Page 22 of Only Lovers in the Building

“I don’t want to see clearly,” Noah said. “I want to see stars.”

A while later, Noah left to say hello to a friend, and Roxanna circled back. She filled a highball with ice and stuffed it with lemon wedges. “That’s good advice,” she said.

Lily startled. She hadn’t realized Roxanna had been listening to them the whole time.

“He won’t take it, of course,” Roxanna continued. “But you had a point about the book. I didn’t think of it that way.”

“He has a point, too,” Lily said. “If there’s no smoke, there’s no fire.”

“If there’s no fire, you can’t torch your life.”

“So true.”

“Are you open to advice?” Roxanna asked.

Lily nodded. “Always.”

This wasn’t true, naturally.

“God knows my life is a mess. Add a kid and it just gets messier. Believe me. I’ve got no business telling you what to do, but ask me if I care.” Roxanna reached for a bottle of gin. “Ben is not the one.”

“The one . . . what?” Lily asked, confused. Had she missed something? Happy hour was in full swing, and the rooftop bar was getting loud.

“Your one true love,” Roxanna replied.

Lily stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

“I caught the vibes between you two.”

“We’re neighbors! It’s a neighborly vibe!”

Roxanna laughed. “We’ve all got neighbors. There’s no such thing.”

“Anyway, he told me he just ended something, and for me, that’s a red flag,” Lily said. “I’m no idiot!”

Roxanna went on as if Lily had said nothing. “I get it. He’s irresistible, particularly when you compare him to those losers.” She pointed with her chin at a group of guys at the far end of the bar who could only be described as bros. “But my cousin has issues—and that’s all I’ll say.”

“He’s a genius. Is that the problem?”

Roxanna stared at her blankly. “My God,” she muttered under her breath. “That stupid grant has everyone tripping.”

“It’s a big deal,” Lily said.

“Ben has been translating poems in his bedroom since he was fourteen. If the world is catching on now, that’s on them. And it shouldn’t be a shock to anyone! He is his father’s son.”

Lily was about to ask if his father worked in publishing when Roxanna added a new spin to the story. “That’s the problem. He’s got some trauma to unpack.”

So his father was the problem. Had he been overbearing, negligent, an abuser, narcissist, deadbeat dad, gambler, workaholic, alcoholic, serial cheater, polygamist, politician, or felon? What could be so bad that, at thirty-two, Ben was still messed up about it?

“You’re a smart woman,” Roxanna said. “But at the end of the day, you’re just a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to read romance books by the pool, and we know how that story ends.”

She could ignore good advice; however, when the truth slapped you in the face there was no denying it. Lily didn’t have to feign a headache, she really had one. Blame it on the early morning sun, the wine, or Roxanna’s words of caution. She said goodnight to Noah and went straight to bed. Tucked in tight, she resumed her search, this time typing Benedicto Romero father into the search bar. She found these illuminating gems:

OBITUARY

SABATO ROMERO, CUBAN POET, DIES AT 78

Born in a coastal town in Cuba, educated in Havana . . . emigrated to the US as a young man . . . published several acclaimed collections, notably Aurore, which won a Pulitzer Prize in 2000 . . . delivered the inaugural poem at President . . .