He scowled, but I wasn’t going to argue this point.
“It isn’t good to keep secrets from friends,” he hinted.
“Oh good, I’m glad you’ve finally admitted we’re friends,” I returned easily.
He glowered at me which perversely made me happy. Glowering was a strong expression; he was definitely learning to feel more. I began racking my brain for an inconsequential topic to discuss.
“When do you guys typically get up to open presents?” I asked.
He shrugged, “Depends. Last year it was 8.”
I blinked, “Wow, you have some serious self control. I could never make it past 6.”
He shrugged, “It’s nothing big. Just family time.”
I smiled, “I think that’s so much better, don’t you? It really should be about family. Not presents. Stupid Santa Claus.”
He shook his head slightly, “You are so bizarre.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“Do you frequently insult kind old men who give children presents?” he asked.
“If you recall, he also gives out coal.”
“Only to the bad ones.”
“And what makes a kid bad?” I challenged him.