The Boy That Broke America

0.2

0.2

AFTER LANE EXITED the café, she decided that multiple things were wrong with her storming out plan.

One; Ivor was still standing in the café, slightly stunned. This meant that, two; she had to stop walking and wait for him, killing her whole kinda-badass vibe.

Huffing in annoyance, she resulted in waiting for him outside the entrance to the café, crossing her arms and still trying to appear as badass as possible. She felt that Ivor was taking an unusually long amount of time to walk the short few feet from the counter to the front door. She peered in through the window, only to discover that Ivor was now flirting with the barista.

The poor girl was blushing like crazy, and Lane felt quite sorry for her, really. 

Lane rolled her eyes, at this point just generally quite annoyed with the whole situation. Ivor finally emerged from the shop's dark olive entryway, still dragging his suitcase behind him. He was grinning, and Lane knew why even before he held up the coffee cup, as she could just make out a phone number scrawled on the cardboard.

"Really?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

(She was still bitter about the fact that Ivor could raise an eyebrow perfectly)

"Really." Ivor grinned, moving towards her until he was by her side.

Lane rolled her eyes again, and grabbed her bicycle from its position leaning against the bench.

"C'mon, I promised Mom I'd get you back home in time for an early lunch." Lane said over her shoulder, wheeling her bicycle at her side.

They strolled in comfortable silence all of 300 feet and two minutes before they reached the apartment building. She fished her keys out of the deep pocket of her duffle coat as she turned towards the doorway, and only realized Ivor wasn't right behind her when she reached the doorway and began keying in the security code.

"No way." He was standing on the sidewalk, staring at the building in disbelief. "I can't bloody believe this! I got lost one street away from your apartment? Are you kidding me?"

Lane turned to face him and smirked in amusement, enjoying his embarrassed incredulity. 

"Nope, not kidding. You should know I don't really do that."

He looked at her in wide-eyed exasperation, and she shrugged and gestured towards the door.

She completed the key code and continued in through the door to the short row of small mailboxes. Opening the one marked with the number two with one of the few keys on her key ring, she fetched the few letters and began walking up the short, stout flight of stairs to her apartment.

Ivor sauntered behind her, looking around at his surroundings as they climbed the worn, scuffed carpeted steps. When the reached the dark mahogany door, Lane unlocked and opened the door and gestured Ivor inside, before following him inside and closing the door behind them.

"Mom?" She called out, sidestepping in front of Ivor and carrying on further inside, to place the few letters and catalogues they'd received on a small, rounded table in the hallway, and her coat on the coatrack beside that, "We're here!"

She followed the sounds of ABBA, clashing pots and her mother's call of "in the kitchen!" to the small kitchen around the corner, Ivor trailing behind her and staring in some kind of wonder at the flat.

Lane lived only with her mother, as her father lived in California, surrounded by palm trees and girls thirty years younger than him. He had divorced from her mother when Lane was thirteen, and the whole process had been surprisingly painless and unexpectedly easy. Apart from the apparently obligatory therapist sessions, the whole thing had taken very little toll on her emotional health.