For someone so reserved and so grumpy, her best friend couldn't half be a drama queen. She scoffed at the bitchy little way he rolled his eyes, angling himself just so to make sure she caught it, even from his raised position. She dug her fingers into the meat of his calves, a silent - and final - warning to stop dicking about and get down.
"Think fast?" she parroted, eyebrows shooting up in confusion. Surely, he wasn't expecting her to catch him? Not only would that absolutely bugger his back, she didn't think she'd get out entirely in one piece either. Relief washed over her as she stretched out her arms and found herself cradling a plastic Santa like a baby. He gazed up at her with love, adoration, and sheer Christmas spirit painted across his plastic features. He'd done absolutely nothing to deserve a strangling.
"You've had your fun, get down now." she insisted, switching the plastic Santa so he was nestled into the crook of one arm. The other stretched out, ready to steady Avery should she need to, watching as he slowly, finally made his way down the ladder. Only when he was firmly on solid ground did Sloane turn her back on him, bustling into the kitchen with her new festive infant.
She upturned a mug that had been lying on the draining board (a Moonpig special, a present for Avery's last birthday, featuring a rather adorable selfie of them, Sloane's cheek squashed against Avery's own) and began running the tap. She beckoned Avery into the kitchen, unearthing a foil pack of painkillers. It wouldn't do much to take the edge off - not with the kind of pain Avery had, but it was all she could do.
"And is he...an elf?" she teased, gesturing to the new Christmas decor.
Sloane didn't know a lot about Avery's Dad. She wasn't even sure if he permanently resided in this country, or if like her parents, had no desire to step foot out of miserable, rainy England. All she knew was that when anyone brought him up, Avery's face twisted into a mask of displeasure. And Sloane didn't like seeing that look on Avery's face, so she tried to avoid bringing him up all together.
Bouncing the Santa-baby in her arms - he was quite sweet, really - Sloane let out a sharp, high pitched laugh.
"Me?" she cried, "Why, does he need somebody to sing at his Bat Mitzvah?"
She smirked, pleased with her own joke.
"Surely, he's not coming all the way here to meet me."
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