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Somewhere in the chaos, a lamp crashes to the floor. Dallas yells from the kitchen, “Don’t touch the pie!”

Vivi giggles and claps, oblivious to the madness.

I take a breath, feeling the noise and mess wash over me—the scent of pie, the clatter of broken things, the laughter and shouting all tangled together like family should be.

Later that night, bellies full and the air thick with warmth and leftover cinnamon, Maggie calls us all into the living room for her annual Thanksgiving tradition—Give Damn Thanks.

We groan like we always do, but we still do it anyways.

The fireplace crackles in the corner, casting soft flickers of gold across the worn hardwood. Someone’s left half a slice of pie on the side table, and Vivi’s blanket is curled in a forgotten pile near Maddox’s boots. There’s a fullness in the room—not just in the space, but in our bones. In that deep-down way that comes from surviving another year, together.

“Alright,” Maggie says, standing in front of us with the old fishbowl she’s used since we were kids, the little slips of paper inside fluttering like restless confessions. “You know the rule. No generic ‘I’m thankful for family’ bullshit. If you say family, you better say what about them you’re thankful for.”

She reaches into the bowl, pulls a name, and grins.

“Charlie.”

He’s halfway through unwrapping a butterscotch when his name’s called. The poor kid adjusts his glasses, cheeks pink, and glances over at his mama—Evie, nestled between Maddox and Merc on the couch. Vivi’s passed out on Maddox’s chest, her tiny body rising and falling with his breath, one little fist curled against his black flannel shirt.

Evie catches Charlie’s eye and gives him a wink, quiet encouragement in her tired smile.

Charlie adjusts his glasses before he clears his throat. “I’m thankful my mama didn’t die that day,” he says, voice soft but steady. “Not because I’m a mama’s boy, but because…she’s my mama.”

A ripple of stillness passes through the room. Dallas leans his head against my arm.

Maddox reaches for Evie’s hand without hesitation, his fingers swallowing hers in a grip that says everything he can’t.

“Although, I’m still mad y’all wouldn’t let me see her in the hospital until she woke up,” Charlie adds with a quick flash of mischief that cracks the tension like a spark in dry grass.

Laughter bubbles up. Because it’s true—he had pitched a fit, paced the house like a storm looking for a place to land.

“I’m also thankful for my dad,” Charlie says, and his voice wavers just enough to make the room hold its breath again. “I know some people see him as this big, scary guy—but when I look at him, I see someone who chose to love us when he didn’t have to. I hope when I grow up, I get to be that kind of man too.”

My throat tightens. I don’t even try to stop the tear that slips down my cheek. Henry notices. Of course he does. His hand finds my thigh, squeezes once, grounding me.

Across the room, Maddox shifts just enough to let Charlie into his arms. The hug is quick and hard—like real men do when words aren’t enough. Vivi stirs but doesn’t wake.

Maggie clears her throat, the edge of her voice scraped raw by emotion. “Alright, next up…”

She pulls a slip, eyes already braced. “Merc.”

Before the man can so much as adjust in his seat, Maggie lifts her hand like a warning shot.

“Nothing vulgar, and nothing that’s going to piss off your brothers or Louisiana.”

Merc lifts both hands like he’s been caught with a lit match. “Yes ma’am.”

Then stands with a dramatic huff like it’s a chore, but the look in his eyes already gives him away. There’s a glint there—something playful, but real beneath it.

He scratches the back of his neck and clears his throat, buying himself time. “I had a whole speech about being thankful for bourbon and blo—I mean women, but apparently mama wants this to be PG-friendly.”

“Mercy James,” Maggie warns, but she’s already smiling despite herself.

“Alright, alright,” he mutters. “Guess it’s my turn to say something sentimental and uncomfortable.”

The room chuckles, low and knowing.

He rubs his palm on his jeans and looks at Henry first.