If her hairstyle and boots hadn’t won me over—her speech definitely would have.
“Thanks, Mrs. Turner.
And just for the record—I don’t think you’re ancient. Neither do the men’s team—I might have heard a few of them gossiping when I moved in.”
That made Marianne laugh, and laugh. “Oh, honey, if only I was a cougar. And please, call me Marianne.”
I laughed along with her. She was so easy to talk to—but there was still the elephant in the room to talk about.
“Marianne, you’ve been so kind. I feel like I have to let you know that—” I gazed out to the yard for a few seconds before looking back at her, “I didn’t marry Trey for his money. There was no prenup, but when we divorce—I won’t ask for anything. I promise.”
Phew.
There.
I said it.
I felt better having it out there—and letting her know I wasn’t going to be a leech and suck her son’s bank account dry.
“Oh, Lexi, I don’t care about any of that. Serves him right for acting like a fool. I swear to you, the more money that boy makes, the fewer brain cells he seems to have. I respect your stance, though.”
Next, she placed her other hand underneath mine and held on even tighter. “I want you to know—when I heard that your mother had passed,” her voice cracked, and her eyes began to water, “I cried. I’ve thought about you so many times since then. And, I’ve shed more tears than I can count. Losing your mother at such a young age—” Marianne sniffled, and blinked back her tears, “must have been so devastating for you.”
That old, familiar weight settled over me—like a sudden, surprise, afternoon storm had rolled in.
It still took my breath away.
All these years later—it hurt like heck.
“Thank you, that’s kind of you to share. I was lucky to have her for the short time I did,” I replied back with the standard response—to make her feel better.
This was how it always was.
For some reason, whenever someone brought up my mom’s death—I had this compulsion to make them feel better.
To comfort them.
Meanwhile, it tore an already bigger hole—wider.
Poured salt into a gaping wound.
Marianne shook her head. “No, you were robbed—and it fucking hurts, right?” she said, her tears now streaming down her cheeks. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I get it.”
I closed my eyes, and let it take over me. There was no chance of stopping this one in its tracks.
My throat dried out and began hurting as my tears started. “Yeah,” I choked out while Marianne wrapped her arms around me.
“Damn it, I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s weighed on my heart for over a decade now, Lexi. I had to let it out, I’m sorry.”
We cried in each other’s arms as she whispered more kind words to me.
After a while, she pushed away. “This is why I feel like it’s up to me to say this to you. Because if your mom was here—it’s what she’d do.”
Her eyes bounced from one of my eyes to the other. “Men suck.”
That made me burst out with a weird, laugh-cry noise. “I already know that.”
She shook her head. “No, Lexi. You don’t. When we women—give ourselves over to a guy—physically—it often means more to us than it does to them. It can make things really confusing. If you and Trey do stay married, I think you should—not be physical. Am I explaining myself clearly?”