Page 63 of Analysing Her Assets

“Sure. I’ll bring you tea with nana. Black coffee for you, Gideon?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said without looking at Anat. “Turkish for me. Look, Tamar...”

But she didn’t let him continue.

“We’re not a couple, Gideon. Don’t pretend to be hurt. Keep your secrets to yourself. You owe me no explanations. I’m just the woman who works with you, and we shared a few orgasms together.”

He ran his hand through his hair again, a nervous tic of his.

“That’s what you call what we have? We shared a few orgasms? That’s it?” His voice rose somewhat.

“No, you’re right, it was more than that. You’re the best sex I’ve ever had. You’re better than my favorite sex toy. I’ll miss you when this is over.”

He hadn’t texted her all weekend. He was moody and silent in the car. She didn’t know what they had, but whatever it was, feeling insecure was the worst. She was jealous of some random joggers, for crying out loud.

“Right, I’m flattered, thanks.” He was white with anger.

“What do you want from me? I’m telling you I won’t be offended if you kept your little secret about your cousins to yourself. Or why you changed your surname. Or why you no longer work with your father.” She ticked off the oddities about him that he kept to himself. “Or that you didn’t contact me this weekend. I actually like that we have this sex arrangement, okay? No involvement, just sex.”

He knew everything about her, had opinions about her relationship with her family. He fondled her in front of her nephew and declared to her sister that he liked her. Then he disappeared.

“If you wanted to meet me, why didn’t you text me? I would have loved to hear from you. Even if I couldn’t actually meet you this weekend. I said I liked you. Do you think I changed my mind? That I like you less?”

His voice was derisive. He looked at her as if he despised her.

“You agreed to my proposition, Gideon! You jumped right at it. You said you didn’t want a relationship, that you didn’t believe in coupledom. Now I'm something?" Her voice rose as well. "I'm not sympathetic enough for you? Huh? What do you want?"

She didn’t like passive-aggressive, or just plain undeserved aggression. She swallowed her tears, hoping he didn’t notice.

“I’m going to pay for our lunch. It’s the least I can do since you won't let me pay for the gas.” The toilets were behind the till, and she washed her face and breathed deeply. She rolled her sleeves up then back down and combed her hair with her fingers, bunching it into a ponytail.

Gideon was waiting for her outside the toilets. She avoided his eyes and tried to pass him by, muttering, “Yalla, Gideon, we have a company’s offsite to reach.”

He pulled her into a hug. For a second, Tamar tried to push him away, but it was hard since her elbows were boxed in. Gideon prolonged the hug, and she gave in and relaxed against his clean-smelling shirt. He was large, and he was around her in a comforting way that was anything but sexual.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Tamar, I’m sorry.” His hands were drawing circles on her back, and he whispered into her ear. “I’m sorry I disappeared this weekend. I spent it at my parents’ helping my mother. It did nothing for my mood, knowing I would be in Beer Sheva the next day. I should have texted you. I’m sorry about my behavior just now. I took my anger at myself and turned it onto you. I apologize. Please don’t cry.”

“As if you could make me cry,” she mumbled against his chest. But she sneaked her arms over and linked them at the small of his back. They stood together, his warmth enveloping and seeping into her. Tamar relaxed in his arms, letting the tenderness climb up from her belly and engulf her insides. He was right, she could have texted him. Why would she wait for him to make the move. He was clearly working through something that distracted him greatly. She would be a loyal friend and listen.

“I’m sorry too,” she said into his great smelling chest.

Gideon tightened his arms, then kissed her hair softly and let go.

“Let’s go. We’ll talk in the car,” he said.

31. Gideon

He navigated carefully down from the farm, the uneven asphalt rough under his city car, and headed towards Dimona and Mitzpe Ramon. He wanted to tell her his secret, certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would keep her mouth shut, safer than the best safe.

“They’re not my cousins, they’re my brothers.”

He expected her to gasp, to blurt out a curse, to be astonished.

“Okay,” she said in a neutral voice. He glanced at her, and she met his stare evenly. And waited quietly. Somehow, that mild response made everything proportionate and manageable.

He told her how he followed his father.

“When he came out of that house, I got out of my car so he would see me. He’d become so pale, I was afraid he was going to have a heart attack.” The relief of finally confiding made the words leave his mouth hurriedly, in a jumble, as if he was vomiting his secret at her. “We just stood, each of us next to his car. His was three cars away from me. We stared at each other. Then he said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell your mother. It will kill her.’ I said nothing. Then, he said, ‘Listen, I have this meeting. I’m already late. I’ll call you later’, and he drove away.”

---