Tatum’s first Thanksgiving at my parents’ house involves overeating, falling asleep during football games, and playing in the snow.

As per her assigned food offering, she brings a ham to dinner. Troublemaker Bianca Bella not only sends sriracha honey Brussels sprouts that only Cap has the balls to try, but she also convinces Tatum to add pineapple to her dish.

“Just no,” Hayes says once Tatum reveals the pineapple covered ham. An hour later, he asks for seconds with double the slices of pineapple. “I’ve had worse,” he mutters, refusing to admit he’s a fan.

Calling his bluff, Tatum says, “I’ll bring something else next year.”

Hayes exhales roughly. Despite smiling, Tatum avoids his gaze. Few people can challenge the old man to a stare-off without fearing for their lives. I’ve even pissed myself a time or two when he eyeballed me for too long.

After dinner, the mini-twins and Tatum enjoy the first snow of the season. I expect Miss Florida to freeze immediately and want back inside. Hell, I’m already coming up with ideas to convince her from bailing on the snow when she cries, “I’m making my first snowman!” My woman is deliriously excited to freeze her ass off in the cold.

Long after the mini-twins retreat inside for cocoa, Tatum remains in the backyard. I help create a face on her mutant, lopsided snowman before literally carrying her into the house.

“It’s snowing again,” I say as she struggles to remain in the backyard. “You’ll get sick.”

“I’ve never felt more alive!”

“Hey, that hurts my feelings. No way should snow successfully compete with my chopper.”

Tatum grins at me as I tug her into the house. “No, no, it can’t, but snow is a close second.”

“I thought my tongue took second place,” I announce to my parents’ irritation when we enter. I look at them staring at me from their huge recliners. “What? I’m notorious for my potent, limber tongue.”

“Son, I love you, but shut the fuck up about your tongue,” Mom says, and Hayes chuckles.

“When did you get so sensitive?” I ask, still holding Tatum around the waist so she can’t escape back into the snowy yard.

“Your mother decided to sneak a bite of that crap Bianca Bella sent. Now she’ll end up shitting all night.”

“You can shut the fuck up too,” Mom tells Hayes.

The old man laughs harder at her anger and probably gets a little hard.

“Save it for the bedroom, you two,” I mutter and shut the door.

No longer struggling with me, Tatum begins unbundling herself. I do the same until we’re in our socks and sweats. Cricket brings us cups of cocoa, and we join the family in the living room where a football game plays on the huge TV.

Tatum and the mini-twins cuddle under a massive plush blanket on the floor. Cricket rests against Poet on one couch while I sit on the other with Cap.

“Are you having a wedding?” Cap asks me during a commercial.

“Eventually. It’s up to Tatum.”

“Can I be your best man?”

“A pair of dentures says you can.”

Cap grins at Cricket shaking her head. “Poet helped too.”

“I don’t want to be his best man,” her husband says while playing with her hair. “I was the best man at my brother’s wedding, and that was enough drama to last me a lifetime.”

“Wimp,” Cricket whispers.

“What if I don’t want a wedding?” Tatum asks from the floor. “Having everyone stare at me sounds terrifying.”

“How about you say you’re married and call it a day?” Hayes mutters without looking at us. “I pronounce you husband and wife. Done. You’re welcome. Now feel free to kiss the bride, but keep that shit PG-rated.”

Tatum peeks out from the blanket and grins at me. “It’s official.”

“Missus Wilburn,” I say, sliding onto the floor and crawling toward her.

Cap clears his throat. “I don’t want to be a bitch.”

“Then stop talking now,” I tell him while Tatum grins at my approach.

“I didn’t get to do anything as your best man.”

“You can throw me a bachelor party. I’m thinking booze and a viewing of ‘Kingpin.’ Will you get on that , bro-angel?”

“Why ‘Kingpin?’”

“Fine, we can watch a bad horror movie instead. As long as I’m drunk, I’ll think anything’s funny.”

With my gaze focused on Tatum as I join her and the sleepy mini-twins under the blanket, I don’t know if Cap agrees to my plan. His lack of bitching makes me think he’s cool with it. Then again, the game comes back on, and the adults in the room get very serious about the close score.

Me, though, I’m all about my blonde wife, her easy smile, and those delicious freckles.

“I get married and enjoy my first snow on the same day,” she whispers as I spoon her on the floor. “This was quite a Thanksgiving.”

“We ate turkey,” Murphy mumbles with his eyes closed.

Tatum covers her mouth and laughs at the sleepy children. I snuggle closer and enjoy how relaxed she is with my family. More than once today, I expected her to get depressed about her first Thanksgiving without her mother. Those tears might still appear tonight. Or perhaps they’ll show up in a few days when the holiday fun shifts into everyday mundane.

“I hope I’m pregnant by our next Thanksgiving,” Tatum whispers and places my hand on her stomach. “Then I’ll be bloated from a baby and not too much mashed potatoes.”

“Most likely both. I do make some fine fucking taters.”

Tatum arches her back and twists until her lips nuzzle my throat. I consider moaning approvingly, but making sexy noises while sharing a blanket with two four-year-olds is too pervy for even me.

Rather than feel her up, I kiss Tatum gently and fall silent while the game rages on. Mom mentions something about a pie, but no one moves. Hayes eventually curses a ref, and the sleeping mini-twins mumble the profanity without waking. Tatum giggles at their antics. She also snickers at the sight of Cap asleep hanging half off the couch. Then when Cricket lets loose with a toxic burp and Tatum doesn’t react, I know my breezy has dozed off, and we’ll be sleeping over for the night. For me, I can’t think of a better way to end our first Thanksgiving together.