Page 48 of Only Lovers in the Building

“I don’t know about another season,” Lily said. “This summer was perfect. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re right,” he said. “The sequel hardly ever lives up to the original.”

Lily stuffed a pastry in her mouth. For once, she didn’t enjoy being right.

“Mr. Romero?”

Ben turned to a young woman who’d tentatively approached them. The lanyard around her neck identified her as a student volunteer.

“Yes,” he said.

“Mr. Aubrey would like to speak with you.”

“How does he know who I am?” Ben asked her.

The student was more than willing to volunteer this information. “He’s a fan,” she said. “So am I, by the way. I’m registering

for your class in the fall.”

“Thanks. See you in the fall.” He turned to Lily. “Will you come with me?”

“No. Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll get the books and join you soon. It’s more efficient this way.”

Lily needed a few minutes alone to calm down. Ben squeezed her hand and went off for his private audience. At the bookstand, Lily chatted absently with the seller, waiting for her heartbeat to stabilize. The man handed her a receipt and asked if she could use a drink of water.

“I’m fine,” she said, though sweating profusely. “Thanks for asking.”

She wasn’t fine. She had that sick feeling that she was making a mistake. Or was it this hotel? Returning had brought her

face-to-face with a former version of herself, one who questioned her every decision.

When she joined Ben, the Nobel laureate was praising his father’s work. “He wrote about power better than anyone.”

“That’s what they say,” Ben said, already turning to Lily, taking the books off her hands, drawing her close.

“Is this your wife?” Greyson asked.

“No,” Ben replied. “This is my... Lily.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Greyson said with a laugh. “In my time, we were herded into the institution, two by two, like cattle. Your

generation does not have that problem. I envy your freedom. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Lily said, calmer now that Ben had his hand at her waist.

Greyson resumed his line of questions. “Would you say your father was satisfied with his body of work overall?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Ben said. “We never discussed it.”

Greyson studied him for a while. “Father-son relationships are complicated, aren’t they?”

“We did not have much of a relationship.”

“I see.”

“What are you working on, presently?” Greyson inquired. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’ve started a few projects. All have stalled.”

“You might be working on the wrong thing. If there’s something you need to get off your chest, it will stop you from mov ing forward, as cliché as it sounds. I did not win the Nobel for literature. I won it for peace.” He laughed again, pleased with his attempt at self-deprecating humor.

Cliché or not, Lily understood exactly what he meant. If Ben didn’t deal with the box on his shelf in one way or the other,

he’d be forever stuck.

“If Lily has no objection and if you can survive far from the sway of palm trees, you may want to consider the University

of Amsterdam,” Greyson said. “I know they’re looking for someone, and I’d put in a good word.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “I’m honored.”

Lily, though, swayed like a palm tree in a hurricane. Ben kept her steady with a tight grip on her waist all while promising

to keep in touch with the author. She hadn’t recovered when he steered her away. His words returned to her. I’d like a residency in Europe at some point, a year or two at a university. This was his dream. He asked so little from the world, he deserved this.

On the drive home Ben was quiet and withdrawn. Lily, deflated, melted into the passenger seat. It was settled. She was returning

home next week, and Ben would leave for Amsterdam. She would give up her passenger princess status, and he’d trade his car

for a bicycle. If Allison had her way, they’d record a second season of the podcast from deep within their respective closets.

They’d never read in bed again.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked.

“Me? I’m fine,” she stammered. “You?”

“I’m still thinking about what Greyson said.”

“What is there to think about?” she asked. A Nobel laureate offers you a job, you take it. If Lily has no objection... Cute, but irrelevant. She’d never stand in Ben’s way.

“He thinks I should write about my father.”

Lily reached out and stroked his thigh. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.”

“It might do you good,” she said. “Your feelings are locked up in that box.”

“That fucking box,” he muttered. “I know I should do something with it, but all I want to do is set it on fire.”

She couldn’t blame him. He’d worked hard to distinguish himself from the not-so-great Sabato.

Ben took her hand and brought it to his lips. “You didn’t look happy tonight.”

Lily searched for an excuse. “It’s this dress, and that hotel.”

“I told you revenge is futile.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they got back to his place, they let the books spill to the floor. Ben turned

the dead bolt and drew her to him, pinning her back to his chest. “Let me love you, while I still have time.”

Lily spun around and kissed him unreservedly. This love was never meant to outlast the summer. What did that matter when they

had each other tonight?

Ben’s Journal

June 10, Lily

It’s only been days, and I’m fond of you.

I know the rhythm of your footsteps, even the sound of your dishes when they crash into your sink.

I wait for you to knock on my door. I wait because knocking first would take things too far, cross the line that I’ve drawn between our doorsteps.

I wait because my heart needs to be sure.

I’ve wasted my time and the time of others.

I’ve used people and I’ve been used. I’ve been careless.

I’ve loved and quickly erased the mark of love on my heart.

Some have called me heartless, but that is not true.

I’ve felt everything, and then I shed that skin to start anew.

But with you, my firefly, my gentle breeze in the cruelest spring, I want to move gently.

July 19, Lily

Lily, bring your impulses to my door. Come over in the dead of night. Ask for anything. Lay your soul bare. Show me your body.

Press your lips to mine. Laugh into my mouth. Scrape me under your nails. Take me inside of you. Don’t hide a thing. There’s

nothing that torments you that doesn’t torment me. There’s no shame so deep inside you that I wouldn’t dive in to find and

discard. It’s only been a few weeks, and I know you won’t stay long. When you fly away, my firefly, it won’t be because I

hurt you or disappointed you or let you down or harmed you in any way. It will only be because I cared too much to trap you

in a jar.

August 12, Love

We don’t have a say in when or where we fall in love.

I suppose we’d all appreciate if it showed up in the most convenient way and the most conventional package.

It won’t. We want a love that won’t require too much of us, won’t force us to grow or move or make a single compromise.

If it were as easy as ordering from a menu, I would not choose you here and now.

Not with you still in doubt about your future and me still battling demons I thought long-defeated.

Not with your stubborn streak and my pride blocking the way forward.

Not with the fear I see in your eyes and feel in my gut.

Maybe in a month or a year or even ten, but certainly not now.

Lily... falling in love was as easy as tripping blindly into the void.

Now comes the hard work: climbing out of that ditch.

August 24, Lily

If you can’t say goodbye, say nothing at all. I’ll do the work and let you go. I owe you this. You give so freely of yourself.

All my greedy heart ever does is take.