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Baking with your mom was a throwback to simpler times.

As you crushed graham crackers in a bag underneath a rolling pin, you reminisced about school breaks that had come to pass. They were always filled with a few days of frenzied baking including cookies, cakes, brownie pans and chocolate bark. A good chunk of the fruit of your labours were typically carted off to friends and family, but the rest were packed into Tupperware to be nibbled on for the next few weeks of rest.

Your mom was across the kitchen loading brick after brick of cream cheese into a bowl while the mixer spun away beside her, whipping heavy cream into stiff peaks. You had portioned the brown sugar and butter for when the crushing was finished, to quickly mix the ingredients into a delicious crust that would be pressed into the springform pan beside your elbow.

The whizz of the mixer and your nostalgia almost overcame the sound of the phone ringing. Almost.

Your ears pricked at the discordance, putting the rolling pin down and turning away from the crumbs to grab the cordless phone. At your move, your mom turned the mixer off.

The number was familiar.

"Oh, it's work. Don't worry." You gave your mom a thumbs up and a wave to keep going, walking to your room. You pressed the answer button.

"Hello?"

"Hey." A man's voice came on from the other side, muffled yet instantly recognizable as your manager, Dave. His voice was high and pinched, the stress easily conveyed even with the distracting background noise. You could discern the scattered sounds of other people talking and shoes squeaking on the floor.

"Oh, hey."

Before you could ask him what he was calling for, Dave cut you off.

"Where are you?"

You pulled a face.

Sorry? I'm at home. You called my home phone."

His question was weird, but it set off alarm bells in your head and made your gut twist. You had an idea, a slow dawning horror, of what he was going to say.

"You were scheduled for today. Your shift started ten minutes ago."

Oh.

Oh no.

Your stomach uncurled and dropped to your feet. Somehow, between gift wrapping, napping, and whirlwind shopping the shift had slipped your mind completely.

"Sh-eeesshh I- I'm so sorry. It completely slipped my mind, I-" you cradled the phone to your cheek.

"I'll get dressed and come down right away. As soon as possible. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Dave was obviously strained, the placation stiff. There was no reassurance in his tone.

"Just get down here asap."

You nodded even though he couldn't see it.

"Okay."

You pressed the 'end call' button and stood there for a moment.

There was no way you had forgotten a shift. How could- it had never happened before. Being late to a shift? Definitely happened before, usually due to the bus schedule being off; and even then, you would make sure to call the manager on duty to explain your tardiness. Those were circumstances out of your control.

But this time you had been in control, and you had let it slip your mind. Carelessly.

Heat blossomed in your cheeks and nose. You raised a hand to your face, blinking away the tears that were gathering in the corners of your eyes. There was no time to cry over your idiocy. You had to get ready to go.

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