Sunshine Kisses by Kelly L. Clarke

Seaside - The Kooks

Abigail Briar's mother had a unique way of making her feel like a disaster.

That was her prevailing thought as yet another text buzzed in her pocket and she swore under her breath for the hundredth time that morning. Ignoring it for the moment, she focused on cursing her reading and shopping habits as she dragged her bulging suitcase through the closing door of the train, almost tripping when her equally overstuffed tote caught on the front row seats and threw off her balance.

When Abby was safely seated, she inspected the fabric of her bag, sighing as she found a few loose threads where it had snagged on the door of her Uber to the train station. It was a favorite--memento of a family trip to New York that had included hours exploring The Strand. The print was worn from nearly a decade of use, but she kept the bag in otherwise pristine condition. Perhaps she could mend it at the hotel.

Of course, if she hadn't been in such a hurry, she might have taken slightly more care exiting the car, rather than yanking her bags after her as she jumped out to run for her train.

Abby had never been great at keeping time, but that day had gone particularly badly. She'd had a stroke of inspiration on her thesis topic and gone down a research spiral before realising that she had accidentally turned off the set of alarms that were supposed to be governing her day, and she was now well past pack your last toiletries and grab your white slip dress from the dryer and fast approaching you need to leave for the train station right the fuck now.

Her angel of a flatmate, Sarah, had finally stepped in when Abby sent half of their haircare products tumbling to the shower floor. She may have been slightly overzealous in trying to ease her conditioner out of the badly abused silicone bread pan they had squeezed all their potions into. When it had finally released with a pop, the change in weight distribution had caused the whole arrangement to topple over, sending masks and oils scattering. Ever the cool, composed antithesis to Abby's chaotic mess, Sarah had placed both hands on her friend's shoulders and looked her calmly in the eye.

'Go pack up your laptop and check you have all the notes and books you need. I'll finish up here and stuff these last bits into your bag.'

There was a reason she was one of Abby's favourite people.

Since it was near impossible not to do exactly what that measured, reasonable voice told you, Abby had busied herself double checking the contents of her enormous tote, finally determining that she did have everything she needed to continue working on her holiday. Minutes later, Sarah had transferred the suitcase into Abby's waiting hand and pushed her out the door.

In the short Uber ride from her flat to the train station, Abby had received no fewer than ten texts from her mother.

Painfully aware of her daughter's shortcomings as she was, Susan had repeatedly shared her fears that Abby was going to miss her train. She suspected that for Susan it was less a concern that she might wait an additional day to see her child, and more disturbing that the delicate timetable of their holiday would be destroyed should the traditional game of lawn bowls need to be moved from Thursday evening to Friday. When she was inevitably asked to recount her day over dinner, Abby planned to insist she had reached the train in plenty of time. The truth-that her boot had barely cleared the closing doors-wouldn't benefit anyone.

Her phone vibrated once again, and she took a deep breath as she fished it from her pocket.

Incoming call from-- Of course.

'Hello, mother. Can't talk. I'm on the train,' she said, keeping her voice low. Not low enough, evidently, as she noted a number of scowls aimed in her direction.

'Oh, you made it, darling. Wonderful. I was just worried, you know, because you do lose track of time occasionally...' Abby rolled her eyes as her mother continued to monologue, prattling on about their plans for the following week. At least she could mostly tune it out. It wasn't as if she'd be asked for an opinion. But a single name filtered through the white noise, snapping her awareness back to the tinny words carrying through her speaker.

'What was that about Erik?' she asked, pitching her voice even quieter. There were still scowls pointed in her direction, but fewer than before. Generally she respected

train etiquette, but really, if you were that concerned with protecting your silence, headphones or earplugs were a minor investment.

'I was just calling to tell you Erik will be collecting you from the station, so keep an eye out for Peter and Nora's car.'

Abby's heart squeezed.

And there it was.

The reason she had volunteered for the madness that was a week with her parents and their longtime friends. Erik.

Her best friend since they had been born a week apart twenty-five years before.

Throughout their childhoods, they had rarely left each other's sides, but clashing university schedules and Erik's endless work trips after graduating had colluded to prevent them spending more than a few days together each year. It was true that choosing to occupy a week with her parents felt like a sick form of masochism-even if it was in a beautiful seaside hotel, and on their account. Though there was an open invitation to join them on their annual holiday, she hadn't taken them up on it since she'd left school. But then Erik had dropped into an email that he would be home for Easter, and asked if he'd be seeing her on their parents' trip to the coast.

Despite an open understanding between the two households that where one went, the other swiftly followed, extended familial obligations often kept them apart during Erik's brief trips home for Christmas-usually the only time off he could commit to. Add to that the fact that his schedule had been thrown off the previous year, and he'd come to visit for his birthday in June rather than his traditional December holiday, making it far too long since she'd seen him. The chance to reunite for a whole week was simply too much to pass up.

After a muffled goodbye to Susan, Abby dug through the stack of books in her tote and huffed when she realised that her current read was missing. She cast her mind back, trying to remember the last place she'd seen it. On her bedside nook. Where she'd placed it before going to sleep the night before. Not in the mood to invest herself in something new, she unlocked her phone again and pulled up the last email Erik had sent her.

As always, his message ignored any pleasantries and dove straight into a detailed response to her previous thoughts, followed by a minute review of his week. And there, just before signing off with love:

I've been encouraged to take some time off, and my parents have finally twisted my arm to join them at Belridge over Easter. I know you haven't gone since we left school-believe me, if I didn't feel so guilty about not spending any real time with them in years, I wouldn't be going either-but it might actually be bearable with you. Let me know if I should pack the gifts I've been accumulating for you, or if that space would be better allocated to invisible ear plugs and tranquillisers.

The email had made her smile and roll her eyes in equal measure.

In contrast to the strained, almost formal relationship she shared with her parents, Erik's mum and dad positively doted on both him and his older brother. Though Abby knew how quickly that dotage could begin to feel smothering, she also knew Erik adored his family. And Nora meant well. Truly. She just didn't always understand the concept of boundaries, particularly when it came to her sons.

It had taken Abby all of ten seconds to text her mother that perhaps she'd been hasty in rejecting the holiday (again) and that it might be a fabulous year to take them up on the offer.

At the end of her next email, she had promised to see him there.

Despite the painful circumstances that had borne the emails, they had evolved into something beautiful.

In their time at different universities, they had begun trading weekly missives detailing their exploits: complaining about classes, sharing book and film recommendations, and comparing drama within their respective friendship circles.

When Abby told people about her usual method of communication with her best friend, she was often met with confused expressions and a reminder that texting apps existed. But texting had simply never formed part of their friendship. They'd spent their lives together long before having access to that technology. Even when they had got mobiles, living just down the street from each other meant their texts had never needed to be anything other than perfunctory:

You home?

Be there in five.

Yeah.

So their attempts at texting had never quite managed to soothe the sting of separation. But the emails had become almost an art form, something that felt far more natural to the way they communicated in person: long monologues that allowed for a full outpouring of thoughts that the other could respond to in kind. They both used too many words for their own good, at least around each other. It wasn't the same as hearing his voice feeling his presence in the room. But the endless strings of words allowed her to imagine him talking in a way that the short spurts of texts did not.

Abby smiled as she recalled the rich, deep tone of Erik's speech. She'd always likened it to velvet: mostly smooth and luxurious, but with a rough edge that came out when he was rubbed the wrong way.

The emails continued throughout their undergrad years, and when Erik graduated and began working in far flung corners of the globe with pitiful cell reception, they allowed him to send lengthy enough updates to plug the gaps without access to communication.

Still deep in reminiscence, Abby stared out the window. She had taken this trip and stared at this scenery countless times throughout her life, though she'd always made the journey by car before. This simultaneous familiarity and newness intrigued her as she mused over the strangeness of seeing the golden fields from a new perspective.

It was also the first time she'd taken the trip without Erik at her side. Legend (their mothers) told that the first time Abby and Erik had been bundled into their respective family's cars for their seaside holiday-at the tender age of nine months-they had both begun screaming half an hour into the three hour drive. Unsure how to soothe them, both families pulled into a nearby service station. As soon as the cars stopped next to each other, cries turned to coos when little eyes met through the windows. After a quick discussion, Abby's father joined Erik's dad, Peter, and his big brother, Aleksander, in their car, while Erik was transplanted into the Briars' car along with his mother. The babies had slept peacefully for the rest of the drive, and no one would dare to suggest splitting them up again in the years that followed.

As they had grown up, they would play I-spy, noses pressed to the side or rear windows, sharing a running commentary of the view, never caring that it rarely changed from year to year.

A mechanical voice announced Abby's stop, halting her passage down memory lane. She dragged her bags back. towards the doors, cursing herself again, and jumped through as soon as they slid open. She rushed through the small country station-somehow not causing any incidents despite her mass of luggage and an alarming number of elderly people just standing there-before coming to a sudden stop at the sight of her best friend framed by the red brick archway of the station's exit. He leaned casually against the same brown estate car they had spent countless evenings in, driving down the twisty stone streets they had grown up around.

Abby took a moment to drink him in.

Dark blue jeans covered his long legs, ending in scuffed trainers where his feet crossed at the ankle, while a bright white t-shirt skimmed loosely over his chest and shoulders, revealing toned forearms. He looked vibrant, with his tanned skin glowing in the sun.

'Erik!'

He turned immediately. Reaching her in ten large strides, he engulfed her body in a tight bear hug and spun her around.

'Hello, Sunshine,' he said quietly. His voice was like a warm balm soothing any anxieties she might have had about this trip. He planted a soft kiss on her temple before ruffling her hair with his chin and jaw.

'I can't believe you still call me that.' Abby attempted to smooth her blonde curls back down. 'You gave me that nickname twenty years ago.'

Erik chuckled warmly, and joy exploded in her chest at the sound. 'Exactly. Why mess with tradition?' They repeated the same exchange every time they saw each other. 'Tell you what. I'll stop calling you that when you stop having lovely golden hair that sparkles in the sun.'

Abby rolled her eyes as he grabbed her bags and shepherded her to the car, but she couldn't help the grin spreading over her face. Reuniting felt right. She hoped this trip wouldn't cause the same problem he'd had the year before. Christmas hadn't been the same without him.

The ancient car came to life with a smooth purr-Peter was nothing if not fastidious about the condition of his baby-and Abby studied Erik's profile as he pulled out of the parking lot, marvelling at how much he had changed since last June. The two of them rarely exchanged photos, although their mothers often made sure to pass some on. But pictures had never done Erik justice.

His face was more angular than it had been, the final bits of boyish softness fading to reveal a sharp jawline and carved cheekbones below his clear grey eyes. He'd filled out since she'd last seen him too. Erik had always been athletic, but the defined muscles shifting beneath his skin as he changed gears were new.

'When did you learn to use a brush?' Abby asked, reaching up to touch his unusually tidy hair. Early afternoon sun streamed through the windows, sending honey streaking through the thick sand-coloured mass. It was beautifully distracting. 'You have a hot date tonight or something?'

Erik laughed, grabbing her wrist and pressing his lips to her fingers. 'Or something. Maybe I just wanted to look nice for you.' His tone was teasing, but he was too focused on the drive for her to see any lightness in his eyes. 'You look like your brother.'

'Ouch.' His voice turned to a grumble.

'I would have dressed up for you, but I was only informed of you playing taxi when I was already on the train.' Abby gestured to the oversized men's button down she'd thrown carelessly over a cotton camisole and high-waisted denim shorts. She wasn't sure which of her two previous boyfriends had donated it to her wardrobe, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. The flannel was worn and soft and it made her feel warm and safe. Like a big cosy hug.

Erik glanced towards her, eyes lingering for a moment on the grey tartan folds at her elbows. 'You always look great,' he muttered. 'You're welcome, by the way. For the shirt.'

'It's yours? I dug it out of my wardrobe a couple months ago and figured it was an old boyfriend's.' She'd quickly become attached, wearing it regularly.

A muscle ticked in Erik's jaw. 'Nope. Just mine. I must have left it there when I stayed over after that birthday dinner last year.' His hands tightened slightly on the wheel as he turned his gaze back to the road.

He seemed surprisingly annoyed about the shirt. Maybe she needed to get it dry cleaned at the hotel and return it to him. But then, as if he had read her mind: 'Don't worry about giving it back. It looks better on you anyway.' Erik was smiling as he spoke, but it looked strained, and Abby cast about desperately for a subject change.

'How long have you been home?'

'I got in yesterday. Was subjected to the Spanish Inquisition, naturally. And we drove to the hotel this morning. Your parents had planned to head through this afternoon and collect you on the way, until I suggested it might be far more comfortable for them to arrive early and get settled at the hotel while I drove back to fetch you. So you can thank me for that, by the way.' He turned his head briefly to hers again, shooting her a wry smile.

'My hero,' Abby said, fluttering her eyelashes and draping her hands dramatically over her chest.

Erik chuckled again and Abby let the throaty sound wash over her. Some of the tension from the moments before had eased out of him, and he was back to the easy posture she knew and loved. Discomfort rarely coloured their relationship, and she was glad when it passed quickly. It hit her fully how much she had missed him. It didn't matter how good they were at keeping in touch. Nothing compared to the warm glow that radiated off him while they sat side by side.

'How are things going with them? You haven't mentioned them in an email for a while.'

Abby sighed, curling her legs onto the bench seat and turning her body to face him, drinking in every line of his face. 'Same old, you know? It's lovely that I'm studying my little books, but wouldn't it be lovelier if I were doing something that would actually help people? How nice that I'll be able to call myself a doctor after studying for eight years even though I'll still be wholly unequipped to save a life.'

'Shit, Abby. I'm sorry.' Erik reached for her hand again, stroking his thumb gently over the back of it.

'They've stopped actively complaining about it, which is something, I guess. It's just snide little comments."

His eyebrows drew together, that muscle clenching in his jaw again. 'And that's better?'

'It's easier to ignore,' she said softly, picking at a thread on her shorts.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Erik squeezing her hand gently. It was a comforting gesture they had established as kids. When Erik received too much stimulation-bright lights, too many colours or patterns, clashing sounds, or even just a surplus of emotions-having one space in his body on which to narrow his focus helped quiet the noise flooding his brain. That was how he'd explained it years later, at least. Of course, at the tender.

age of five, Abby had simply realised that an upset-looking- Erik was soothed when she took his hand. So she started doing it whenever he seemed overwhelmed. Even once he learned to hide it from the world, she would notice the tiniest shifts in his mood, allowing her to support him in difficult situations. And he returned the favour any time she did badly on a test or fought with her parents.

Abby finally looked up when he released her hand and brought the car to a stop. 'We're not there yet?'

'No, just wait here a sec.' Erik flashed a quick grin her way before climbing out the car and walking into the crumbling cafe in front of them.

Abby amused herself with looking at the view, enjoying the crash of waves on the rocks just a few metres ahead of her. She vaguely remembered this small, rundown beachside restaurant. It hadn't been a regular feature of their holidays, but she had a few fuzzy memories of eating chips smothered in vinegar in this very same parking lot, playing games with Erik, and chasing Alex when he stole her books.

The click of the door drew her attention back into the car as Erik folded himself into his seat and placed a steaming box of chips and a cup filled with soft serve on the seat between them. He looked up at her, eyes twinkling. 'Always better to be well fed when you head into the lions' den.' 'I think that's the opposite of good advice,' Abby said dryly.

'Still. Comfort food is never a bad idea.' Erik dragged a chip through the ice cream and held it up to her mouth.

She bit it out of his fingers, savouring the clashing textures, temperatures, and the curiously decadent salty- sweet combination. It had been years since she'd experienced it.

'You know this is disgusting, right?' Abby asked.

Erik swiped a drop of ice cream from her chin. Her eyes tracked his thumb back to his lips. 'And yet, it was your idea.' 'I was ten!'

'Not stopping you now,' he said, nodding at the seat, where Abby had already grabbed another chip and dipped it into the ice cream.

Abby shrugged and took a generous bite.

It was good to have him back.

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