went lifeless.
    He turned toward her briefly, then backed the car out. His eyes scrunched. “You’re gonna need to explain what you mean because what you just said not only makes no sense, but there’s not a speck of truth to it.”
    She groaned. “You heard back there what I did—how Pono died. I already told you it was my fault, and I meant it. My love killed him. I’m the reason he put on all that weight and died.”
    He growled. “Don’t say that. It’s not true.”
    “It is.” She knocked her head into the headrest. “And I wasn’t even wearing my goddamn wedding band. They must think I’m the biggest cold-hearted bitch ever.”
    “Let’s think for a moment . . . Gain some perspective.” He paused and gave her a look that said this was for her own good. “Close your eyes. Tell me what a normal day was like in your home together. Go back three months ago, and tell me what I’d see if I was you.” His grip tightened on the wheel.
    “All right.” She exhaled and closed her eyes, settling into the seat. “I would get home at six from work, Pono would arrive at unpredictable times, but it seemed he was being run ragged.”
    “Pick a specific day and tell me.”
    She sucked her lips in for a second, then they popped when she let them go. “Okay. So, there was one night, I had dinner waiting, I was tired and hungry, and I kept waiting for him to call to say how much longer until he’d be home. He never called. I didn’t want to eat without him, so I put the food away and lay down on the couch. I fell asleep. Pono got home around eleven that night, and I had thought his shift would be done around seven-thirty.”
    She blew out for a moment, and he glanced at her.
    “He didn’t say anything,” she continued. “He knocked into the door jamb when he entered our apartment. He tossed his keys down and stripped along his way to the kitchen like he always did. I got up and picked up his clothes and put them in the hamper. While he was rummaging in the fridge for dinner, I felt really guilty. I should’ve had his meal ready to go. I should’ve left it on a plate so all he had to do was pop it in the microwave.”
    Mark turned up the air conditioning.
    “I made my way into the kitchen, offered to get him a drink at least, but he already had a beer in his hand and his food was heating up. I followed him into the living room. He fell down onto the couch, and some of his beer sloshed onto the furniture, so I cleaned it up. He turned on the TV, watched some stupid show I couldn’t stand, but I sat there anyway, in case he wanted me for some reason. No matter how tired he was, he would eat. He always ate. And when he finished what was on his plate, I offered to get him seconds.”
    “And why did you do that?”
    “I don’t know . . . I guess because I felt helpless and wanted to be useful.” She gripped her hands together. His hand landed on top of hers. It was incredible how quickly she relaxed due to his skin on hers.
    “That’s not why. Tell me the real reason,” he said.
    “He was always happy when he ate. And I wanted him to be happy, dammit.” Her jaw clenched.
    “Did he stop after seconds?”
    “No. He always went for thirds, and I got them for him as well. I thought it was my job to keep him happy that way, and the only time he looked like he was overjoyed was when I was feeding him. He loved my cooking, and that meant a lot to me since, as you experienced today at lunch, his mom’s an amazing cook.” Her hands suddenly flopped to her sides and then she gripped the edges of the seat.
    “That wasn’t your fault. Like I told you earlier, you can’t help it. You have a need to serve the one you love.”
    “I could serve you , but what if I fail?” Her eyes opened.
    “Impossible.”
    “You say that now.” Her voice cracked.
    “You won’t. Know why?” He smiled and glanced at her as he