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

can’t. I’m trying to catch Micha’s gaze but he’s avoiding me, and what’s worse, Gali seems to have noticed, because all of a sudden she straightens her back and lifts her chin. And boobs.

“Cute place,” she says, and sweeps her gaze across the living room with a look that seems more gauging and scrutinizing than it should. No, this Gali is nothing like the tiny, bleary-eyed munchkin that pressed up against me by Jezebel’s cage. Nothing at all.

But why does she need to be miserable for you to love her?

I catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes as she sits herself down in the armchair, probably because of the stains I couldn’t get out, despite the very clear instructions in the various tutorials I found on YouTube. What can you expect when you get a hand-me-down living room set from a family of six? You should be grateful!

She glances at the cookie dish, and I say in too loud a voice, “Help yourself,” even though we can both see the bowl is practically empty. But I can’t bring myself to go to the kitchen and leave these two alone. Sheila, come on, don’t be one of those fairy-tale evil stepmothers, suffering from youth-envy.

“I’ll pop into the kitchen to get some more,” I mumble with some effort, and head to the kitchen. I feel like I’m plodding through cement compared to Gali’s nimble, gazelle-like stride, and get the sudden urge to kick her in the shins.

The new pack of cookies rips in my hand. I’m starting to sense the same heaviness I get whenever a man I’m into shows interest in another woman. This has happened to me before, more than once.

My mouth is still filled with a bitter, metallic taste when I return to the living room and place the bowl of cookies on the table. They’re filled with jam. One of them has broken and the reddish filling oozed out. Obviously, that’s the one Gali chooses.

“Looks like the cookie’s having an abortion,” she giggles, red curls bouncing, red lips parted with laughter. She picks up her phone. “This one’s going straight on Insta. No filters needed.”

Now they’re both messing with her phone, and the quick intimacy that has sprung up between them is unmistakable. It looks so natural and easy, but I remind myself that the same kind of instant intimacy also sparked between us, even if it was quickly followed by that awful, hollow gaze he fixed on me that night when he thought I was asleep.

And now Gali is fixing her own gaze on his tattooed arm, and I wonder whether he’s going to tell her about her mother and the tefillin, but he doesn’t. Instead, he flexes his muscle, making the letters dance, while she gapes at him and giggles. Giggles!

Yes, I’ll take the blubbering little orphan Gali over this simpering Sally any day.

Then I hear him say, “Someone talked me into it,” and I understand he’s referring to his tattoo. “Someone who could talk me into anything,” he adds, and now he’s giggling too.

The toddlers’ teeth are set on edge.

No, this visit is not going the way it should have. I fold my hands over my stomach, feeling the swell of my flesh while staring at her impossibly thin waist, rumour has it that certain Hollywood actresses undergo rib-removal surgery to achieve a narrower waist. I try to understand whether there’s a reason that all these emotions are suddenly roiling inside me in the middle of my living room; maybe it’s another one of his interrogation techniques? After all, Micha only has two modes: good cop and better cop, who also flirts with you, as a bonus.

Gali finally gets up and takes her camera out of her bag. She tries to mount it on the tripod and fumbles. He rushes to her aid, of course, and their movements seem so in sync that they look like a four-armed creature (tanned, slender, young arms). I can’t ignore the stealthy side glances Micha sneaks her way, and I’m starting to think he really does like her.

And when my mouth fills with that metallic taste again, my phone GLING!s with an incoming message.

I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself. Hope you can forgive me. Neria.

Ha! The prodigal son. Obviously, this serves as an instant pick-me-up. Turns out my switch is easier to flip than I thought. All I need is to feel wanted. I read the text again and again, scouring for subtext and plot.

“So how’s your dad?” I ask, a question Gali has earned fair and square.

“He’s fine,” she replies absent-mindedly, and adds while looking in Micha’s direction, “He and Sheila don’t exactly get along.”

“Actually, I’d like to talk to you about that,” he says.

I notice her tensing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Micha has noticed as well, but pretends he hasn’t and starts tinkering with one of the zippers on the camera case.

“So when would be a good time to meet, just the two of us?” he asks, looking up at her.

My perked ears register the flirtatious tone, but I also pick up on something else, a subtle undertone smelling of detective’s guile. While he might actually be into her, he’s also no fool, this Micha.

I shift my gaze back to Gali and see just the slightest wrinkle of her nose, telling me that she too recognized and did not appreciate the undertone, and I wonder what I can say to alleviate the tension; but before I can come up with an ice-breaker, a miracle happens – the camera doesn’t work! Gali tries and tries, checks the battery, presses buttons and plays with the aperture, but nothing.

Conked out.

“Let me try,” Micha suggests, but she won’t.

“I’ll come back some other time,” she says, pops the camera into its case and starts heading for the door.

I want to call out to her, Wait, you fool, don’t let him see you’re afraid. But I don’t say a word, a decision prompted by