Donald Draper sat on the bottom stairs of his empty home in Ossining filled with thoughts of all of the troubles that had plagued him this year: Nixon losing the election to Kennedy due to arrogance during the majority of his campaign run, Adam's death after refusing to allow him entrance back into his life, paranoia over uppity Pete Campbell discovering his checkered past, and finally distancing himself not only from his wife Betty but from his children as well. He made a conscious decision to decline Thanksgiving dinner in Philadelphia with her family.
He felt the familiar chill of loneliness in the dark, expansive house. Betty and the children wouldn't be returning for another three days, after the holiday weekend, leaving him alone once more. Sighing to himself he went up the long winding staircase and turned on the light in the master bedroom that he shared with Betty. There was one thing that he could do to make everything right, to clear his head and lose his old demons.
The city of Philadelphia was hit with a significant amount of snow, more snow than any of the forecasters had promised there would be. Betty Draper sat on a stool in the hot kitchen of her father's home, looking out the window at the stray snowflakes before they made their descent into the white formation. The oven was on full blast to prepare the turkey dinner, which would be served in the later afternoon, per her father's strict, traditional orders. Betty grimaced as her sister-in-law Judy walked into the room with their father's newest wife, Gloria Massey Hofstadt. It had been nearly a year since the wedding took place, an event that neither Betty nor Judy chose to attend, but the sting of her presence, in the home of the original Mrs. Ruth Hofstadt, who both women still held in high esteem.
"Let me help," Judy urged as she methodically mashed the potatoes with the whisk as Gloria took out the fine china for the table. Betty watched the men viewing another football game in the living room, obliviously to the work that the women were doing to make sure that there Thanksgiving dinner was served to perfection.
Betty leapt backwards as the children raced through the kitchen area. Bobby and Sally were often enough of a handful for Betty, but when they were paired with their three cousins, the children came close to being unmanageable. Wild monsters, she thought to herself as the manic parade continued. Perching herself back on her stool, she knew that William and Judy would do nothing to control their brood. Judy took a tone of indifference with her girls, while William was considered heavy-handed with his frequent spankings, though it did little good to tame his wayward daughters. Resting her head on her propped up hands, she couldn't help but overhear her father and brother discussing Don and his lack of appearance.
"No sense of family," Gene mumbled during a commercial for Clorox.
Ever the 'yes-man', William obediently echoed his father's sentiments while harboring a deep resentment against his brother-in-law's financial success and lifestyle in Manhattan, while he continued to toil under his father's strong thumb at the bank. "I guess we know what comes first with him," William joked just loudly enough for Betty to hear in the next room.
Sighing, Betty took her turn to check on the turkey, struggling to tune out Gloria and Judy's insipid plans to get a jump at holiday shopping the next day. Gloria droned on about her need for bed linens, a new end table, carpets, and kitchenware. She wasted no time in redecorating, Betty mused, gritting her teeth as she closed the oven, turning back to the roasted carrots that were nearly ready for consumption. She caught Judy's weary glance and smirked at her. Living away from home definitely had its advantages.
As the football game ended, the family moved into the living room. Sally showed off her ballet moves with her cousins Alice, Ruthie, and Margaret copying her every motion with a limited amount of success. Bobby rested his body on Grandpa Gene's knees, bored to death and wondering when the family could finally eat. As the adults shared stories, Betty once again sought refuge in the kitchen. This Thanksgiving was so foreign to her, without her mother's constant presence. Ruth Hofstadt was never overly maternal, rather she was very critical of William and Betty, always looking for ways to pit them against one another. Yet Betty was still shaken by her death. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine her mother's image, her fragrance right in front of her, as though nothing had changed. Betty had spent her whole life trying to please her mother, taking classes in dance, etiquette, foreign languages, and horseback riding. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she walked back into the room, taking her position on the sofa next to her father and William.
A knock on the door halted conversation for the family. A curious Gloria took a fast head count of the family. No one else was expected for dinner, with all immediate family in attendance. Betty walked to the front door and turned the silver knob. She let out a shocked gasp at the gentleman before her.
"Can I come in?" Don asked with a sly smile, his shoulders covered with wayward flakes. He held a basket of poinsettias in one hand and his luggage in the other.
Betty threw her arms around Don's neck, inhaling his deep cologne. She softly asked him if anything had happened at work. "Is it Roger's health?" she whispered, recalling his all too recent string of heart attacks.
"Everything's fine," Don promised. "I just couldn't be without you and the kids for four days."
Betty moaned against his chest, resting in his arms. He tilted her chin and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth. "I'm sorry for not coming sooner."
Gene craned his neck from his seat in the living room. "Who's there?"
Betty playfully brushed the snowflakes off Don's coat as she pulled him inside.
"Daddy!" Sally and Bobby made a mad dash for their father as he got down on their level and held them in his arms.
"Have you started dinner yet?" Don asked.
Gene shook his head as Gloria accepted Don's poinsettias. "We're glad you could come," Gloria added, placing the flowers on the mantle. Gene gave the family the signal to go into the dining room, where he would sit at the head of the table and carve the turkey.
Don took Betty's hand under the table as the family passed the various dishes around. He already felt a surge of relief being surrounded by his family. Watching Bobby and Sally pull the turkey wishbone, Don knew that he made the right choice.
Betty and Don gently kissed Bobby and Sally goodnight as they crammed into the guest bedroom with all three of William's girls. Betty pulled Don into her old bedroom, left exactly the way it was before she went off to college at Bryn Marr.
"So many memories," Don grinned, lifting Betty onto the bed.
Betty pulled off Don's tie, allowing it to fall to the floor. Grinning, she slowly unbuttoned his white collar shirt. "The memories are all in your head," she teased, recalling their brief but relatively chaste courtship, lasting less than a year before she married Don. She remembered yearning for the long weekends that Don could come and spend time with her in Philadelphia, away from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan.
"You don't know how happy I am that you came," she murmured as Don carefully unzipped her out of her navy blue dress.
Don cradled her close to his body. "Was it that bad?"
Betty nodded her head, resting it on his chest. "Worse than last year," she stammered, beginning to shake. "I hate her! I…."
Don titled her chin up and silenced her with a kiss. "The worst part is over," he promised. "I am yours for the next three days."
"No work?" Betty countered with a smirk.
Don chuckled tickling her belly as he climbed onto the bed with her. "No work," he promised.
Betty rolled over onto her belly and rested her head on her pillow. "I thought Thanksgiving was ruined," she said softly.
Don slowly began to rub her back, gently rocking her to sleep, relieving her of all of her worries, and blocking out her family troubles. "We can always go back to Ossining early," he reminded her.
"Umm, true," Betty said softly. Turning on her side she looked into Don's eyes. "What am I going to do when Daddy dies? Next to William he's the last family I have left."
Don held her close. "You will always have me and the kids," he promised. "Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, every day for the rest of your life."
Betty closed her eyes once more, fighting off the urge to sleep. Snuggled in her husband's arms, she found the contentment that he discovered when he came to Philadelphia to be with the family. At the end of the day, family was one of the most important things to be thankful for.