The Winter That Buried Our Youth

I turned to look out the window.

The darkness had swallowed everything. And out there, my body was slowly stiffening into a block of ice.

But in here, glasses clinked and warmth flowed freely.

How wonderful.

Since Dad loved tough love and desperate situations so much, then he must also loved the Christmas gift I'd prepared for him, right?

Just then, urgent pounding on the door rang out. Mixed with the piercing sound of the doorbell, it instantly drowned out the cheers coming from the TV.

The laughter in the private room came to an abrupt halt.

Uncle Arnold's hand trembled slightly, sending ash from his cigarette onto his pants.

Dad frowned in displeasure and slammed his fork heavily onto the table.

"Who is it? It's Christmas Eve—why are they acting like they're announcing death? Hey, waiter! What's going on? How can you just let anyone in?"

The door to the private room burst open.

My mother, Sharon Schmitt, stood there covered in snow, her hair plastered messily against her face.

"Trevor, why can't I reach Julian? Why is his phone turned off?"

Dad took one look at Mom in this state, his brow furrowing deeply as he leaned back in his chair. Without even bothering to stand up, he leisurely pulled out a napkin and wiped his mouth.

Dad sneered. "What's wrong with you? Don't you know it's Christmas Eve? You think you can just show up here and cause trouble? What, that pretty boy dumped you, and now you're back for money?"

Mom rushed to the table, bracing herself against it. Her fingernails dug into the wood as her knuckles turned white.

"I'm asking you—where is Julian? It's snowing so hard, and the news said the mountain roads are closed! Where did you take him?"

Dad lifted his glass and took a small sip, his gaze dripping with contempt.

"He's in training—real man training. What's the matter? You feeling sorry for him now? If you hadn't spoiled him rotten back then, turning him into a useless kid who can't lift a thing, would I have to go through all this trouble to toughen him up?"

Mom's voice shot up, shrill and piercing. "Training?"

She grabbed the wine bottle from the table and smashed it hard on the floor.

Glass shards flew everywhere, wine spilling across the floor.

The relatives gasped and shrieked in fright.

My aunt, Geraldine Kane, covered her ears and ducked behind her husband, my uncle, Dennis Bowen.

"Trevor, are you even human? Julian has asthma! Allergic asthma! The doctor said he absolutely cannot be exposed to cold or engage in strenuous exercise! Are you trying to kill him by taking him to a snowy mountain?"

Mom's roar echoed through the private room.

Dad's expression instantly darkened. He stood up and shoved Mom hard in the shoulder.

Already unsteady on her feet, Mom lost her balance and fell onto the pile of broken glass.

Her palms were cut open, blood seeping out. But she simply glared at Dad.

Dad pointed at her, spittle flying as he roared, "Asthma? That's nothing but a rich people's disease! You spoiled it into him! All that crap about not being able to stand the cold or exercise is just an excuse!

"As long as Julian has enough willpower, he can fight through anything. I'm going to freeze that pampering right out of him today!"

Mom trembled with rage, tears streaming down her face.

She scrambled up and, ignoring the blood on her hands, lunged for Dad's phone on the table.

"The location? Where's his GPS location right now? Show me!"

Quick as a flash, Dad slammed his hand down on the phone, then swung his arm back and slapped Mom across the face.

The blow was vicious. Mom stumbled back several steps, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

"You think I won't put you in your place?" Dad roared. "This is my way of raising him! It's not something an outsider like you has a say in! Get out! Now!"

Finally unable to take it any longer, Uncle Dennis stood up to intervene.

"Calm down, Sharon. Trevor knows what he's doing. All of us saw that GPS just now. We've been keeping an eye on it the whole time."

Dad gave a cold snort and unlocked his phone. Then, he opened the app and tossed it in front of Mom.

"He's doing just fine at Camp One."

Mom swiped at the screen to check the historical tracking data.

Suddenly, her face went deathly pale, and she slumped limply into the chair.