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Friday, June 24, 2022
Dawn (the Birthday Girl)
ON THE EVE OF HER FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY, DAWN SANDERS SAT IN THE passenger seat of Mia Meadowsâs white Mercedes SUV, staring at the sun-sparked ocean and trying not to gasp as Mia drove through the clogged summer-beach traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway.
With each lurch of the big car, Dawn clenched her jaw and glanced to the back seat at her daughter, Quinn, who was surely edging toward a panic attack as a result of Miaâs whiplash driving. Thankfully, Quinn seemed oblivious, her long legs drawn under her chin, pale face obscured by a thick paperback novel, tangled dark hair framing her open book. The cover bore the image of a chiseled, shirtless man atop a white horse and the title, Unbridled Passion, printed in swirly purple font. Dawn felt a twinge of satisfaction; sheâd recently bought all eight installments in the Unbridled series for Quinn, each over five hundred pages. Quinn was obsessed with romance novels. They had a magically calming effect on herâthe way thumb-sucking had when she was a toddler. Despite the booksâ awful covers, and abundance of poorly written sex scenes, Dawn was thankful for them. Quinn had been diagnosed with sensory processing disorder at four, Aspergerâs at six, obsessive-compulsive disorder at eight, and generalized anxiety disorder at eleven. Now almost twenty-two, Quinn still lived with Dawn. It had begun to feel like she always would. The books brought them both a rare peace.
Dawn glanced over at Mia, trying to gauge her current mood. Mia seemed content enough, though her grip on the steering wheel was tight, her long red nails digging in, and her oversized sunglasses made it hard to discern her expression. This was a tic of Dawnâsâthe insuppressible need to know that Mia was happy with her. Especially now, after so many years apart. After knowing the awful, vacant feeling of not having Mia in her life.
Never again.
Mia had cut off all communication with Dawn in 2011. A loss Dawn had never stopped mourning. Then, thirteen months ago, Mia had sailed back into Dawnâs life at the height of the pandemic, when Los Angeles was in strict quarantine. A four-word text from an unfamiliar number had appeared:
The next day, theyâd met for a walk along the beach. Dawn wore a mask. Mia didnât. I trust my body, sheâd said with a smile, white teeth flashing . Dawn was so happy to see her old friend she hadnât even cared. Theyâd talked for three hours, walking all the way from Venice to Malibu and back.
Now here they were: Dawnie and Meemers, as theyâd called each other during the first era of their friendship, two decades ago. Together again. Texting a dozen times a day, meeting for walks or coffee or Pilates. After a ten-year separation, the interminable and lonely months of the pandemic, the implosion of her career as an esthetician, plus a divorce and a daughter with special needs, Dawn was badly in need of a friend. Sheâd felt as if Mia had rescued her, reached into the abyss and pulled Dawn out.
And now, on top of rescuing Dawn from a despairing time, Mia was throwing her a party. An entire weekend in Topanga Canyon to celebrate Dawnâs fiftieth (oh god, fiftieth) birthday.
The invitation had arrived in Dawnâs mailbox back in April, done in custom letterpress on lavender cardstockâpure Mia.
A respite from reality.
In honor of Dawn Leigh Sandersâ 50th Journey Around the Sun.
Please join us for a weekend of true beauty & beautiful truth.
The top of Topanga Canyon June 24â26, 2022.
Mia had insisted on handling every detail of the party weekend, a role she had always relished. Mia thrived on being Mia-in-charge. From the specific locationâa private property high in the canyon named Celestial Ranchâto the cabin assignments, catering, music, and activities, Mia had planned it all.
And, by design, sheâd shared almost none of it with Dawn.
I want you to truly experience your birthday, Mia had explained, not anticipate it. Your job is to simply show up. Iâll take care of the rest. Sheâd also insisted on paying for everything: You only turn fifty once, babe. And I can afford it.
It was true: Mia worked as a recurring character on various TV shows. Currently, she played the mom of psychic teen twins on the Disney hit Double Vision. She owned a huge house in the Palisades, another in Palm Springs, and a ski condo in Park City. Given that Dawnâs finances were dwindling, her estheticianâs license unrestored, her ex-husband, Craig, fighting her over alimony and custody, her life basically a disaster, Dawn had accepted Miaâs generous offer.
It was embarrassing to accept such a gift at Dawnâs age, but she felt she had no choice. She couldnât lose Mia again, and there was no saying no to Mia Meadows.
The guest list, Mia decreed, would be small, intimate: just four of her and Dawnâs oldest mutual friends: Graham, Summer, Joanie, and Reece. The original group from the Nurtury Center for Child Development, where theyâd all first met in 2007 in a parenting group led by Reece Mayall, a therapist who specialized in spectrum disorders. Theyâd been strangers to one another then, five young, bewildered parents of neuroatypical children (like Quinn, Miaâs son, Nate, had Aspergerâs) in need of help. Under the gentle guidance of Reece, whose wisdom about children had seemed right to Dawn, the group had bonded and become like family. Essential to one anotherâs survival. So united by their unique shared experience of parenting children with disabilities that Dawn sometimes felt they were a singular entity. That the six of themâReece includedâshared one brain. One soul.
One mission: to protect and defend their children.
And then it had all been ripped to shreds. The whole groupâthe friends Dawn had believed to be airtight, bound-for-lifeâburned to the ground like a California wildfire.
But that was long ago. Ancient history. Like new growth after a blaze, the friendships had reemerged. Dawn had reconnected with Graham five years ago, and Summer and Joanie shortly thereafter. All of them still lived in Los Angeles except for Reece, who had moved to Oakland. Dawn kept in touch with her with the occasional phone call and old-fashioned letters; Reece no longer âdid the internet.â
And now, with the return of Mia to Dawnâs life, the old Nurtury group was complete. The dark days of the past forgiven, forgotten.
At least Dawn hoped so.
Sheâd pinned her birthday invitation to her refrigerator door and read it whenever she reached for milk or eggs or Quinnâs probiotics, to remind herself the party was real. That her friends were actually doing such an extravagant thing for her. Each time, the phrase true beauty & beautiful truth lingered. Miaâs choice of words struck Dawn as odd, but then, Mia was an actress, not a writer.
Now, Dawn gazed at Mia in the driverâs seat, admiring her profile against the coastal backdrop: Miaâs skin was taut and dewy, her pink lips lush and glossed, her mermaid hair colored in shades of wheat and honey, piled on her head in an artful topknot. As a career esthetician, Dawn well understood all the work that went into Miaâs lustrous appearance: the injections and incisions, the serums and creams and acids, the lasers and microblades and exfoliators, all necessary in keeping Mia employed as an actress. Despite her profession, Dawn had given up the battle with middle age years ago, allowing gray hairs to thread her brown bob and laugh lines to spider her face.
âWhatâs going on over there, Dawnie?â said Mia. âI can feel you staring.â
Dawn quickly shifted her gaze. Outside, the June afternoon was cloudless and bright. On the wide sandy beach that stretched along the PCH, a team of ponytailed women in red bikinis jumped and dived for a volleyball. âIâm justâexcited. I canât believe everyoneâs coming.â
Traffic finally began to flow, and Mia accelerated with gusto.
âBelieve it, birthday bitch,â Mia sang, and Dawn smiled, despite the fact that Quinn loathedâpractically fearedâprofanity. Mia considered bitch a term of endearment; coming from her, it made Dawn feel special.
âI believe it,â Dawn said.
âGood. Because this weekendâs going to be epic, Dawnie. I forgot to tell you, Grahamâs carpooling up with Joanie and Summer. Apparently, heâs as wussy as ever about driving during rush hour. And Reece texted that she was heading up the Grapevine an hour ago, so sheâll make it in time for dinner.â
Dawnâs chest fluttered at the mention of Reece. Seeing her in person for the first time in over a decade seemed momentous. That she was coming all the way to Topanga for Dawn was almost too much for Dawn to accept. For years after the Nurtury imploded, Reece couldnât drive at all. Or go out in public. Or be trusted with the possession of sharp objects; a social worker had routinely scoured her cupboards and drawers. Removed all knives and scissors, sewing needles and nail files. Even tweezers.
Reece had suffered more than everyone else after the Project failed.
Dawn, on the other hand, had been the least scathed.
But time had passed, and Reece had healed. Sheâd accepted the invitation and was driving down from Oakland. Mia had made it happen. Sometimes, Dawn thought, it seemed Mia could make anything happen. That the world bent to her will.
Mia-in-charge.
âI feel bad Reece is driving so far,â Dawn said. âProbably eight full hours fromââ
âStop right there with the guilt.â Mia jabbed a finger at Dawn. âGuilt is a toxin, you know. Are you already forgetting our rule? Do I need to remind you?â
âOh god, sorry,â said Dawn. âNo, I havenât forgotten.â
âDo you want to say it, then? Repetition is the best form of learning.â
Dawnâs palms felt damp, despite the carâs chill A/C, and she cursed herself for the stupid mistake. In a group text to all the guests, Mia had declared that the weekend in Topanga would be one of epic joy only & NO TOXIC TOPICS. Not a single fucking mention. YKWIM
YKWIM: You know what I mean.
They did know. Dawn knew.
She took a deep breath. âNo toxic topics.â
Miaâs smile was instantaneous. âAtta girl, Dawnie. I donât mean to be such a hard-ass. Itâs just because I love you, and I donât want you being unkind to yourself.â
âThank you, Meems. What I meant wasââshe still had the urge to redeem herselfââIâm just so . . . truly grateful that Reecieâs coming.â
âThatâs what this weekendâs all about,â Mia said. âGratitude, babe. Gratitude and truth. I just want you to relax and enjoy yourself, for once, even if . . .â She jerked her head toward the back seat, conveying the rest of the sentence: even if youâve got Quinn with you . . .
âI will,â Dawn promised, though the implication that Quinn was an imposition sent a pang to her chest. Mia had not been thrilled by the addition of Quinn to her carefully curated guest listâall the other guests had grown children also, and none of them were coming, but what else could Dawn do? Her ex-husband, Craig, an OB-GYN, referred to by his adoring celebrity patients as Doctor C., had bailed on his weekend parenting duties, claiming he needed to be at the hospitalâand Quinn was incapable of staying in anyone elseâs care without melting down.
Dawn twisted toward Quinn in the back seat. She was still glued to her book, lost in some melodramatic world of implausible plot twists and clichĂ©d characters that boggled Dawnâs mind. Two nights of rustic accommodations in the woodsy, mountainous wilds of Topanga Canyon were sure to agitate every cell in Quinnâs twitchy, anxious body. It was amazing that she had managed to stay this calm so far, given Miaâs aggressive driving. Dawn was surprised Quinn wasnât picking at her cuticles or tapping her feet or chewing on the stretched-ou...
