Page 11 of Only Lovers in the Building

The App Formerly Known as Twitter: “At the end of the day, we all just miss our plants.”

Post.

Delete Post.

Lily had to quit this pity party on social media and start her days journaling, like the wellness gurus recommended. Besides,

it wasn’t smart; someday, her dark thoughts could be held against her in the court of public opinion. She missed her Monstera

and the rituals of watering, pruning, and repotting it when necessary. Tending to it in the morning calmed her before heading

into the office. The plant had been a housewarming gift from her mother when she moved into the apartment in Murray Hill.

But why long for an emotional support plant when new rituals were taking shape? She was meeting Ben by the pool, around nine.

New bikini, flip-flops, floppy hat, sunglasses, sunblock, sarong, a swipe of red lipstick (because why not?), iced coffee (which she’d gotten herself like a grown-up), a tote with corporate branding.

.. and Lily was out the door, Roxanna’s warnings trailing behind her.

The plan was to get to the pool early, settle down, and maintain a steady heartbeat.

He’d arrive after his run to find her, as she’d found Noah the other day, looking like a sun goddess, immersed in the book.

Nothing went according to plan. Ben was already there. His stuff was piled on a chair along with his copy of Blurred Lines , its pages flipping in the breeze while he swam long, lazy laps. Lily marched to the pool’s edge and dropped the tote at

her feet. He swam over and emerged like Triton. There was no controlling her heart rate now.

“Good morning, beautiful!”

“Don’t call me that. You know it makes me crazy.”

He wiped water out of his eyes. “I’ll stop.”

“Don’t! Obviously, I love it!”

“It’s not that obvious,” he said, grinning. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re early!” she said reproachfully.

“I decided to come down for an early swim instead of a run,” he explained. “Why is that a problem?”

“Never mind.”

She felt foolish for making such a fuss. Life wasn’t a staged event. She would never have pulled off sun goddess, anyway.

Lily was about to suggest reading sprints when he nodded toward her drink.

“I see you have coffee,” he said stiffly. “I was about to head up to make you some.”

She raised her stainless-steel cup. “This isn’t real coffee. It has so much caramel syrup it’s more like dessert.”

Drops of water had gathered at his lashes, making his eyes sparkle as he gazed up at her. “What happened? Mr. Coffee didn’t

deliver?”

“Don’t get carried away,” Lily said. “I stocked up on cold brew and creamer at the bodega down the street and ordered this

cup online.”

“That corner store is no bodega, Lily. I wish it was, but it isn’t. Words have meaning, remember?”

She wanted to argue, but what could she say? The NYC bodega supplied all you needed to start the day, the tastiest egg sandwiches,

the richest coffee, the best bagels, along with the daily paper, flowers, a lotto ticket, and a cheap bottle of wine for later.

There was truly nothing like it here.

“Next time, come over for coffee,” he said. “Bring your shiny new cup.”

“I can’t keep knocking on your door for daily essentials.”

“Would you like a key?” he asked.

“No, Ben!” she cried. “You can’t offer your key to just anyone! What are you thinking?”

“You’re not just anyone,” he said. “As long as you’re my neighbor, I’ll make you coffee.”

“With ice?”

“With whatever you’d like.”

With that promise, Ben smoothly climbed out of the pool while she tried hard not to look. Still, her imagination offered her

everything she did not see. The way his muscles pulled tight against the weight of the water. The way the water poured down

his back. When he came close, a blue towel draped around his neck, her fingertips tingled she wanted so badly to reach out

and trace the outline of his tattoos.

“Can we talk?” he asked. “I scrolled your social media.”

The day had come for her to answer for her random social media posts, but she was not without her defenses. “I’ve done some

research on you, too.”

“Research? All I did was scroll your social media. That doesn’t count as research.”

“It’s not my fault you’re not prepared, Counselor.”

He scooped up her tote and dropped it onto a chair. “Should we spend some time reading or get down to it?”

Her insides were corroding with curiosity. She couldn’t possibly wait any longer to ask the questions that had kept her up half the night. “Let’s get straight to it.”

“I like your style.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder at the pool’s edge on the towel he’d rolled out for them to share, feet in the water. The sun

was peaking up over the building’s crowned roof. Lily slipped on her sunglasses. “I’m ready.”

“What’ve you got in terms of research?” he asked.

“Interview transcripts.”

“That’s it?” he said. “Good luck with that. I’ve lied in every interview I’ve ever given.”

“Don’t worry. I’m working on getting your arrest record.”

He smiled. “You’re funny.”

“Funny in a good way or what?” she said, poorly mimicking Joe Pesci.

“In a brilliant way.”

“Too bad I have to bring the heat now. Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Your father was a presidential inaugural poet. That’s major. Were you at the inauguration? I got to see my dad sworn onto

New York’s Second District Court, and that’s nowhere near as cool.”

He shook his head. “I was nowhere near that event.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Wasn’t invited,” he said coolly. “This leads me to my question. Is your dad @TheSaint on social media? He comments on most

of your posts.”

“Not anymore. I blocked him.”

“That’s going to make for an awkward Father’s Day.”

“I had no choice,” Lily said. “He read my posts on BookTap the other day and demanded to know what I was up to for the summer.

I had to defend my life choices, cite case law and everything.”

Ben picked up his phone, opened the app, and found her dad’s profile. “I see he’s read every book by Barack and Michelle.”

“Don’t forget every memoir written by a supreme court justice,” Lily added.

Ben kept scrolling. “Rich Dad, Poor Dad ? How to Win Friends and Influence People , Retire Rich ... ”

“I know! It’s embarrassing!”

“He won’t be joining our discussion of Blurred Lines , I’m guessing.”

“He would sooner die.”

“I’m going to follow him,” Ben said. “To keep an eye on his reading list.”

“Please don’t troll him! His ego can’t stand it.”

Ben set the phone down. “How did he react to the news about your job?”

“He had none.”

“In other words, you didn’t tell him.”

“Correct.” Lily kicked her feet in the water. If anything, this conversation was drawing out her daddy issues, not Ben’s.

It was embarrassing, at her age, to admit she still yearned for her father’s approval. Yves Lyon was dubbed The Saint, after

the patron saint of lawyers, by his peers and the voters of his district alike. Compared to his star-spangled legal career,

hers was a flop. At her age, he’d won his first election. She loved the law, was good at it, yet she’d never found her niche.

She’d stumbled into corporate by default. Not a day went by when she didn’t think of this.

“Let’s drop this,” he said. “Judge Lyon has no jurisdiction on us. But if you ever want to talk, knock on my door, anytime,

night or day.”

He was ready to wrap up their Q and A, but she still had more questions than answers. “Hold on. Back to your dad,” she said.

“What’s going on there?”

“Well, he’s dead, for one thing. I don’t have to worry what he thinks.”

“I’m sorry, Ben.”

He waved away her condolences. “Don’t be. You can’t lose what you never had.”

Lily studied him closely, taking in the damp dark hair, the angled nose, the sharp jaw. In the photos she’d seen of the great

Sabato Romero, the poet was well into middle age. However, there was no denying the resemblance between father and son.

“I have something to tell you,” Ben said solemnly. His gaze was lost in the water.

“Yes?”

“I’ve finished Blurred Lines .”

“What?!”

“Read it last night. I was done with work earlier than expected and got bored.”

“I’ll finish it today,” Lily promised.

“Easy!” he teased, as if she were a spirited horse. “Go at your own pace. This isn’t a competition.”

“Of course it is.”

“That’s not what I wanted to tell you, though.”

“What, then?”

“I had a chat with Roxy last night. She told me what she told you.”

“You had a very eventful night, Mr. Romero.”

“She was worried. She said you left the bar looking upset.”

“I had a headache,” Lily said, jaw tight.

“Is that all?”

“She warned me not to fall in love with you,” she said. “The shock gave me a headache.”

He brought his fingertips to her left temple and massaged gently. “Roxanna can be so blunt. She was out of line. It won’t

happen again.”

“Just so you know,” Lily said bluntly, “I have no plans to fall in love with you or anyone else. Summer love is for suckers.

I’m looking for something with longevity.”

Ben studied her in his quiet way.

“Even if that weren’t the case,” she continued, “I’d never catch feelings for a man on the rebound. That way lies madness.”

“I’m not hung up on my ex, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“It’s over,” he said quietly. “Still, not catching feelings—your term, not mine—is probably a good idea. I’m a mess. The breakup

was rocky, plus there’s other stuff I’m dealing with.”

Suddenly he looked every bit the tortured poet, the fourteen-year-old boy who honed his craft in his bedroom.

“Roxanna said your father is the issue. She says you have some trauma to unpack.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“How far would you go?”

They were doing it again, that delicate dance.

“His death brought back a bunch of stuff.”

“That’s normal. I think.”

After a bit of silence, he said, “The morning we met out in the hall, I’d decided to dedicate the summer to figuring this

out. No fun, no games, no distractions, just unflinching self-inspection.”

“We can’t have that on my watch,” Lily quipped. “We’ve got books to read.”

“And reviews to write,” he added.

“Seriously, though, have you considered therapy?” she asked.

“There’s little I haven’t considered.”

“If you ever want to talk, free of charge, I’m across the hall. Just knock.”

“You’re sweet, Lily.”

“Don’t go falling in love with me,” she cautioned. “Braver men have tried and failed.”

“Lucky bastards.” He smiled wanly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. They’re dead to me, and look at us, hanging out, drinking in sunshine.”

“Guess I’m lucky we’re friends... We are friends, right?”

He seemed so earnest, as if his well-being hinged on the answer to that question.

“We’ll see,” Lily said and slipped into the pool.

She’d have to get back to him on that. How could they be friends if he couldn’t keep pace with a buddy read?