The wind whips my face as I step out onto the porch, boots crunching against the packed snow. I duck instinctively, though the wooden beam above is nowhere near my head. Habit. Everything in this world is built for people much smaller than me—except maybe the mountains. They are big, yes. But still, I do not like them.

“Mon dieu,” I mutter, wrapping my arms tight across my chest. “Why do we vacation here? This is death covered in snow.”

Behind me, the door creaks open and my sweet wife waddles out in her marshmallow snowsuit. She's so small she could probably fit inside one of my jackets. She beams up at me, her cheeks pink from the cold. “You okay, love?”

I crouch slightly to be closer to her. “Non, I am not okay. Your cousin, he say we must do the snowboarding trail with the... what is the word—‘black diamond’? This is not a shape I like.”

She laughs, slipping her mittens into mine. “You don’t have to go, honey.”

“But I am strong, yes? I am a man.” I puff my chest. “I do not fear. Except… only the very tall things. Like cliffs. And… flying squirrels.”

From inside the cabin, I hear the low rumble of her father’s voice, a big man with an even bigger laugh. “Évariste! You coming or what? Don’t chicken out, Frenchie!”

“See?” I whisper urgently to her. “Your father, he challenge my honor.”

She snorts. “You challenged your honor by trying to put on snowboard boots while standing up.”

From the back of the cabin, I hear my younger brother, Pascal, shouting in French. Something about how he’s already had two beers and shouldn’t be trusted on a snowboard. My mère is yelling back at him in rapid Corsican-French, calling him a “bête” and telling him to wear sunscreen or she’ll slap his ears off.

“Your family is loud,” my wife says fondly.

“Loud? Yours make more noise than a marching band fighting a bear,” I retort. I sigh. “Je vais mourir,” I mutter.

“You’re not going to die, honey.”

“If I do, tell Pascal he cannot have my watch."