The Truth About Life

-Brie: Chapter Sixteen-

I can hear my mom getting ready for "The Arts Extravaganza" fundraiser.
She's softly humming a Dolly Parton song.

I'm in my room, still lying in bed, my cream chenille bedspread wrapped around me. I should be getting ready for the fundraiser too, but my heart just isn't in it.

I can smell my mom's perfume wafting from her master bathroom, Chanel No.5. It brings back memories of more innocent times. Before my parents started traveling all of the time, before my Nana and Papa died, before my eating disorder showed its ugly face, before Audrey and I stopped being, well Audrey and I. Always before.

My mom grew up in New York. Her parents, my Papa Oliver and Nana Sophie, immigrated to America from Scotland before my mom was born. They came over in the 60's for a better life, for "The American Dream" my Papa said.

He was a wood craftsman; he truly was amazingly talented with his hands. He could build anything; he could restore anything back to its former glory. My Papa built this bed I'm currently lying in, and my dresser and all of the mahogany built-ins throughout our house.

My Nana Sophie was an incredible baker. She could bake any sweet treat you can imagine, always melting in your mouth. My Papa and Nana's American dream came true, they had my mom in 1979, bought a house and opened my Papa's woodworking shop all in the same year. My Nana's baking became legendary in their neighborhood and beyond. They were both so involved in their community and well loved.

My mom, she is the perfect balance of both her parents. Ambitious, beautiful, talented, outgoing. She attended the International Culinary Center in New York and took the PastryArts program, among others. She scraped and saved to be able to travel to Paris and study the art of pastry and chocolate making.

That's where she met my dad, Noah Evers. My mom was studying under a renowned chocolatier at the time while waitressing at an outdoor cafe, when she noticed a tall, dark and handsome American sitting at one of the cafe tables.

My dad is incredibly handsome, 6' 5'', wavy black hair and the coolest color of gray eyes I've ever seen, sort of the color of a summer storm, with a hint of mischievousness in them. He is always smiling, always quick to laugh. He said once "Why wouldn't I smile all the time; I have the two best girls a guy could ask for!"

Both my parents tell me it was love at first sight, and I believe them. The way they still joke with each other, laugh with each other and especially how they still look at each other. Like they thought the other hung the moon.

My dad is an investment banker (don't ask me what that even means, I have no idea what he does every day.) He and my mom (and even me sometimes), wine and dine a bunch of dad's clients on different weekends. We sometimes go out to fancy restaurants, but usually my mom cooks something yummy, then bakes macarons or hand-dipped, made-in-heaven chocolates.

Dad's clients rave over my mom's decadent desserts and they rave over how much money my dad makes for them.

They make a pretty great team, my mom with her almost magical baking skills, her long, tumbling auburn hair and Scottish, ice green eyes. She's willowy and elegant and dresses to match. My dad's dark handsomeness and her pale beauty make a stunning statement.

And then there's me... My hair is more carrot than auburn, which means I burn super easily, and my pale skin turns the same as my hair color.

Between my dad's grey eye color and mom's ice green, mine couldn't decide what to do so I have a strange mix of greenish-greyish. I'm about 5'5" with the gangliest legs you've ever seen (and not in a good way.)

Thankfully, I have a pretty amazing closet full of clothes, since my mom is a compulsive shopper for herself and me!! (YES!) Think bandage dresses in beautiful copper or emerald green colors and high-waisted houndstooth print skinnies, cashmere sweaters, and amazing real to life vintage T-shirts.