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He doesn’t know why they agreed to adopt him, but then again, he doesn’t know why he agreed to be adopted either. Either there’s something wrong with them, or something’s wrong with him.
Well, more wrong with him. More than normal.
They sing in the car. Songs he doesn’t know from shows he’s never heard of. They sound nice though. Betty really likes musicals, and Veronica has a soft spot for the bubblegum pop songs from the top 40 (or 50 or 100, however that works). He wonders what their arguments are like, how explosive they are. Veronica seems the type to get angry and yell, maybe violent if pushed far enough, and Betty the type to cry helplessly until she numbs herself with drink or sleep medicine.
He’s heard lesbians are more likely to take in the kids no one else wants, those who were damaged, diseased, needs special attention, has behavioral problems, mental issues, the whole shebang, and he concludes this is why they decided on him. He’s a problem child, no doubt about it. Damaged and done for. He’d age out of the system in a few months’ time, why did they even bother? They’re about as old as he is. Hell, Veronica’s younger. The fact that this is at all legal is strange enough as is.
“You okay, sweetie?” Betty asks beside him, and he turns his head, offers a half-smile, and nods. She accepts this, smiling brighter as she strokes his hair. “You tell us if we’re being too much and we’ll tone it down, okay?”
He nods again as Veronica tells Betty she can never be too much, and clutches his duffel bag as Veronica makes a big turn. They drove all the way from Sherwood to pick him up. That’s a 3-hour trip to, and 6 hours round. He can’t think of a single reason beyond the superficial why they’d go so far out of the way for someone like him.
Surely they can’t love him. They don’t even know him. Throughout all their visits, he made sure they didn’t get to know anything about him so no one would get attached, and they’d give up and stop wasting both their time and his. But even if they did know things about him, things the agency told them, of course, they’re wrong, because they didn’t know him either, and he’s as close to unloveable as could be.
They’ll see. They’ll realize what a huge mistake they made and throw him back in the system faster than he can open his mouth.
Veronica pulls into the driveway of a large house, way too large for just two—now three—and opens the door for him and holds his duffel as he unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out. Betty follows him out on his side.
They’re both pretty, he’ll give them that. Veronica is in that mischievous sort of way, with a twinkle in her eye and a fun smile, and Betty is in that classic feminine way which radiates warmth and trust. If he has to pick one to save if they were about to fall off a cliff, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to.
They make their way up to the front door, and as Betty unlocks it, Veronica says, “We’ll give you a little tour and let you decompress in your room. You wanna walk beside us, or hold one of our hands?”
He shrugs, discreetly testing to see if his palms are sweaty, and stiffens a little when she pats his shoulder before gesturing for him to go ahead of her. He does, taking his shoes off on the mat. He doesn’t take off his coat.
The stairs are one of the first things he sees, but first they show him the two living rooms, where the downstairs bathroom is, the kitchen, the door leading to the backyard, and passing by their shared office space before looping back around to the stairs. Then they show him the bathroom, with a little space all ready for him, the large playroom which used to be Veronica’s childhood bedroom, the master bedroom where she and Betty now sleep, the guest bedroom with a crib inside it, and finally his bedroom, which has a regular bed (thank God) with a Buzz Lightyear bedding set, a green dinosaur sitting on the pillow, a bedside table, and a brown dresser sitting beside the window.
“Betty, did you forget to close the window again?” Veronica asks. “You let a dinosaur get in!”
Betty feigns a gasp. “So I see! Well, he looks friendly enough so I suppose it’s all right.”
“Hope so. Or we just might have to burn the house down.”
“Ronnie!”
Veronica laughs.
He smiles at their antics in spite of himself. What a pair of dorks.
Their fights must be bad.
He doesn’t sit on the bed just in case he dirties it up, nor approaches the friendly dino taking up residence on his pillow with its green skin, tiny pink spots, and purple spikes all along its back. Even at a distance, he can tell it’s homemade, but whether it’s knitting or the other one is beyond him. He clutches tight the straps of his duffel and waits for more instruction, keeping his feet together and trying to take up as little space as possible.
After exchanging a light kiss with Veronica, Betty excuses herself to go downstairs. Veronica steps inside.
“Betty made that little guy just for you,” she says, nodding to the dino, “so don’t forget to say thank you, okay? He doesn’t have a name yet, so feel free to name him—or her—whatever you like.”
He swallows, nodding some more. He can only look at her for so long before it becomes awkward, so he shifts his gaze to the floor as she approaches.
“Hey,” she says softly, and he looks up at her again. “You don’t have to talk, but Betty and I need you to communicate with us, okay, buddy?”
He nods again, and she smiles. He stiffens again as her warm palm cups his cheek, but eases just as quickly.
“You’re safe here, kiddo,” she says, almost whispering as she caresses his cheek with her thumb. “Betty and I are here to help, and love, and take care of you, no matter what. I’m only sorry it took us so long. Bureaucracy, amirite?”
He smiles against her touch. She gets it.
Her own smile only grows.
“That’s my boy.” And then she pulls away, heading backwards toward the door. “Take some time to get comfortable, unpack, take deep breaths. I’ll come back up to check on you in ten minutes. Or, when you’re ready, come downstairs for a snack—Betty’s cookies are to die for! Then we can decide what to do from there, okay?”
He nods again, still smiling at her. When she leaves, and she’s on her way down the stairs, he heaves a sigh.
The excitement of a new place only lasts so long. Now his stomach is all in knots, and not the good kind. Not to his knowledge.
He picks a corner and sits down on the beige carpet, eyeing the bedroom from one end to the other, taking it all in. He wonders how it’d feel to be here forever, to walk in and not feel like a stranger, that things were his, and always will be.
After ten minutes, as promised, Veronica returns with a pencil and a blue notebook.
“We’ll work on some sign language later, but this should do for now, yeah?”
He nods. He already thought about how he’d thank Betty for Mr. Dino, but this is much easier and involves less touching. And certainly less talking.
He hates his voice. Fuck almighty, he hates how he sounds. It doesn’t fit what a little boy should sound like, and he knows they’ll hate it too.
The rest of the day goes by smoothly, but he still keeps on his guard for signs not all is well in paradise. Betty and Veronica are too good to be true, and what seems so usually is. They can’t be good all the time. There has to be cracks. How much of this was post-adoption high, and when will it wear off?
They can’t not fight, and the longer it takes, the more sure he is it’ll be messy. There will be tears and words and maybe blood at its worst. He eagerly awaits it so he can know what it’ll be like. So he can prepare. So he can prove himself right, that they’re not the perfect greeting-card family type, that something is either wrong with them or more wrong with him. Or both.
Veronica helps him bathe that first evening after a great lasagna dinner made by Betty, who does most of the cooking because Veronica can’t. They alternate between who washes the dishes at what time of day, and since Betty is taking care of the dinner dishes that night, Veronica takes care of him.
She’s firm when washing his hair, but he loves having her nails against his scalp. It reminds him of his mom, how she used to wash his hair when
Actually, it’s better if he doesn’t dwell on it.
They’re both around to tuck him in, and Mr. Dino, and they read to him and talk about how they’re going to decorate his room now that he’s here to make decisions with them. They were thinking about a desk—where would he like it? And books, did he have a favorite series or genre they could get for him? Since they know he likes to read. They ought to go clothes shopping soon too. And if he has any requests for toys or games he’d like, might as well tackle that while they’re out—does he?
They act like he’ll be with them long enough to make use of any of that.
They both kiss his brow before they go, and he shakes his head when Betty asks if he needs a nightlight. They leave his door ajar, and the hall light, which they have on all night, slips in through the crack.
He has his same nightmare about his mom again, and his dad leaving, but this time he doesn’t wake anyone up. If he does, they don’t mention it in the morning when they ask how he slept.
A week goes by before something happens. By that point, he’s as settled as he can be; Mr. Dino smells like him; the cat likes him; Betty and Veronica have gotten him a desk, new clothes, and some books (he asked for the first A Series of Unfortunate Events book and Veronica “accidentally” ordered the whole set); and Betty and Veronica still haven’t fought. On his third and fourth nights, he sneaks into the hall to listen to them converse in their bedroom, but he doesn’t hear much, if at all. At most, Veronica bursts into laughter and Betty shushes her for being too loud. On occasion, Betty giggles and Veronica eggs her on until she lets out a scream, but again, not much in the way of conflict.
They read him three chapters a night from The Secret Garden, alternating narrator roles every other night, and Betty barely starts on the twenty-second chapter before Veronica’s phone rings down the hall.
“Keep going,” she says as she rises from his bed, taking with her all the warmth they’ve accumulated with his head in her lap and her hand caressing his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Betty does, her soft voice clear as a bell as she reads for Ben and Dickon, and struggling with the Yorkshire accent. She has a good sense of humor, laughing through her mistakes, and he can’t help but smile and even chuckle at her attempts right alongside her. Veronica is no better, though when she flubs, she runs with it.
It isn’t long before Veronica comes back, having changed out her pajamas for a light blue tracksuit. He sits up, and Betty, looking up from her book, also turns.
“That was Heather,” Veronica says, pulling her dark brown hair into a short ponytail. “I’m going to get her. I’ll be quick.”
“What’s wrong?” Betty asks.
Veronica only sighs and shakes her head. Then she leaves, and all the blood drains from his face when she disappears from sight. Even before the front door closes, his heart starts racing, his stomach drops, his eyes blur with tears, and a noise akin to a squeak escapes his throat before he can stop himself. He grips tight to Betty’s nightgown when she sets herself before him, silently sobbing into her shoulder when she coaxes him to lean on her. She holds him tight, cradling the back of his head, and alternating between rubbing circles on his back and rocking him gently from side to side.
“Mommy will be back soon, baby,” she murmurs in his ear, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, oh, you’re okay...”
All he can do is hold on to her tighter. On one hand he’s glad it’s Betty who stays home because he doesn’t want to look this weak in front of Veronica. On the other hand, he wants Veronica. She and Betty have different styles of holding him, and Veronica fits better. Veronica can withstand him. He can be a little bit rough with her and he knows she can handle it. Betty is too gentle, too soft and sweet. Fragile. If he’s not careful, he’ll break her, he’s sure of it.
She suggests finishing his three chapters to take his mind off, but he only reinforces his grip. Besides, she doesn’t seem very enthusiastic at the idea of reading anymore, not with the Heather thing hanging over her head. He decides he hates Heather. He hates her for doing this to Betty and Veronica, and also to him.
Betty keeps with the soothing whispers and gentle caresses until he’s had enough touching and loosens his hold, and she thumbs away his tears with her non-judgmental smile and kisses his cheek.
“That better?” she asks.
He nods, sniffing pitifully.
“Want some water?”
He nods again, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand. She leaves momentarily and returns with a box of tissues, setting it beside him on the bed in front of Mr. Dino, and she pats the crocheted—he knows now, it’s crochet—plush on its big, round green head.
“Mr. Dino, please take care of JD, will you?” she asks, squeezing one of its little crochet claws, “He’s feeling a little sad and scared because Veronica’s not here, and he could really use some comfort. Can I leave him in your capable hands until I come back?”
Mr. Dino stares at her, and she smiles brightly at him.
“Thank you! I’ll be right back, okay? It won’t take but a minute.”
He curls into a ball, hugging Mr. Dino in his arms, and waits. The tears come back quickly, and he hides under the covers.
God, his stomach hurts.
Betty returns with warm water in a bottle, allegedly so he doesn’t spill it, but he takes it. She settles in the spot Veronica left, and he curls into a ball in her lap. She brushes his hair from his forehead, and he reaches up with one hand to play with the tips of hers, long golden brown to contrast Veronica’s short dark chestnut, twirling a couple of strands around his finger before letting go.
Though he still thinks their fights must be catastrophic when they happen, if they do, he understands more and more why they don’t. They’re the rare kind of couple who complement each other like it was written in the cosmos, and keeping the peace is as effortless as breathing. He sees it in the way Betty’s first instinct is to compromise when Veronica wants to do something she’s not comfortable with, and how Veronica always considers Betty’s feelings, advice, and opinion even on little things.
They’re always in agreement about him though. When one makes a decision regarding him (such as when to take a bath), the other doesn’t question it. There doesn’t seem to be any worry over who he favors more, no one-upping each other for his affection or attention, which makes him feel a little bad for having a favorite at all. But then he gets the sense that if he tells them which one he likes more, the other would wholeheartedly agree. No hard feelings.
He’s never met a more selfless pair, and he desperately wants them to be true.
When he’s calm enough, Betty accompanies him to the bathroom to wash his face and puts him to bed herself before going to wait for Veronica and Heather downstairs. They come home shortly after half past eleven, not at all quick as promised, and he lies in the dark listening. Unfamiliar footsteps and quiet cries pass his cracked door and settle in the master bedroom. Betty makes a return.
“Heather’s going to sleep with Veronica,” she says gently, sitting at the edge of his bed. “Would you like me to stay with you tonight?”
He can’t tell if she’s asking for his sake or her own, but for what it’s worth, he reaches a hand out from under the covers and signs yes. She takes up the right side of the bed, spooning him and caressing his arm.
“You’ll meet Heather first thing tomorrow,” Betty says after a yawn. “I think you’ll like her; she’s very sweet.”
He’s already decided he hates her, but he keeps that to himself, hugging Mr. Dino to his chest.
“Goodnight, JD. Sweet dreams, okay?”
After some hesitation, he rolls over, bringing Mr. Dino with him, and reaches a hand up to gently touch Betty’s warm cheek. She lets him, placing the hand which was on his shoulder over his, and smiles against his palm before kissing it.
For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t dream of his mom, and he decides he appreciates Betty a lot more than he did before. She’s everything soft and kind in the world, and what’s more, they fit better now.
He wakes the next morning when Betty does, but keeps his eyes closed so she doesn’t know. She does her best not to jostle him as she gets out of bed, making sure Mr. Dino is in his arms before smoothing his hair, planting a kiss on his temple, and slipping out so quietly it’s not until he hears her greeting Veronica good morning all the way down the hall that he even knows she left. She also closed his door without him hearing it too.
He drifts off again for a little while, and opens his eyes to Veronica sitting at the edge of his bed, and he eagerly rolls over to face her. She chuckles.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, flashing her eyes. “Did you miss me?”
He nods. He sure did.
She helps him get ready for the day, picking out his clothes and watching him brush his teeth, and as he’s busy she explains about Heather.
The Heather in their house is Heather McNamara. She’s the baby girl of a trio of Heathers, and her caregivers, Heather Chandler and Heather Duke—yes, really, they’re all Heathers—sometimes get into heated arguments. When it’s too much for her, Heather McNamara spends some downtime here to recover from the stress. Stress which, in Veronica’s humble opinion, shouldn’t be happening, and certainly not as often as it does.
“Don’t you think Betty and I will forget about you now that Heather’s here,” Veronica says softly, rubbing his back as he washes his face. “Our routine will need some tweaking, but you’re still our boy, and we love you very much.”
Yeah, he knows how this goes. And he trusts them. Mostly.
“Can I trust you to be gentle with her, bud?” she asks, offering a hopeful smile.
He nods. He’ll try for her. Veronica, not Heather. Fuck Heather. And he’ll try for Betty too, of course.
He holds Veronica’s warm hand and lets her lead him downstairs, closer and closer to the newest member of the house.
His first glimpse of Heather McNamara is her sitting in a highchair, bouncing in her seat as she kicks her feet, clutching a plush yellow chick in one hand and making it hop about the tray. She has medium-length blonde hair pulled into two high pigtails on either side of her head, and large brown eyes which lock on them as soon as came into the kitchen.
“Mommy!” she cries in her cutest little voice, kicking some more as she reaches for Veronica with her free hand. Veronica chuckles, kissing the back of Heather’s hand as she approaches her.
”Good morning, my little pony!”
Heather giggles, reaching out both arms to be taken out of her seat, and it’s only then he notices the hood of her white onesie. It’s a unicorn.
He slips into his chair nearby, and scoots a couple inches in the opposite direction. His eyes travel to Betty at the stove making chocolate-chip pancakes, and he has half a mind to go help if only to get as far away from the new baby as politely as possible.
He gets to cut his own pancakes under Betty’s watch, and he focuses hard on doing it good so he doesn’t look at Heather. He can feel her eyes on him as Veronica feeds her her pancakes, already cut up and sticky with syrup. He steals a peek at her when he takes a sip of his apple juice, not from a bottle or a sippy cup, but a regular blue cup without a lid.
She makes a grunting noise, and he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t care what she does, so long as it doesn’t involve him.
“Hm?” asks Veronica. “What is it, Heather?”
Heather grunts again, more insistently, and he wonders where the cat is, if Mr. Kitty Fantastico has had his breakfast yet.
Veronica gasps. “You want to eat all by yourself?”
“Yes!” Heather says, and he can hear her nod as she does so.
“I think she wants to copy JD,” Betty says with a small giggle, daintily wiping at the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“I think so!” says Veronica. “That’s so cute.”
“So cute!” Betty agrees.
No one asks what he thinks about it. He thinks it’s stupid. And if it’s all monkey-see-monkey-do, it’s going to be a very long day.
He spends a lot of his time sitting on the landing between the stairs. It’s his favorite spot to idle at. Sometimes the cat joins him. While Heather plays with her toys in the living room, TV on in the background, and Veronica works in the office space she shared with Betty, and Betty is upstairs finding or folding laundry, he sits with his back to the wall and imagines what it must be like to grow up in this house.
It’s already plenty big, but it must’ve been an absolute castle to Veronica as a child. He wonders what mundane spots hold special places in her heart, and what spots Betty prefers. He imagines what it’d be like to crawl among the carpet, walk into the waiting arms of loving parents, fall asleep curled in a ball on the one warm spot she hasn’t moved from in an hour, and know that wherever she is within those walls, she belongs there.
Granted, he can do most all that now, but that would just mean Heather would copy him, and that annoyed him. She’s such a handful.
He jumps when Betty lets out a cry above him, laundry basket in her arms.
“What are you doing here, sitting all by yourself?” she asks, shaking her head. “Oh, Jason, I nearly tripped over you!”
He gets up quickly, clutching the hem of his shirt as he lowers his head in shame, and to show she isn’t angry—nothing ever angers Betty—she gently cups his cheek in her warm hand and smiles when he looks at her.
“Come downstairs, will you, sweetheart?”
He shakes his head, and she sighs a little, somewhat disappointed but hardly surprised.
“Suit yourself.”
Veronica didn’t specify how long Heather stays when recuperating from her damage, but it’s been a very long four days since her arrival, and it doesn’t seem like she’ll be going home any time soon.
He likes her when she naps, because that means peace and quiet for at least an hour, but she takes forever to go down. Veronica or Betty have to sing to her. They also have to change her diaper, and flatter her with babytalk. It’s way too saccharine, even for them. Compared to her, he’s a roommate. Or a well-trained dog.
They watch their usual Friday movie, but thanks to Heather it has to be kid-friendly. The week before, he got to choose, and he chose Dead Poets Society. This week, Heather chooses, and she chooses Boss Baby. Somehow, he’s not surprised.
Bedtime is by far his least favorite time of day, all because of Heather, naturally. He doesn’t mind that only one caregiver can bid him goodnight at a time now, nor that he only gets one chapter of a bedtime story rather than three, nor even that he goes to bed half an hour earlier than before (so Heather can listen to the bedtime story too).
No, what he minds is all the goddamn crying.
Now he knows why there’s a crib in the guest room next door. They put her in it and she acts like they’re locking her out of the house. “Please open the door!” sounds a lot like “Please stay with me!” and “Let me in!” is “I need you!” or “Don’t go!”
And she’s only coherent maybe 40% of the time. The rest of it is just sobs, wails, and whines for Mama and Mommy. He knows she’s wide awake when she’s high-pitched and shrieking, and exhausted when it’s low moans. But she doesn’t fucking quit. No pause for breath, or stopping to think maybe what she’s doing is futile, she just goes on and on and on. Her record is an hour straight. One full hour, sixty minutes, of nonstop howling.
Maybe that’s why the other Heathers fight.
There’s something wrong with Heather, that much is obvious, but now, on the fifth night of this bullshit, he knows there’s something wrong with Betty and Veronica too. Why are they just leaving Heather to cry like this? Can’t they hear her all the way down the hall? He’s certain he can hear her from downstairs. In fact, he’s certain the whole neighborhood can hear Heather. The whole town, the whole state of Ohio. People on Pluto can hear that sniveling crybaby crying like a bitch because it’s the only sound in the entire universe to shatter the sound barrier by sheer annoyance. So why can’t they?
Or, are they purposefully ignoring her?
And if they are... can they ignore him too?
This isn’t the kind of crack he was hoping to find when he agreed to be adopted by them. He knew they were too good to be true.
He’ll have to figure out what to make of that in the morning, but first he needs to shut that girl up so he can sleep. Crawling out of bed, he tiptoes to his door and pulls it open, praying it doesn’t creak. Not that it matters since Heather easily covers up the noise, but still.
He tiptoes into the hall, illuminated by a hallway nightlight, and Heather shuts up mid-sob as he pushes her cracked door open, and peers inside.
He remembers reading somewhere that babies are more likely to cry in bedrooms with yellow walls, but the walls are white with Winnie the Pooh stickers all over. There are two nightlights on opposite ends of the room, and the crib has lots of stuffed animals in it, including that of a life-sized teddy.
And at the very center of the crib sits Heather McNamara in her Pooh onesie, that yellow chick plush between her criss-crossed legs, drying her eyes with the backs of her hands and sniffling pitifully. When she’s as good as she can be, she gets up on her knees, and reaches for him with both arms over the railing of her little crib, which sits squarely on the floor. He finds the latch easily, but doesn’t open it as he approaches.
She grunts insistently, opening and closing her damp fists as she reaches out for him, threatening to start crying all over again when he continues to stare at her without any intention of touching her.
“Dee!” she says, and she tries reaching through the bars rather than over the rail when her arms tire. She grunts again, more whiny than before.
He checks that no one is at the bedroom door before he carefully unhooks and opens the door of the crib. But instead of crawling out and making a run for it to Betty and Veronica’s room, Heather grabs his arm and tries to pull him into the crib with her, fully prepared to burst into tears at any sign of resistance. He can tell. He knows her face.
He hates that he can predict it.
“Will you stop crying if I stay with you?” he whispers.
Her only response is to reach for him with her other hand like she expects him to pull her into his lap and offer cuddles. Who does he look like, Betty?
“Ugh, fine.”
All this for a good night’s sleep.
He slips in beside her, using the stomach of the giant teddy as a pillow because it’s too big to move, and frankly, he doesn’t care enough. It’s a bit crowded, but so long as she’s finally quiet, he won’t complain. While he lays down and tries to get comfortable, she offers him stuffed animal after stuffed animal with a questioning noise to ask if it’ll do, and he waves each one away because no, he doesn’t need one. He pats the mattress and she promptly settles beside him, using his arm as a pillow. She’s still shaky and sniffly from her crying jag earlier, and they lie facing each other, her staring up at him with those big brown Bambi eyes.
He closes his eyes, only to open them again when her legs wrap around his, and she presses closer to him.
God, he hates her. She’s so pathetic. No wonder she’s a baby, she can’t do anything. She can’t even be alone without falling to pieces.
Then she kisses him, somewhere between his cheek and his chin.
“Night-night, Dee-Dee.”
She’s practically on top of him as she drifts off to sleep, one hand resting on his left shoulder, her legs trapping his between hers. It’s a little weird she’s asleep before he is, but the important thing is she’s not crying, and if she’s not crying, it’s quiet. He’ll settle for cramped if it means she’s finally fucking quiet.
He doesn’t recall falling asleep, but he wakes up before she does, presumably before Veronica and Betty do too, and he eyes the room in much the same way as he had his own on this first day. Beyond a changing table, a white dresser, the closet, the stickers on the walls, and the yellow curtains, not much to look at except for Heather, peacefully asleep on his shoulder.
And for some reason, so close, he sees her differently.
She’s him, but louder. She’s what he felt like after his mom died and his dad left him at some orphanage or whatever that place was, and he knew he was never going to see him again. But instead of shutting down, she never shuts up. She screams and cries so someone will come and take care of her, while he does his best to take care of himself. Being alone stopped scaring him ages ago, but she hasn’t learned that yet. With caregivers like Veronica and Betty, maybe she never will.
Moving comes with its usual morning soreness, but he endures it to brush her hair from her eyes. He didn’t dream about his mom. As far as he knew, he didn’t dream at all, but still. He wonders what she’s dreaming about.
“Awwwww, so that’s where you were,” comes Veronica’s voice at the door. She lowers her phone before pushing the door wide open and stepping in. “What a sweet big brother you are, JD.”
How badly he wants to push Heather away from him right now. Luckily, Heather wakes up just then and sets her sights on Veronica, allowing him to quickly and easily get up and out of the crib without risking more tears first thing.
“How’s my brave girl?” Veronica asks, opening the door to the crib and sits at the very end of it, and Heather easily plants herself in Veronica’s lap for a snuggle.
He runs directly into Betty as soon as he reaches the door, startling them both. After she heaves a relieved sigh, hand over her heart, she bids him good morning and takes him downstairs to get started on breakfast. It’s oatmeal today. Oatmeal and fresh fruit.
He makes Heather’s bottle himself, testing to see if it’s warm enough the way he’s seen Veronica and Betty do several times a day for the last week. And when Veronica and Heather come down, he gives it to her personally, prompting another round of fawning from Veronica. She pulls him into a warm embrace and squeezes him just right.
“You’re such a good boy,” she murmurs in his ear, hand combing through his hair. “My sweet boy.”
He smiles against her shoulder, heaving a calm sigh against it, taking in her warm, comforting scent.
He belongs now, he truly does.
The rest of the day goes by too fast. He and Mr. Dino play with Heather and her yellow chick Peep in the living room. They watch old episodes of Blue’s Clues, Arthur, and Big Big World on the flatscreen. And he stays with her during nap time, silently reading his books on the floor while she sleeps on the couch. She goes down easy that day, pastel yellow pacifier in her mouth, her shiny brown eyes on him always.
She still copies him in her own way, gripping her kid spoon and fork with her whole hand as she feeds herself instead of having Veronica or Betty feed her. He lets her feed him one thing off her plate—a boiled carrot—and she eats a piece of broccoli in exchange.
He’s saved from taking a bath with her though, thankfully. Betty takes care of him tonight, her nails are just as nice against his scalp, and Veronica handles Heather.
Once he’s all ready for bed—jammies on, teeth brushed, bladder empty—he grabs Mr. Dino and Betty by their hands and leads the way to Heather’s room, where Veronica is sitting in the crib with the door open and her legs hanging out, and Heather is sitting in Veronica’s lap, resting her head on her shoulder like she’s already asleep.
Veronica exchanges a look with Betty, eyes darting from her to Heather, and Betty mumbles an “Oh...”
He looks between them, bracing for the bad news.
“JD,” Betty begins, placing a hand on his shoulder after withdrawing her hand from his, “Heather’s going home tomorrow.”
He blinks.
“Oh.”
He sinks to the floor on his knees. Of course that’s the bad news. Just when he’s finally gotten used to her too! Of course she has to leave.
“The Heathers texted earlier today,” Veronica continues, tapping his knee with her toe in what he supposed is a feeble attempt to comfort him, mostly because that’s as far as she can reach without moving Heather. “They were actually going to come pick her up this afternoon, but I convinced them to wait until tomorrow.”
“It’s just that you two were finally getting along,” Betty supplies, “We wanted you to have the full day.”
That makes sense.
He’d planned on spending the night with her again, keeping her comforted so she’d be quiet, but he likes Veronica’s proposal better. They grab a large bedsheet, a bunch of blankets and pillows, and each their favorite stuffed animal—Veronica has a blue teddy named Cody, and Betty a gray bunny with large floppy ears named Mary—and get to work building a pillow fort in the living room. Veronica shows them how she used to do it, grabbing a few chairs from the kitchen, while Betty pulls a couple of encyclopedias from the shelves to keep their makeshift bedsheet roof in place.
Sleeping arrangements isn’t as big of an issue as he fears it is. Veronica and Betty naturally take the ends, and Veronica pulls him onto her lap, hugging his waist while Betty pulls Heather into hers and coaxes her head onto her shoulder. They swap stories of the first sleepover at the house that they can recall, Betty and Veronica, and he finds himself quite soothed by their banter. Betty’s gentle voice is a lullaby in his ear, and Veronica’s warmth coaxes him deeper into sleep.
By the time he remembers Heather, she’s beat him to dreamland, not a single tear in sight for the first time in a week. He’s warm and safe and surrounded by warmth of a different kind.
Angels do exist, he decides, and their names are Veronica and Betty.
Once, he only had one mommy. Then he lost her. Now he has two mommies and a little sister. And that’s more than he could’ve ever hoped for.