Page 113 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

He held her back. Tucked his arms around her fluffy puffer coat, and Yulia let him.

“He has nowhere else to go,” Hollis said against her cheek. Like he rarely did, like she rarely let him. “I wouldn’t want him to if he did.”

And Walt stood back, silent.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said.

Hollis swallowed hard.

“You’re my best friend, Yulia. The only thing that hurts has been the past forty-eight hours without getting to see you. I’m sorry I kept this a secret. You deserve better than that and I won’t do it again. How can I fix this?”

Yulia pulled back and looked at him hard. Took in the dirt scrubbed across his face and Walt’s brown eyes.

“Christmas cookies,” she said, very serious. “I want six different kinds; I want them tonight, and I don’t want you to skimp on toppings. I want you to come with me to the winter fair this weekend and carry all my bags. I want you to—”

Hollis scooped her up and swung her around, let her heels dangle and ignored the ache in his arms and back. Held her close because she was precious.

“Anything, Yulia. Anything you want.”

Flannel

Yulia went to Annie’s so that Hollis could shower before baking began.

Apparently he smelled “disgusting” and would have to text when he’d fixed it so that they could come over.

Hollis slung his bag into their bedroom and headed for the bathroom.

“Can Yulia and Annie stay over?” he yelled.

“You cooking?” his ma yelled back through her bedroom door.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.”

Walt reflexively turned off the light to start getting undressed.

We can probably stop doing that at this point.

Walt shrugged and threw their shirt on the ground.

You want it to stop, you turn it back on.

Hollis hummed and left the light. The day had been enough.

She really just forgives stuff when you feed her?

Hollis shook their head.

No, Yulia is from the richest family in the whole town. When she asks for bread it’s because she knows that’s what I can give. She doesn’t ask for anything I can’t give her if I work hard enough. It’s not the food, it’s the labor. She wants to know that I was thinking about her when I made her something. That I tried my best to make it good. That I remember her favorite flavors and thought about what she likes.

The Christmas cookies aren’t just . . . it’s not about the cookies. It’s about being with me as we make them. Watching me do something she’s seen me do before while she feels insecure about who we are. The winter fair is because she knows I would never say no to her. I’d carry her bags from here to Chicago if she needed me to. It’s reassurance that I’m the same person, that me being “we” hasn’t changed the things that matter.

Walt was quiet as he scrubbed a loofah over their shoulder.

You give a lot of speeches.

I don’t like being misunderstood.

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