The Others by Sarah Blau (best ereader for academics TXT) 📗

I remember her little digs, the names she used to call me those days, “little wifey,” the snide remarks about toeing the line, wasting my life, “All your brilliant ideas, you know what happens to your brain once you take the marriage-and-kids route? And for who, Neria Grossman?” I don’t know if this constant trickle had any part in my decision to break up with him. I don’t think so, I’d like to believe it didn’t, because when I look back, the first thing that shoots into my mind is that moment in his car, when my love for him… Poof! like a billow of smoke.

I told them before I told him, obviously, I mean, what are friends for? And that was my mistake, because Dina happened to run into him and beat me to the punch.

I don’t know how it went down exactly – they each gave a different account – but one thing was clear, Dina was all too happy to give him the news of his own break-up. “You’ll hear it from Sheila soon enough, but it’s better if you’re prepared,” she told him, flashed her fake smile and walked away. Or that’s what she said at least.

I still think Neria was the one who gave the true version of the story.

My expression must somehow betray my thoughts, because all of a sudden Neria flares up, “I’ve never met a bigger megalomaniac in my life,” he hisses, pointing a long finger at me. “You actually still think I’m into you?”

Again that shooting pain, this time in my lower abdomen, and it hurts.

“You come here, to my house, smiling at me, begging…”

The pain is excruciating, I put my hand on my stomach trying to soothe it, hoping it won’t start making noises.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

You are the Witch of Endor, you are the Other, you are… You have a goal, don’t let him weaken your resolve, you hear me? “But you hated her,” I mumble.

“So I hated Dina for exactly two minutes and moved on!”

“So how did you know she was exsanguinated?”

Stop mumbling!

“I told you, I have a buddy on the force.”

“What’s his name?”

Stop mumbling!!

“None of your business, Sheila. If you want, get them to arrest me, but even then I won’t answer your questions, only the cops’.”

Neria’s eyes glow like coals, there’s your spark, happy now?

“And I have to tell you something,” he says. “The years haven’t been kind to you. I mean, maybe looks-wise you aren’t that much worse for wear, but inside something’s gone completely out of whack. So I guess having a family, kids, it does keep a person normal. No offence, Sheila, but you should get yourself some professional help.”

The pain punches me in the gut. I have to keep myself from bending over as if I’m bowing to the wisdom of his words. Who would have thought it would be so painful? This usually follows a standard procedure: when someone even starts sniffing in the direction of my life choices, and seems about to start preaching or granting unsolicited, unwanted advice, I give them a very specific look or very specific smile that says: My friend, you go on your way and I’ll go on mine, and just between you and me, I’m not so sure your way is that great, should we talk about it? Should we compare lifestyles? No, they never want to. But those words, coming from Neria Grossman of all people, caught me off guard, and the worst thing about it is that I hadn’t realized until now exactly how far off guard.

I feel the tears coming and have to get out of here before they spill out. The last person I want to catch me crying is Neria.

“Thanks for the advice,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray me, and out of the room I go, with the pulsing pain in my stomach only getting worse.

I almost fall on Taliunger who’s been waiting behind the door. Judging by her expression, I’m guessing she hasn’t heard the conversation, and I voicelessly pray, Please, please, please, God, make it so she didn’t hear, please, please, please.

“What did you want from him?” she asks belligerently, without even a sliver of embarrassment for being caught eavesdropping. At least she didn’t hear anything, thank God.

“Sorry, if you could point me to the toilet? I have to tinkle,” I half-whisper, banking on euphemisms and general decorum to smooth everything over.

“Straight down the hall, to your left,” Taliunger replies with civility. After all, the two of us share the same reproductive and excretory systems, and we’re both civilized.

“Thank you,” I reply, dart down the toy-strewn hallway and finally collapse onto the toilet.

The pain in my stomach worsens while I pee, and I’m hoping these aren’t my usual PMS cramps slightly ahead of schedule, because the other option is too unbearable. And seriously unlikely, so you can calm down.

As always while on the toilet, my hand automatically reaches for my phone, where I discover a text from Micha: We need to talk. Found out something about Naama.

Well then, as far as texting goes – not a man of many words. Nine, to be exact, and five of them serving as an excuse for the conversation. I wonder if this is how it’s going to be between us from now on, conversations that have a “reason,” conversations surrounding the investigation, relevant, to-the-point conversations; yes, it’s certainly a possibility, which is why the first conversation we have is crucial – it’ll set the tone for all future ones.

I step out of the bathroom and find the Grossmans standing in front of me. If it was winter now, they would silently hand me my coat, like old butlers in a dilapidated Victorian mansion. He seems tired and she looks vexed. He starts to say something, but she shushes him.

Outside, my phone rings and I’m so sure it’s Micha that I don’t even