Millicent
Halfway through the shift, the smell of bacon hit me wrong and I had to dash to the bathroom. When I emerged, pale and shaky, Betty was waiting with a glass of ginger ale and a knowing look.
"Afternoon and evening shifts might work better for you," she said quietly. "At least for a while."
She didn't ask, but she knew. Of course she knew. Betty had seen enough young women come through her diner to recognize morning sickness when she saw it.
"You rest whenever you need to, honey," she added, pressing a packet of crackers into my hand. "We take care of our own here."
By the end of my shift, I'd made enough in tips to buy groceries. Betty caught me counting the bills and cleared her throat.
"I already called my friend at the grocery store," she said. "You can start tomorrow ni
