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“You’re kidding!”
“You saw us! Come on, Betty, I was not wearing that when I came to school this morning.”
“...okay, that’s true.”
Crossing her legs, Veronica adjusted the blanket on her lap as she leaned back against the soft couch. She couldn’t help but smile when Westley, Martha’s small green teddy bear, climbed up her legs and stretched his furry little arms out in a victory pose when he reached the top and settled on her right knee. Behind her pacifier, Martha giggled, and she left Westley in Veronica’s reliable hands to crawl back to Betty on the floor.
Betty, who was sitting at the far end of Martha’s baby blanket, was absently piling some Jenga blocks, left out from an earlier game long since abandoned, on top of one another. It looked more like a firewood pile than anything solid. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Veronica bit her lip, squeezing the sides of the little bear in her hands as she looked down at its smiling face.
“I’m not sure.”
She shifted to lie on her back, taking up both seats, head on the closest armrest, knees bent and holding up the blanket like tent poles, and letting Westley sit on her stomach, holding his little green paws in her relatively big hands.
“It’d be easier if I had an idea of what I could be,” she sighed, “I thought you two might be able to give me some perspective. You know? Catch what I missed.”
She looked over when Betty gave a surprised cry. Her little Jenga woodpile was destroyed by Martha taking a block from the very bottom of the stack. Veronica chuckled at Martha’s cheeky little “Oops!” and Betty’s quick, light-hearted gasp of “Martha! That’s naughty!”
They all had a nice laugh at that. Though they had a list of punishments just in case, Martha never really broke any rules to warrant any real punishment beyond a light scolding. Heavy on light. She was as sweet a baby as they came, and they all three knew it. They’ve known it all their lives.
Martha went and sat at the other end of the blanket from Betty, right by where Veronica was laying, and as she leaned against the couch in her pastel pink onesie with a unicorn and a rainbow on the front, the crown of her head poking Veronica’s side, she took out her pacifier.
“Maybe that’s your problem, Veronica,” said Martha, her voice somewhere between the one she used in littlespace and her normal pitch. “You’re overthinking. Again.”
Veronica scoffed. “Gee, thanks.” And she held Westley up over Martha’s head, grinning when Martha gasped and made grabby hands for him, pretending she couldn’t reach even though she could.
“Actually, Martha’s got a point, Ronnie,” Betty said. She shoved the toys aside and made her way over, crawling on her hands and knees just as Martha had done, and slipping Martha’s pacifier back between her slightly parted lips while she was distracted by Westley floating above her. “You want perspective, here it is: it’s really not that serious.”
Martha made a noise when she up and dropped Westley to sit up. Betty got up and took the remaining seat, pressing her hands to Veronica’s shoulders to squeeze them.
“Veronica,” Betty murmured, “Don’t think. What feels right to you?”
From the floor, Martha placed a hand on Veronica’s knee over the blanket to offer her comfort as well.
“We’re ‘ur bes’ frens,” she said, pacifier still in her mouth. She promptly removed it. “There’s no wrong answer, Veronica. Unless it doesn’t feel right for you. Being Little is about feeling good. It’s about feeling nice and warm and safe and cared for, like being wrapped in a big, warm, fuzzy blanket!”
“And being a Caregiver is... well, wrapping your Little one in that big, warm, fuzzy blanket,” Betty added as her hands fell off Veronica’s shoulders and slid down her back. “It’s... There’s something really satisfying about, like, being able to...”
And she was still thinking about how to word it when Veronica turned around, even locking eyes with Martha in the meantime.
“I’m thinking about the Heathers and none of what I’m about to say sounds like them at all,” Betty began again, touching her knuckle to her chin in thought as she caught Veronica’s gaze, “A Caregiver’s role is to make sure their Little is doing well, and that, in turn, leads the Little one to feel safe and trustful. It fulfills that sense of being needed by someone, even if it’s for mundane things, and it goes both ways, because all relationships, ideally, are equal parts give-and-take. So, if Martha’s way of explaining it is being wrapped in a blanket, then mine would be providing the blanket to wrap her up in, and the feel-good part about it is one, seeing her enjoying herself, and two, knowing I had something to do with it. Hmm...”
Betty scratched her chin.
“It also has to do with how compatible you are, personality-wise, I think. The three of us, for example, we’re lucky. Right? Martha’s Little, I’m a Caregiver, and, to us, by default, you seem more of a Caregiver. But the Heathers... who even are they? Every time I try to think of them as Chandler, and Duke, and McNamara, I keep thinking just Chandler, Chandler, and Chandler, and that’s just... too many Chandlers.”
Veronica chuckled, turning back around to face Betty fully. “Yeah, she’s... yeah.” She shrugged. “I mean, Heather Chandler’s a bit intense, but she’s fine for the most part. Heather Duke and Heather McNamara are okay too. They’re definitely a bit less scary up close.” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. I mean, we’ve only hung out today. I guess I’m just...” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m trying to reconcile my new life and my old one, you know?”
“Walk us through it, Ronnie,” Betty said.
Veronica swallowed, tucking her knees to her chest. “Like, with you guys, I’m safe. With them... I mean, I might be, they certainly want me to think so, and I do want to believe it... but I’m not holding my breath.”
“So you don’t trust them.”
“Not really. Or, I guess, not yet. And as much as they made a show about feeding me and blah, blah, blah, that could’ve just been that—for show. I have no idea what they want to do with me tomorrow.” She hugged her legs. “I want to think Heather gave me a clue when she told me not to worry my ‘Little’ head, but like I said earlier, they don’t seem to care that I'm not exactly Little.” And lowering her chin to the valley of her knees, she mumbled, “They probably think I’m just being a brat.”
Betty and Martha looked at each other. Betty smiled.
“Then do it,” Martha said.
“What?”
“Be a Little Brat.” Betty nodded.
Veronica’s head shot up. “But—”
“Ronnie,” Betty interjected somewhat firmly. “Like I said, it’s not that serious. Have fun with it! If you like it, keep doing it. If you don’t, try something else. As long as you’re having a good time, that’s what you should focus on. We know you’ve got it in you to stop if you think you’re taking it too far.”
“Did the Heathers mention rules yet?” Martha asked, hugging Westley to her chest.
Veronica shook her head. “Not yet.” And to Betty, “I don’t know how to be a brat. And I don’t want them to hate me!”
“They’re not going to hate you, okay? Look, here’s what we’re going to do...” Then Betty stopped. She checked the clock. “Well, first, we’re putting Martha to bed, and then you and I are going to prep. I know a few places.”
Martha pouted. “Five more minutes?”
Betty and Veronica looked at each other. They looked at Martha. And then Betty gently shook her head.
“‘Fraid not, Marty. I’ll put away your toys tonight so say goodnight to Ronnie.”
Martha bit her lip, looking down at Westley. For a moment, Veronica thought she was going to cry. But then Martha lifted her head, looked Betty straight in the eye, and blew a raspberry at her. Veronica’s eyes widened, and so did Betty’s, as they stared at her.
And then Martha broke into a giggle at their faces.
“Was that a good example of bratty behavior?” she asked. “I’d throw in some kicking and screaming, but I don’t want to wake my parents.”