The Boy That Broke America

0.11

0.11

BY THE TIME the morning of the twenty-third came around, Lane had crammed more charity galas, black-tie dinners and opera appearances into two days than she ever thought possible. The perpetual mascara smudges under her eyes gave away her exhaustion to those that saw her without the practically inch-thick concealer she'd taken to caking beneath her tired eyes these days.

Lane couldn't help but wonder if this was what it would be like assisting her father in San Francisco, attending countless parties that seemed to stretch for hours at a time, making (for the most part, uncomfortable) small-talk with people she (for the most part) tolerated at best. That thought scared her more than she cared to admit, and the idea that she could spend the next year, giving or taking months, in this perpetual state of exhaustion, terrified her to no end.

Lane didn't have time to dwell too long on these thoughts, however, as appointments and commitments seemed to fill every waking hour she spent leading up to Christmas, and she barely had enough mental capacity to consider what coffee she wanted in the morning, or what shoes she wanted to wear in the evening.

Most of all, Lane felt slightly guilty that she hadn't really spoken to Ivor since the evening they went to the airport, which had been a rather short conversation in itself. It was as though he had faded into the background of her life for the past few days, which in itself was considerably hard to do, considering he was living with her.

The morning began like most others, with the smell of coffee and sound of her family and Ivor chatting luring her out of bed.

"Morning sleepy-head." Freddie greeted her, ruffling her hair as he brushed past her on his way to the dining table, plate of pancakes in his other hand.

Lane smiled sleepily in response, yawning and rubbing her eyes like a child as she took a seat at the kitchen bench.

Ivor was opposite her, on the other side of the bench, expertly flipping pancakes at the stovetop, a wide grin on his face. The winter-morning sunlight was streaming in through the wide kitchen window, falling on his face to highlight the tops of his cheekbones and the deep dimple on the right side of his face.

He had a scattering of freckles across his nose, Lane noticed, dispersed across his milky skin, spreading across the tops of his cheekbones and disappearing beyond the outer corners of his eyes.

Ivor was still grinning, and bust into deep laughter at a joke Freddie made, throwing his head back in abundant peals of laughter. Lane enjoyed looking at him and it was as if one could never get bored of studying the smooth slopes of his ears, or the curl of his hair, or the lean yet strong lines of his shoulders, torso, legs. It was like looking at art, a steady admiration of line and shades and physicality, without emotion attached.

Cyril entered the kitchen at that moment, wrapping his arms around Lane's waist from behind and resting his chin on her head in a kind of good-morning.

Just as Lane had fully relaxed into her sibling's embrace, grateful for the closeness she could only manage to weasel out of her brothers in the early hours of the morning, or the late hours of the night, Cyril murmured "Sike" into her ear, and promptly lifted her up off the chair and set her down on the floor, taking her place.

Still too dazed by the early hours, Lane just rolled her eyes playfully, placing a hand on Cyril's shoulder and using it to hoist herself to her feet.

"Okay, next pancake coming up! Who wants it?" Ivor held the pan out expectantly, waiting for someone to claim the breakfast food.

Lane grabbed a plate from the stack resting beside her, and held it out, smiling, towards Ivor's waiting pan.

"Thanks. These smell divine, but I'm not gonna lie, it was the smell of coffee that drew me out of hibernation. Where's the pot of liquid heaven?" Lane asked, as Ivor effortlessly slid the pancake from his pan to Lane's waiting plate.