She might know what Aila thought she knew, or it might be something completely benign. Aila wasn’t going to divulge the truth of where and when she’d been and for how long until she was certain they knew the same thing. No point putting the older woman at risk for a stroke or heart attack.
“Let me ask ye this. Ye’re a rather fierce proponent of women’s rights,” Aila began, shifting the subject. “I ken ye marched and took part in protests in the seventies.”
“I did. I’m proud to come from a long line of proponents for women’s rights.”
“How did ye handle having a relationship during a time of rampant chauvinism then?”
“Are you asking if Peter thought my proper place to be was barefoot and in the kitchen?” Violet pushed herself to her feet, waving Aila down when she started to rise. She shuffled on her plastic cast to the counter and returned with the wine bottle. “Somehow I think we’re going to need the rest of this before the sun even sets. To answer your question: to some extent, yes. You have to understand that it was a different time with a far different mentality. Men ruled the world.” She grinned, eyes dancing. “Or at least they liked to think they did.”
“Amen to that.” Aila held up her drink and they clinked their glasses together before they drank.
Violet topped them both off. “Despite being deeply in love, we had our share of spats. Especially in the beginning. Eventually, Peter came to respect my opinion and my contribution to our partnership.”
Aye, that had been a revolutionary time in the battle for women’s rights, however. A technical win against sexism on paper, even if the concept hadn’t completely taken as yet. There was an entire history where touting equal rights would have no effect whatsoever. Many times where it could get a woman stoned or burned at the stake. Or put into a mental institution if the memes were correct. What if there was no fighting it?
“Yet ye still played the role,” she pointed out. “Mother, housewife and all that.”
“It wasn’t as much of a burden as you might think,” the older woman insisted. “I had no great ambitions to rule the world, merely my corner of it. Peter and my girls were my passion in life. I enjoyed taking care of them and making a proper home for them.”
Aila tapped the side of her glass with one fingernail, deep in thought. She enjoyed those few days in the nursery with Finn and the children, too. That didn’t mean she wanted to make a career of it.
Her mind stalled as Aila realized where this was leading. God, was she trying to convince herself she could have a life in the past? That she could tolerate one? She hadn’t known Finn long enough to give up her whole world and consign herself to a life of relative subservience. There was no amount of time that could persuade her to assume such a role.
Not after a lifetime of watching her mother make those mistakes. Emphatically not in the wake of years with her now ex-boyfriend. He’d been specific about what her role in his life should entail.
“Ye ken, Kyle always wanted me to play the part of the ‘little woman.’” She couldn’t help the derision in her tone when she said it. “For a long time, I let it slide because he was only home for a couple of weeks at a time. I ignored him when he’d talk about married life — he never asked me, mind ye; he assumed — when I would be a full-time wife at his beck and call.”
“Nothing like the forceful independent he’d met and declared to love. I always knew he was a bit of a boaby.” Violet grinned. “Here’s where Brontë would have chided me on my language. You and I are far more alike. I would have dumped the numpty, too.”
“Then ye can see why I wouldnae want to date another man with the same mentality.”
“Yes.” Vi eyed her over the rim of her glass as she drank, then set it on the table. “That would be a misstep if the two men were alike.”
Aila gulped half her glass and ignored the statement.
Violet didn’t let it go. “It is my belief, given what I’ve learned about you over the past several months, that you never intended for your relationship with Kyle to be a long-term one.”
“I lived with him for two years.”
Violet reached across the table and patted her hand. “Yet you referred to him as Mr. He’ll Do For Now. Yes, my granddaughter told me. She also told me how she worried over you. How you were happier when he was out on the oil rig for weeks at a time than you were when he was home. Admit it, you gave up on him long ago. Perhaps without knowing it at the time. Long before he proved himself a boaby.”
Refilling her glass, Aila scoffed at the assessment. “Aye, well Brontë also believed that a white knight was going to sweep in and carry her off into the sunset.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors, but isn’t that the essence of what happened with her?”
“Tris is a special case,” she argued. “He’s no’ like other men these days.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“He never puts her down, makes fun of her ideas, or dismisses her opinions and preferences as if they’re unimportant.” Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass and Aila drank again before she snapped the thing in half.
“No, he would never do that. He loves Brontë as she is and respects her.”
Kyle had claimed to love her, but he’d gaslighted her at every turn. He’d been verbally and emotionally abusive long before Aila recognized his behavior for what it was. As if sensing her upset, Rab rose and rested his chin on her thigh, gazing up at her with those sympathetic brown eyes. Petting him was surprisingly therapeutic.
“I fell into the same sort of toxic relationship my mother had a habit of getting herself into,” she admitted aloud, acknowledging the pattern for the first time.
“You stayed with him because he was easy to control. Because he was safe.”
