The Boy That Broke America

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0.5

THE MORNING CAME with a bitter wind and the faint promise of snow to come. Lane awoke to the smell of coffee wafting in through the cracks in her doorway, and it was that same smell that drew her into the kitchen and onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

Ivor was seated on the stool next to her, and he nodded in her direction as she ungracefully slumped onto the chair. There seemed to have materialised a peaceful mutual tolerance between the two, and Lane was glad because of it.

"Good morning," Lane's mother sung from the coffee machine, where she was brewing three heavenly smelling drinks.

Lane grunted in response, still exhausted from the events of the early hours of the morning.

Flora chuckled in answer to Lane's un-responsiveness, "How would you like your coffee, Ivor?"

"Just black is fine, thanks." He replied, still looking at Lane with an expression that was part befuddlement, and part something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Ivor shook his head ever so slightly, so subtly Lane wasn't sure if she saw it at all, and his eyes moved to the cups of coffee her mother was placing in front of them. Lane shrugged off his gaze like one would a coat, but somehow relieving the gentle pressure only left her feeling cold.

"Okay, so here's the deal; I have consultations with clients all morning, and then consultations with my fabric suppliers all afternoon. Lane, honey, I though maybe you could take Ivor out around the city? Maybe you could go get lunch or breakfast or something?" Flora pressed with an encouraging look in Lane's direction.

Lane quickly swallowed her mouthful of coffee and nodded, making a hurried murmur as the liquid lightly scalded her throat (there wasn't much point in arguing, and she didn't particularly want to anyway).

Once her mouth had recovered from the hot coffee, Lane turned her attention to Ivor, "So, what do you want to do? It's," she glanced quickly at the large clock mounted on the kitchen wall, "10 o'clock. If we leave in, say, half an hour, we'll have the whole day to do whatever you want." She raised her eyebrows in suggestion.

Ivor leant forward, elbows on the bench, chin on intertwined hands, "Well, I'm not the one who lives in New York. You know the city better than I do – what do you think is worth doing?"

Lane's eyes narrowed slightly as she thought. It was true – she did know New York remarkably well. Living in a city as busy and bustling as this one, she didn't exactly have empty streets to ride bikes down as a child. Her entertainment consisted of balancing on curbs and figuring out the quickest subway route from her home to Grand Central Terminal.

"Meet me outside in half an hour. Bring money – we'll exchange some for you in one of those little stall places at Grand Central – and dress warmly. It's kind of cold out there, in case you hadn't noticed." She slid off her stool, coffee still clutched in her hands.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Ivor called out, amused, to her retreating back.

"Nope," Lane called back, without a moment's pause or a split-second turn, "I'm going to be unbearably cliché and call it a surprise."

"What would you do if I told you I don't like surprises?"

"I'd tell you to shut up and deal with it."

His chuckle followed Lane around the corner to her room, and it seemed to envelope her and wiped a faint smile of its own onto her lips.

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