A/N: Happy New Year to everyone on the site. Thank-you for giving me the opportunity to share my work and receive feedback. It means a great deal to me and I treasure them all.
Betty Draper circled Thanksgiving Day 1963 on the manila calendar attached to the kitchen wall. It was only a few weeks ago that she promised her brother and his family one last Thanksgiving at their childhood home. That was also the week that she came to a realization in her ten year marriage to her husband Don Draper, answering dozens of questions that had plagued her for years. The secret shoe box kept in the locked drawer of the office under her nose the entire time held answers to questions she was too afraid to ask. There were rumors that she believed to be true – that her husband frequented the company of other women, and ones that she couldn't bear to believe – that his entire past was one long fabricated tale. From the first word uttered to the line of excuses he fed her after being caught red handed, it was all made up.
She felt empty inside. A combination of events: from her father dying, seeing President Kennedy get shot over and over, to her so called husband lying about his very identity. She was now left with nothing but a cold, empty, numbing void.
She told herself that he made her this way. He took away her spirit with each lie, each letdown, and each broken dream. She wanted to believe in love and fairy tales, but with her track record, she figured she would end up alone.
She felt very alone that cold, wintry workday. Bobby and Sally were at the park with Carla the housekeeper, and baby Gene was content in the nursery. Betty presumed Don to be at the office, holed up in meetings and negotiations, the type that she was never included in. Her childhood home was going on the market, closing another chapter of her life. "Some New Year," she muttered. She was going to keep her word and have one last Thanksgiving in Philadelphia, make sure that the children said goodbye to their grandfather's home.
"I'm taking the children to Philadelphia this weekend for Thanksgiving," Betty announced at the table that night. Bobby and Sally immediately perked up at the mention of cousins and Uncle William and Aunt Judy.
Don fixed Betty one of his questioning looks. She had mentioned the possibility of one last Thanksgiving at her old house around the Halloween season. "Are you resolved?" he pressed, believing that her dislike for her brother would keep her in the city.
"Thanksgiving is supposed to be about family," Betty insisted. "William and I are selling the house. This will be my last weekend there and the children should see it one last time."
Don raised his hand in defense. "I just thought that with everything you've been through last week, you would want to stay closer to home."
"Life goes on," Betty said simply, fixing Don with a cold stare of her own.
"Is Daddy coming with us?" Sally asked hopefully, looking at her father with an aching longing.
"Daddy has to work," Betty replied, cutting her food. "Thanksgiving is the busiest time of the year for him." It was a line that had been fed multiple times over the past several years – a convenient excuse for skipping out on family holiday gatherings.
Don raised an eyebrow at his wife. "Things have slowed considerably with the Kennedy situation – people are afraid to do anything at work for fear that it will offend someone or they'll have to change the layout.
"Then you're coming?" Sally asked hopefully.
"One last Thanksgiving in Philadelphia," Don said slowly. "Sounds great."
Betty glared at her husband. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your work."
"You aren't," Don replied. "We leave Wednesday, spend Thursday and Friday with the family, and come home Saturday. I can always work over the weekend and catch up on anything I missed."
"Yeah Thanksgiving," Bobby cheered.
Betty said nothing, polishing off the rest of her glass of wine.
When the children were tucked in their respective beds, Betty ventured up to the attic to confront her husband over his surprising travel plans. Going up the creaky stairs, she couldn't help but recall the very reason he moved up here.
After President Kennedy and Lee Harvey Oswald were shot, Betty came to a realization. She was no longer afraid of breaking away from her sham of a marriage, no longer willing to be a captive to her husband's lies. She laid her cards out on the table, admitting that she didn't love him anymore. That feeling had been burning in her for weeks, aching inside of her. How could she love someone who had who had repeatedly betrayed and broken her trust on every level? He wasn't who he said he was, and every line fed to her was part of his agenda to keep up his façade.
She was the first to say it, though she believed he felt the same way about her and was too cowardly, in too much denial to admit it. There was nothing left for her with him, nothing that he could do or say that would erase the past or take away the sting of years of letdowns.
He was shocked by her declaration, taken aback by her apparent candor. He ran the gamut from confused, to furious, to what seemed to be rejected and hurt. After that, he moved himself to the attic and she didn't object to him doing so.
Reaching the final step, she boldly knocked on the door.
"Come in," Don called out.
Betty walked in, one hand on her hip. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "Don't' tell me your suddenly interested in my family, or myself after all this time."
Don stood up to face her. "Thanksgiving is a time for family – you said so yourself."
"You've openly despised my family for years. You've never hidden it well."
"I'm sure the feeling's mutual," Don said evenly. "William never warmed up to me and your father…"
"Don't speak his name," Betty cut in.
"I want to be with the kids and you," he said slowly.
"After all this time, why start now?"
"Birdie," Don said softly, crossing over to her. "We've both made mistakes."
"I seem to recall you making most of them," Betty pointed out. "My biggest mistake was believing in you."
"I want one last Thanksgiving with you and the kids," Don said finally.
"One last Thanksgiving," Betty echoed, realizing the finality of that phrase.
"The holidays are coming; Bobby and Sally should be able to have some good memories of us."
Betty clicked her tongue. "We leave at 9 AM Wednesday. Don't be late."
Don nodded his head. "I'll be there."
"Goodnight then," Betty said, turning to go.
"Goodnight," Don called after her. He watched her go down the stairs, wanting to go after her and say more. He wanted to tell her everything he didn't tell her that night that Oswald died – that he loved her, couldn't stop thinking about her, and wasn't willing to live without her. It took him years to get to that point, the point where he knew that he wanted her above all others.
They were in their eighth year of marriage, and years of cheating had finally caught up with him. Betty now had proof of infidelities, and she had dared to call him out on it. She took everything a step forward by throwing him out of the house, and seemingly out of her life. He never imagined her confronting him, telling him what she knew and acting on it. In one swift motion, the blink of a second, he was at the Roosevelt Hotel, separated from her and the children, finally faced with the possibility of losing everything.
During their separation, Betty's father Gene suffered a massive and debilitating stroke. He came home to her, without being asked, and filled in for her the only way he knew how. He stood at her side, put up with her jealous brother and delirious father. It was at her childhood home that baby Gene was conceived, though neither was aware of it at the time.
Upon returning home, Betty was quick to send her husband away once more, banished from the family. After the second push, he came clean to her, admitting his unfaithfulness, and his regret in nearly losing her and the children. He was unaware of Betty's condition, it didn't matter to him at that point. He wanted her for himself either way, in any way. He was in love, and it hadn't truly hit him until then.
Days later she called him home – home to stay. There was a baby on the way, and he now had the second chance he was so desperate for. Having a second chance meant being very careful about his actions. There was so much that had happened in the past that needed to stay in the past. His identity was Don Draper, which was all she knew him by. Telling her now that he was Dick Whitman – the poor farm boy with nothing to his name, would have tainted her view of him, sullied him in her eyes. He didn't want to see it, see her looking at him differently, as someone who wasn't worthy of her.
He hated the attic, so cold, dark, and lonely. It was exactly as he felt when she told him that she no longer loved him. He hadn't felt quite that alone in years, and was still shaking from the loneliness now. There was no solace to be found at work, where so many people seemed to be just as lonely and desperate as he was.
He had at least one more Thanksgiving with her, and he was going to make it memorable – for her and for him.