This Thanksgiving, I'm Done Waiting for Him

The clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve.

I sat before a cold Thanksgiving dinner.

Stared at my husband's text thread.

The last message was from five hours ago.

*Declan: Meeting just ended. Heading home now. Wait for me. We'll eat together.*

The turkey had gone cold. The mashed potatoes. The pumpkin pie.

Six years of marriage. Six Thanksgivings. Not once had he made it home.

My phone lit up.

The Thornton family group chat.

Declan had posted a photo.

*Declan: Don't worry. Picked up Ainsley.*

*Ainsley: No need to wait for me, everyone. Declan's already taking me out for Japanese ✈️❤️*

I stared at the screen.

She was in our family group chat.

Had been for six years.

I didn't understand why someone with no blood tie to the family was still there.

Didn't understand why Declan insisted on flying to the West Coast every Thanksgiving to be with her.

Now Ainsley had decided on a whim to fly back to Chicago. And Declan had broken his promise again.

I left the group chat.

Reheated the turkey.

Ate the whole meal by myself.

Said goodbye to my last autumn in this city.

***

Months ago, I'd applied for a transfer to London.

The approval email had arrived the night before Thanksgiving.

Day after tomorrow, I'd fly away.

Start a life without Declan.

---

At three in the morning, Declan came home.

An Acne Studios cashmere scarf in pink was wrapped around his neck.

He saw me sitting in the living room and froze. Shrugged off his Canada Goose coat, damp with melted snow. Then—carefully—he removed the scarf. Folded it neatly. Placed it on the entryway console.

That gesture. He'd never done that for me.

"Still awake?" he asked.

"I was waiting for you to come home for Thanksgiving dinner."

Declan walked to the table. Glanced at the cold dishes. Picked up a piece of turkey with his fork. Tasted it.

"Not bad."

He set the fork down.

"But I told you I wasn't coming home for dinner."

My stomach tightened. "I didn't get that message."

"Hm?"

Declan pulled out his iPhone.

He scrolled through a long list of pinned chats on WhatsApp. Almost to the bottom before he found my thread.

"Oh. Lost signal when I pulled into the underground garage." He held the screen toward me. "Sorry. Didn't notice it failed to send."

My eyes landed on the label.

*Eleanor Vance*

My full name. Six years married, and in his phone, I was still listed under my maiden name.

Then I saw the unsent message:

*Declan: Ainsley suddenly said she wanted to spend the holidays in Chicago. Went to O'Hare to pick her up. Not coming home for dinner.*

"Declan. This is Thanksgiving." I looked up at him.

His brow furrowed. He looked at the screen, then at me. That expression I knew too well—*I already told you, what more do you want*.

"We're supposed to be together on Thanksgiving," I said. "That's what family means."

"And you promised—"

His phone rang.

The screen said *Princess ❀*.

Ainsley.

Declan put a finger to his lips. Turned and walked out to the balcony. Slid the glass door shut behind him.

They talked for almost half an hour.

When he came back inside, he asked, "What were you saying?"

Suddenly I was just tired.

"Nothing."

"Go to bed."

I locked the master bedroom door.

A few minutes later, the handle turned from outside. Didn't open.

Footsteps retreated. The guest room door clicked shut at the end of the hall.

Every time we fought, Declan never came after me. Never indulged my so-called petty moods. Just let me deal with it myself.

Cry myself sick over it. He didn't care.

I'd wondered if Declan Thornton was incapable of human emotion. The way he could look at tears and feel absolutely nothing.

Then I realized that wasn't true.

He wasn't like that with Ainsley.

When she got robbed in California, Declan ditched a major acquisition deal. Flew first class to be with her.

When she got bullied by classmates at UCLA, he pulled every connection he had to defend her. Even threatened to sue.

When she was upset, she could call him anytime. Day or night, Chicago to LA. He never let her phone ring twice.

With me, Declan was casual.

As long as I wasn't filing for divorce, he let me throw my tantrums. Bought me some Tiffany jewelry afterward. Said a few placating words. Called it done.

*Ding—*

An Instagram DM from Ainsley popped up.

*Ainsley_M: Eleanor, are you asleep? Declan said you're still upset.*

*Ainsley_M: Let me apologize for him. I wasn't thoughtful enough. I'll give him a good scolding for you.*

*Ainsley_M: Don't be mad, okay? I brought you something nice from Rodeo Drive. I'll give it to you tomorrow.*

I didn't reply.

Turned off the screen.

---

The next morning, I was sitting up in bed filling out overseas assignment forms on my laptop when the bedroom door lock clicked.

Someone was opening it from the outside with a key.

I barely had time to pull the blanket over myself before Ainsley walked in.

"Oh, you're still in bed."

She was wearing my silk robe. An apron tied around her waist. A spatula in her hand.

She walked over to the window like she owned the place and yanked open the blackout curtains.

"I made breakfast. Come eat."

When she saw me staring, she smiled. "Eleanor, I need to stay with you guys for a while. You know I only went to LA because I fought with my stepdad. Now I want to move back to Chicago, but I don't have anywhere to live. Declan didn't want me in an apartment by myself, so he brought me here."

"I'll take care of your meals. Consider it rent."

Declan hadn't discussed this with me at all.

My nails bit into my palms. My temples throbbed.

"Get out."

Ainsley hummed to herself as she left.

---

I changed into a turtleneck and jeans. When I walked out, Declan was sitting at the kitchen island eating breakfast. He pushed a plate toward me.

"Try it."

"Don't let me suffer alone."

Ainsley's eyes went wide. She laughed and swatted his arm, her fingers jabbing into his side.

"Hey! Declan Thornton, what's that supposed to mean? I'm a princess, you know! I never lift a finger. You should be grateful I cooked for you at all, and here you are complaining?"

She was growling like an angry kitten.

I didn't say anything. Just ate the eggs Benedict on my plate.

It was actually good. The hollandaise sauce was perfect. Declan was probably just teasing her.

"Princess?" He laughed at himself. "More like the evil queen who poisoned Snow White."

They went back and forth.

The lakefront penthouse had been silent for so long. Finally, there was some life in it.

Nothing like when Declan and I were alone together—him reading the Wall Street Journal, me scrolling my phone. Six years married. Done everything there was to do. Still felt like strangers.

"You're being loud," I said. "Can you keep it down?"

"Sorry."

Ainsley sat back on her stool. Shot me an awkward smile.

Declan looked up at me.

His eyes went cold.

He didn't say anything to me, but his hand landed on the girl's shoulder. A gentle rub. Reassuring.

"It's fine. She just didn't sleep well. She'll be okay in a minute. Eat."

He had never once acknowledged my feelings.

Anger. Sadness. In Declan's eyes, I was always overreacting. Being unreasonable.

"I don't like noise," I said. "I don't like strangers in my house. And I don't like anyone walking into my bedroom without knocking."

Ainsley's face went red.

She looked at me helplessly. Tugged at Declan's sleeve. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Do you have to attack her like that?" Declan's brow furrowed. "Because I spent yesterday with her instead of you? Is that what this is?"

"Seriously? One meal. It's not a big deal. It's not like you're dying and this was your last Thanksgiving. I'll make it up to you later."

There wouldn't be a later.

I didn't want to fight.

Looked down at his bare ring finger. The Cartier wedding band had been missing for six months. Still hadn't turned up.

Probably lost on some golf course or at a business event.

Just like he didn't treasure me, he didn't take care of what I gave him.

Even when it meant something.

"Maybe I should just go," Ainsley said.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I really am intruding. I'll book a flight back to LA this afternoon. I won't come."

Declan took off her apron for her. Grabbed her hand. Picked up his car keys. Changed his shoes.

"I'll take you out for a bit."

Before the door closed, I could still hear his voice.

"It's fine. Don't worry about her. She's always been gloomy and boring. Don't take it seriously."

The girl finally stopped crying and laughed.

I carried all the breakfast into the kitchen.

Dumped it into the garbage disposal.