The Sugarman Museum: the object of young Abigail and Amanda’s adoration. Abigail and Amanda first visited the museum when they were ten – was that really twenty years ago, now? They held fond memories of their middle school’s field trip to the museum, where they were instantly met with pieces of art beyond their imagination.

Paintings of trees made of swirls and circles, images made out of stacks of pencils, a house made out of paperclips, a statue where the person’s head was replaced by a third arm – but a single thing entirely stole the young girls’ focus:

A blue vase, decorated with a repeating white pattern of fairies dancing around white flowers. The pattern captivated the girls. They often made makeshift vases in their arts and crafts classes, but they hadn’t the slightest idea how to make a vase on par with the one before them. To them, this blue vase looked as if it would take a hundred years to make.

Amanda tried re-creating the vase during their next arts and crafts class. She nearly cried at the results; they could never keep their hands still long enough to create the pot’s smooth shape, they either put too much or not enough water in the clay, and they had a poor habit of pressing too hard. She could hardly bring herself to look at Abigail’s pottery.

Abigail made a smooth, evenly-proportioned vase on her first attempt, earning praise and adoration from their teacher.

Abigail stared bright-eyed at her teacher. “Do you think my work will be in the Sugerman Museum one day?”

“I’m sure it can!” her teacher replied. “Just make sure you practice everyday!”

Light and giddy, Abigail skipped over to Amanda. “Did you hear that?”

Amanda didn’t look up, staring with misty eyes at her clumped up clay.

Abigail’s smile dropped. She sat next to Amanda and gripped her hand. Amanda looked up slightly, meeting Abigail’s encouraging gaze.

“We’ll work together,” Abigail said, “and we’ll both get in the Sugarman Museum!”

Amanda took a deep breath, letting her breathing return to normal. With a bright smile, she returned Abigail’s hopeful glance, and gripped her hand.

***

Twenty years seemed so far off in the future to the girls. It came sooner than either hoped – faster than Amanda wished.

Amanda stared at her computer screen for several seconds. She logged onto the Sugarman Museum’s website, and was instantly greeted with the object of her searching. In clear lettering, she read:

Coming Soon:

Water Birds by Abigail Simmons

Directly below the title sat the image of a blue vase. Layers of waves surrounded it, blending into the feathers of blue macaws flying overhead. The pattern of waves and blue macaws repeated down the vase. The mouth of the vase mimicked a rising wave, curving forward like a crashing tide.

Taking a deep breath, lifting her brows, Amanda dialed Abigail’s number. A bright, jovial voice greeted her.

“Hi!” Abigail sang into the phone. “Did you see? Did you?!”

“I saw!” Amanda cheered, crinkles around her eyes. “This is wonderful, Abby; congratulations!”

“It’s coming out next month! I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

Amanda’s throat tightened as she maintained her smile. “I know, right? Is it already at the museum?”

“Oh, it’s at a warehouse right now.” Abigail let out a joyous gasp. “You should totally come see it!”

A tear rolled down Amanda’s face. Still smiling, she answered, “Hell yeah! Send me the address.”

“It’s close by Willy’s; you can’t miss it.”

After receiving the address and hanging up, Amanda bent forward, placed her hands over her face, and sobbed. She sat bent forward for a minute before picking herself up and wiping her eyes. With her shoulders rolled back, she exited her apartment and walked to the address Abigail sent her.

Amanda raised a brow upon entering. Only one security camera? At the front door? She gave a small shrug. Perhaps it did something.

A strong hug took her out of her thoughts, nearly pushing her off her feet. Abigail held her close and jumped.

“Glad you could make it!”

Amanda hugged her back, grinning like a child on Christmas. “Of course!” She grabbed Abigail’s shoulders and beamed at her. “So, where is it?”

“Oh! It’s right over here!”

Abigail practically dragged Amanda further down the aisle to a box sitting atop a pedestal. Abigail steadily lifted up the lid as if the entire box and its contents would break with any sudden movements. She and Amanda stared at the vase for several seconds before Amanda lifted a finger.

“That’s enough!” Abigail spat as she gently lowered the lid. “That is more than enough!”

Amanda brought up her hands. “Sorry!”

Abigail took a deep breath and smiled. “Ah, no worries.” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet and her heels, her face beaming with joy. “I can’t believe this is actually happening!”

Amanda shot her a smile and held her hand. “I can.”

Abigail locked eyes with her, pupils dilated, and squeezed her hand in turn.

Amanda looked back and forth between the box holding the vase and Abigail. “Hey, did you wanna celebrate?”

Abigail blinked. “Huh?”

Amanda put her arm around her. “C’mon, let’s go to Willy’s Whisky; my treat.”

Abigail giggled in response. “All right, let’s go.” She planted a quick kiss on Amanda’s lips before the twosome raced out of the warehouse.

The twosome promised each other they wouldn’t drink that much. They were foolish to believe each other.

Amanda couldn’t remember entirely what happened when she woke up. It must’ve been fun to have her shirt and bra laid out beside her. It took her a moment to come to her senses. As the world stopped spinning and lost its blur, she recognized her surroundings: she ended up in the warehouse, right next to Abigail’s vase.

She stumbled over her own weight. It took a moment to get to her feet. She swayed back and forth, staring dead at the boxed vase. Her face grew wet. She cursed herself for crying, for how her fingers dug into her palms.

She outstretched a hand towards the vase. She wanted to touch it. Just touch it. She reached too far, and the box tipped over. Her heart stopped at the loud crash.

She didn’t know what to do. Without thinking, she stuffed the box into her backpack. She quickly put her clothes on, then gently lowered the backpack out the window. She followed closely after, tumbling over on her way out. She couldn’t think or walk straight.

A groan greeted her. Abigail sat against the wall of the warehouse, her shirt unbuttoned. “Amanda?”

Amanda’s heart temporarily stopped. The alcohol hadn’t worn off entirely. “H… hi, babe.” She shook her head and slapped her face. She needed to get her thoughts together. “Let, uh, let’s head home.”

She helped Abigail to her feet, who was still waking up. She led Abigail to their apartment. Abigail fell asleep instantly on the bed. Amanda put the backpack in the closet, and lay on the couch, though she didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

***

It was a hectic morning – Amanda didn’t track the time between getting the call that Abigail’s vase had been stolen, the twosome calling the police, and Abigail swearing she’ll sue the warehouse for every penny they were worth.

Amanda wouldn’t stop sweating during the talk with the police, her mind continuously going to the backpack in her closet. She told the truth about what happened – she just left out a few details about what happened after her and Abigail’s celebration.

By the time the questioning was over, Amanda couldn’t believe it was already evening. It felt like she blinked between waking up and returning home. She closed the door with a sigh. Abigail was still in questioning.

Her hands shook as she took the vase out of her backpack. The large, broken shards greeted her, taunting her. She laid them out on a white sheet of cloth and got to work, thankful for her experience with glue.

Within an hour, Amanda put the vase back together. The cracks remained visible, emphasized by the glue. Amanda placed her face in her hands and wept. She crouched into a ball, shivering in time with her whimpers, letting several minutes tick by. Picking her head back up, she gazed out at her own work.

Amanda and Abigail lived in a two-bedroom apartment; they used the second bedroom as an art room for their work. Abigail displayed her work on the right hand side, Amanda on the left hand side. Abigail’s work resembled the vase before it shattered; symmetrical, symbolic, and delicately made.

Amanda’s work bore similarities to her attempts to repair the vase – warped, dull, and clumsily made.

Amanda looked to the vase and scowled. She slapped herself, instantly regretting it as her left cheek stung.

A click of the door made her jump. She stuffed the vase back in its box and crammed the box in her backpack. Releasing a constricting held breath, she darted for the door, where she greeted a slumped over Abigail.

“Welcome back,” Amanda said, pulling Abigail in for a hug. “How did it go?”

“I told them what happened,” Abigail answered with a somber sigh. “But, they didn’t find anything about the vase.”

Something in Amanda’s stomach flipped as she bit her lower lip. “D… don’t worry; they’ll find it.”

Abigail buried her face in Amanda’s shoulder, tightening her grip on her sweater.

Amanda squeezed her in turn. “Is there anything I can do?”

Abigail took a moment to answer. “You wanna just be on the bed? Watch some garbage TV?”

“Yeah, of course.” Amanda took Abigail by the hand and led her to the bedroom.

The twosome spent a while flipping through channels, looking for something mindless enough to take their thoughts on matters at hand.

Noting Abigail’s empty eyes, Amanda grew nauseous – head spinning, stomach churning, a green hue enveloping her face. “H… hey, don’t worry; you’ve done all you can.”

Abigail rested her head on Amanda’s shoulder, putting her hand over Amanda’s. “Maybe this is a sign.”

Amanda blinked. “What do you mean?”

Abigail’s lips curled into a small smile. “A sign that my work isn’t good enough to get into Sugarman.”

Amanda’s heart threatened to burst. She grabbed Abigail’s shoulders and forcibly made eye contact. “Are you crazy?! You should’ve gotten in the Sugarman Museum years ago!”

Abigail shrugged, avoiding Amanda’s desperate gaze. “It’s not fair that I got in the Museum and you didn’t.”

Amanda’s shoulders dropped, and her hands fell to her lap. She stared at Abigail like a forest fire, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“We promised to make it together,” Abigail continued, looking Amanda in the eye. “I’m sorry I forgot that.”

Amanda looked at her hands, fearing her lunch would come back up.

Abigail leaned back on her shoulder, smiling at the TV. “Ooh, it looks like Home Crisis is on; that’s always good for a laugh.” She giggled. “How much you wanna bet the main guy will throw a tantrum?”

Slowly, uncertain, Amanda put her arm around Abigail. “I’ll bet your entire art supply.”

Abigail bellowed. “Why mine?”

“Why not?”

***

Amanda lay in bed with Abigail that night, but she never once closed her eyes. Her mind raced with endless possibilities of how the police’s investigations would end with her. Even in the best outcome, she couldn’t see herself with Abigail.

Amanda left the bed at one in the morning to make an emergency trip to the bathroom, where her lunch from the previous day finally came back up. She remained bent over the toilet for a minute, panting and gasping and wheezing.

Eventually, she left the bathroom, and reached into her backpack. Her fingers dug into the box containing the vase, threatening to bleed. Sighing, dipping her head, Amanda placed the box on the kitchen table and got out a piece of paper.

***

Abigail awoke alone in bed. At the time, she didn’t think much of it; perhaps Amanda had decided to make breakfast. Her heart skipped a beat when she entered the empty kitchen, and her stomach flipped at what waited for her on the table: the box she’d kept her vase in.

She sprinted up to the box and, with slow, careful hands, lifted the lid. She held her breath, fearing her excitement had tricked her. She nearly cried when she peered inside – her vase greeted her, almost exactly as she remembered.

Something was different. Cracks decorated the vase, emphasized with glue. Looking over the vase, something appeared in the corner of her eye: a note. A short, simple note signed,

“I’m sorry.

– Amanda.”

Abigail’s heart raced. She opened the apartment door, furiously scanning the path along her apartment’s door. Finding nothing, she closed the door and dialed Amanda’s number. Nothing.

Abigail became incredibly still, uncaring eyes staring straight ahead at the blank white wall in front of her.

***

Abigail’s feature in the Sugarman Museum went as planned. She displayed the vase as it was when she found it, earning an awed reaction.

“Sorry it doesn’t look like its picture,” she said, “I made some last-minute creative decisions.” She looked to the vase with a melancholic grin. “I was inspired by my girlfriend, Amanda; I’m afraid she couldn’t be with us today.”

The display earned an applause from the crowd, and words of encouragement from the museum curator. After the feature, Abigail dialed Amanda’s number a second time. Nothing, still. With a sigh, she looked out the window to the streets.