( Gingerbread men? Does he... know that term? He seems to linger on it, thinking deeply for a moment.. but the snippets of association with the concept are strangely out of his reach, and he lets them fizzle away — giving a nod instead, as though making an important decision. )

I'd like to make gingerbread men. We can make everyone we know.

( That's.......... a lot of people....

The question, however, is something he's able to answer. It comes easily to him, even though he shrugs one shoulder upwards and tilts his cheek towards his shoulder to look away from her for a moment, another expression of shyness. )

Pretty long. Mom makes dolls too, but mine are different. ...She still likes them, though. ...She buys me things to make them with.

( All of this is said slowly, and a little awkwardly, but there's a sincerity, too. He hesitates for a moment, before adding something he was especially proud about. )

She bought me a hot glue gun.