We walked out through a huge dining room, then into an enormous kitchen.
Marianne stormed toward the patio doors and tossed them open.
It was already dark outside, but there were plenty of landscape lights around to see clearly.
She turned to me, and said, “Sit,” then she proceeded to walk across the deck, and down the steps.
Once she was halfway into the immaculately manicured yard, she started yelling.
“Motherfucking, goddamn, shitty fucking men!” Her foot wound up, and kicked a poor, unsuspecting bush—and it made me jump.
It also made me wonder about Marianne Turner’s competence.
“Asshole, oppressive, piece of shit, domineering men!” She kicked the poor shrub a few more times.
“Idiotic, self-absorbed, arrogant, shit for brains—men!”
Marianne yelled and booted the shrub a dozen more times or so—all while screaming and yelling somewhat incoherently.
After she paced across the yard a few times, she finally began walking in my direction.
I quickly shut the patio doors and sat down—hoping I wouldn’t be her next target.
She shook her head, making her hair fly out behind her as she marched.
“I used to smoke. And choose unhealthy life mates. My therapist suggested I find alternate ways to express myself, and not let my feelings fester.”
I tried my best to smile.
Calmly.
Even though I was anything but at the moment. “Looks like you succeeded at that.”
That was when Marianne threw her head back and started laughing.
Hard.
“That was pretty damn funny, kid,” she said, then took a couple of deep breaths before she sat on the cute, wicker couch with me.
The cushions and pillows had a bright, floral design—and they were comfy, too.
Under different circumstances, it might be fun—to sit out here with a group of friends.
Right now, though?
My nerves were more than on edge. I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“Honey, you do not need to listen to those idiots in there,” she said, her hand and arm shooting out at the house.
“This is your life—not theirs. If you don’t feel comfortable with what they’re saying, and ordering you to do—” she lowered her voice, “don’t fucking do it.”
She held onto my hand. “Nothing they say—or ask is worth sacrificing any part of yourself. The team is in a bind. That,” she said, squeezing my hand, “is not your problem. If you want to walk away from all of this bullshit, that is your choice. You’re young, and even though I seem ancient to you—I remember being your age.”
She took in a long, deep inhale of air, “You’re a tough, strong woman, Lexi. Never, ever let anyone bully you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
Gosh, Marianne Turner was the shit.
Completely.