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Saturday, June 25, 2022

Dawn (the Birthday Girl)

DAWN TWITCHED AWAKE INTO FULL-BLOWN MORNING SUNLIGHT.

She’d fallen asleep without removing her contacts, and her eyes felt tacky and dry. Her head was throbbing, her throat parched. She blinked into the brightness and checked the twin bed across the room for Quinn, who was sound asleep. Quinn never slept under the covers—all bedding, to her overactive senses, was too scratchy, too heavy, too crispy, etcetera. The sight of Quinn sleeping peacefully gave Dawn a momentary sense of calm, tinged with pride—her daughter had made it through the night in an unfamiliar cabin without incident.

Then, bam—Dawn’s memory of her own night came crashing down on her, and she bolted upright. Pain shot to her temples, and she groaned, kicking off her blanket to find she was still wearing her gauzy summer dress, now rumpled and caked with dirt.

And her knees were practically on fire, both scraped and raw. Her left calf was covered in scratches.

Pieces of the night drifted back: the sound of her friends’ raucous sing-along wafting from the yurt. Her cheek against Graham’s fruit-patterned shirt. A button popping off as she yanked it open. The coarse hair of his chest, the booze-sweet smell of his skin and smoky taste of his mouth.

No. They hadn’t—had they?

She remembered the slashes of moonlight through the branches, crossing his face as she climbed on top—

Oh god. They had.

The walk home flashed back: her drunken, stumbling gait, leaning into Graham to keep from falling on her face. He’d held her steady, but she could sense his touch was only necessity; all his flirtation and teasing affection had vanished the second he’d come, replaced by admonitions, practically reprimands:

“Cecily can never-fucking-ever know. I need to trust you with this. We’re way too old for this bullshit. We’re agreeing it never happened. And if Mia fucking Meadows finds out . . .”

Would he be able to act normal today? As if nothing had happened? Would she?

“Idiot,” she hissed to herself under her breath. “Grow up.”

Then Dawn remembered: she was fully grown. Today—well, technically tonight at 10:34 p.m., as Mia had reminded her last night, Dawn would turn fifty.

She eased her feet to the wood floor. Everything hurt. An ache of shame throbbed in her gut. How could she have gone off the rails so easily?

She ran her fingers over her scalp, trying to massage away her headache.

Her phone pinged with a text—thank god she’d managed to hang on to it—and she located it under the bed.

Quinn stirred and resettled.

The text was from Mia to the group:

Morning bebes! TODAY’S THE DAY. HBD to our birthday bitch DAWNIE! Also: killer coffee and breakfast yumyums in the yurt. See you by the firepit in ANDROMEADOW (lol!) at 10am sharp. BRING YOUR PHONES.

Shit. It was already 9:06 a.m. Dawn needed to clean herself up, leave some breakfast and a note for Quinn, and go meet her friends at the meadow.

She heaved out of bed and limped into the salmon-colored bathroom. She peered into the shower. Blessedly, there was nothing more offensive than a few streaks of mildew. She turned on the water and stepped out of last night’s clothes. It wasn’t until the hot water streamed over her body, stinging her fresh scrapes, that she remembered something else from last night: her sense that someone had been watching them. The feeling had been strangely palpable, as unmistakable as Graham’s lips on her (ugh) nipples.

Had it been a trick of her addled mind, soaked with whiskey and champagne? Or had one of her friends followed her and Graham? Could it possibly have been—oh god—Reece? It was the sort of thing she would have done, back in the Nurtury days. Followed Dawn to make sure she was okay. Reece had been such a caretaker, a giver. A nurturer.

Dawn lathered shampoo into her hair, hoping to Twyla’s goddess that this wasn’t true.

If she and Graham had gotten away with such a stupid mistake, well, then she could handle pretty much anything this weekend. Skydiving, a marathon, psychic readings—whatever the hell was on that list Mia had ticked off last night.

And if they hadn’t gotten away with it, well, she’d survive. Maybe.