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That was part of the reason why, six years after her divorce, she remained single. She kept comparing every man she met to Ilan, and every man fell short. She had met the love of her life, or so she thought, married him, and failed him. It broke her heart, and she would not go through that again.
Not ever.
"My brother-in-law is a very tough act to follow,” Orna agreed. Orna took her into the family and made her welcome. Dafna was a single child, and Ilan’s family, he had four siblings, welcomed her with open arms. When she divorced Ilan, Orna, never one to miss a chance for drama, announced she would cut ties with her husband’s brother before she would oust Dafna from the family. Both brothers had burst out laughing. Ilan and she had fought miserably before their divorce, but he had always maintained that she would remain part of the clan.
“He’s great with your sons,” Orna continued, “and your parents adore him. He takes care of everything in the house. You don’t even have to cut the lawn.”
“Because I have a gardener,” Dafna pointed out.
“You know what I mean. He’s there for you in every way, except…”
“Except no sex, and no companionship,” Avigail said, her tone bitter. Dafna had heard from Orna that Avigail’s marriage might be in trouble. The younger woman joined their meetings five years ago when she’d turned thirty. Slim and pretty, Avigail looked very delicate. Except she was a very successful entrepreneur, tough as nails, and very determined.
“I’m good. I don’t need companionship,” Dafna said. She was fine. She really was. “I’m too busy. There’s my mother’s illness, and my children, and work. I’ve got you gals. I’m good.”
She had her squad. They’d been each other’s support group for years. Like Sex and the City. Except she had been missing out, big time, on the Sex element. Next week would be the sixth anniversary of her divorce—and she hadn’t had sex since then.
“That’s your problem,” Sigal said. “You always have this perfect façade in place. All is well, all is under control.”
Dafna had always prided herself on keeping appearances. Her eyes skidded over her friends. Avigail’s dark eyes were serious as she and Orna nodded in agreement. Her hand shook as she topped her glass from the mojito pitcher.
The other day, her children mentioned their father was talking to a woman on his cell while they were at his place for the weekend. He had never done that before. Ori, her eldest, said he thought his father was serious about her. Her ex was moving on, while she was stuck in her head, scared of her own shadow.
She stared down at the chipped table, the lump in her belly heavy.
“It will be six years next week. Our divorce. I haven’t been with anyone since,” she blurted, unwanted tears crowding her throat. She used to be the undisputed belle of the ball. Somewhere between motherhood and her failed marriage, she had lost her confidence.
“We know,” Avigail said, placing her hand on the table, palm up. She motioned to Dafna with a nod. Dafna laid her own hand on the younger woman’s outstretched one. Orna placed her warm palm atop Dafna’s, and Sigal enveloped their joined hands with both of hers. They stayed like that for a few moments, breathing and clasping hands, the simple human connection expanding her heart.
“You’re in the best position to have as much sex as you want,” Avigail said, breaking the spell. “You’re super rich, you look great. What’s the problem?”
Dafna had never confided in anyone about the main reason she and Ilan divorced. They fought over her long hours at work, his bouts of reserve duty, their children’s care, and the division of house chores. But they would have weathered their bad periods. It was their sex life that eventually broke them up for good. Ilan had wanted more from her in the bedroom than she could give.
“I know I’m rich. I think maybe that is what’s stopping me. I’m afraid someone will only want me for my money.”
It was true, but only part of it. She was scared that she didn’t have it in her anymore. The ability to enjoy sex, and more importantly, to give joy.
“Shit, having sex doesn’t mean you're going to have a relationship, or have to feed the guy. Just use his dick,” Avigail barked. Dafna was now sure that Avigail’s marriage was falling apart.
“I’m telling you,” Orna interjected, shooting a warning glare at Avigail, “a one-night stand with a young stud is exactly what you need. The barman gained a reputation amongst the divorcees and single ladies in the area. For magnificent one-night stands. You’re divorced, Dafna. With cobwebs down there. Which is exactly why we’re here tonight.”
The soldiers left, and the barman cleared their table. Their stares collided. His wide mouth lifted in a hint of a smile.
“He’s been checking you out all evening.” Sigal said, and Dafna really wanted to believe her.
“What’s going to happen is that we’re going to leave, and you’re going to walk up to this guy and ask him to have sex with you,” Avigail stated.
“No!” Dafna protested, embarrassment heating her cheeks. She couldn’t hit on a guy she didn’t know and ask him to have sex with her. She wiped her sweaty palms over her jeans.
“Yes! All you need to do is ask,” Sigal stressed. “You’re attractive. And you’re loaded. And smart. This guy, it’s what he does. Orna says he gives the divorced ladies of the county a good time. All you need to do is ask for it!”
He was tall, taller than her ex, with a vast chest. A very large man. To be held again, to feel a man’s weight, to have his groans caress her ears. She shivered.
“I don’t know, I’m not sure.” Her voice faltered. She gulped down more mojito, hoping the alcohol would do away with her deep-rooted inhibitions.
“You’re not celebrating a six-year drought. He is not of your milieu. You’ll never see him again.” Orna sensed the change in Dafna’s mood.
“I need the bathroom.” She walked away, effectively ending the conversation.
