"Hey, JC."

"Hey, wake up." Tap tap tap. "JC."

Punch. "JOSHUA!"

JC sat bolt upright, startled out of a deep sleep. He scanned the room, then glanced over his shoulder and squinted down at me.

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his arm where I punched him. "What's wrong?"

His voice was gravely, his hair was tousled, his beard was scruffy and his eyes were wild. If I wasn't so sleepy, I'd have pulled him close to me and disturbed the early morning quiet. If I hadn't been listening to his phone vibrate against the side table for the past ten minutes in one ear, and his light snoring all the way through it in the other.

I tossed the phone at him, the small, flat device quiet for the moment.

"Phone. It's Eric, over and over and over. I think he might want to talk to you." It buzzed in his lap as soon as it landed. He rubbed his eyes and blinked at the phone, the bright display practically screaming that the caller was Eric, again.

"Sorry honey," he growled, and cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder while climbing out of the bed. I snuggled under the sheets again and tried not to listen to the hushed conversation. After a few minutes, the call ended and he tossed the phone onto the table and stalked into the bathroom, stretching his arms and popping his neck, working out the early morning kinks.

The familiar sounds of his morning routine were muffled through the wall- toilet, toothbrush, water running and then the door opened again and he shuffled out, his bare feet dragging along the carpet. He crawled back into bed, sliding up against me and burying his wet face in my neck.

"Rude!" I whined and squirmed and tried to roll away from him. "You are cold. And wet. Get off me."

He relented and rolled onto his back. I followed and laid on my side facing him, watching him stretch. "That's not what you said last night," he said through a yawn.

"You were hot last night. Everything okay? With Eric?"

"Mmmhhmm," he said, nodding, his eyelids drooping again. The man could sleep on cue. "MTV heard I was in town and wanted me to come by."

"Oh. The life of a rock star. So, you have to go by there?"

"I'm not a rock star." He reached up to pat my cheek.  "Nope. I got out of it. Sorry he woke you."

"Mmmmm," I hummed, grabbing his hand and then his arm and pulling him toward me. "Well, that's all well and good, but I'm awake now."

"It's still early. Go back to sleep."

I shrugged. "By the time I get to sleep we'll probably have to get up."

"Well..." He leaned over and found his favorite spot. I shivered and squealed as electric currents ran down my back. "We can occupy our time another way if you want."

A devilish smile crossed my lips and I laid back against the crisp sheets and fluffy pillows. "You see how everything leads to sex?"

"You said you liked that," came a muffled response.

"Mmmm...I do."

*

Despite being only slightly outdoorsy, Central Park was high on the list of New York landmarks that I really wanted to see. We set out after breakfast to make the brisk 20 minute walk to 59th, which marked the base of the park. Atlanta had a huge, urban city park, but Central Park dwarfed it many times over-Piedmont would fit in a corner of Central Park. It was majestic and sprawling, lush and green, and the iron entrance gates stood open, welcoming us.

 It was an early spring morning but the park was already crawling with people. We took the winding path that led through the park, sidestepping joggers and walkers, people pushing strollers and being pulled by dogs.  It was a busy Saturday at Central Park- we stopped to watch a local Acoustic Band play a set on one of the performance stages, then took a tour of the Gardens and watched the Sea Lion feed at the Central Park Zoo, and then strolled through the Conservatory Gardens-- a quite, serene, fragrant place to stop and take a breath.   JC kicked at a leaf as he walked, scuffing the sidewalk with the tip of his converse sneaker, the sparkles in his scarf glinting in the sunlight.

"I need to get back out to Atlanta, soon. Spend some time down there before taping starts up again."

"Mmmhmm."

I heard him, but not really. My mind was occupied with the constant thought, the flip-flopping back and forth. I wished I could just make the decision and decide that it was final, and not change my mind again. Every night I went to sleep and I was sure that I was moving. Every morning I woke up and weighed the pros and the cons and it seemed the cons won every time. I was scared out of my mind to do it-and scared out of my mind not to.

"What's up? You're like... not all here."

I glanced up at him and he was staring, his eyes fixated on me as we casually strolled the pathway.

"Hmm...Nothing. Just thinking."

"Doesn't seem like nothing. Seems like something's up."

I blushed and looked around, really just trying not to look him in the eye. "How do you know something's up? Maybe I'm just being quiet."

He laughed a short chuckle of ‘ha'. "Because I know you. You get this... look. I can't describe it. You're totally transparent. Is it me? Are you mad at me?"

"No," I answered, laughing. "I'm not mad at you at all."

"But is it about me? Or us?"

"Uhm...yes," I answered, then reconsidered. "Well. I don't know. Kind of."

We walked a little further in silence, the happy sounds of the park around us. JC admired a runner with a small pack of yipping dogs.  

"So...yes?" He continued, his eyebrows raised, eyes round. "No? Yes but no? Sort of maybe? Pick one."

"JC..." I stopped to laugh. "Okay, something's up. I've been thinking about something. It's pretty heavy. But I can't tell you about it, not just yet."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not ready. And I'm not supposed to," I answered, lifting my head so he could see the roll of my eyes.

"Said who?" A wrinkle appeared in his forehead and he scowled. "Let me guess, Melissa?"

I dipped my head and hid a smile. "And Jen. And me. Mostly me."

He watched me for a minute, then hung an arm around my neck and pulled me toward him. "There's no such thing as things you can't tell me. If you don't want to talk about it, that's cool. Just say that. But don't let people tell you what you can say to me."

We veered off of the path, toward the wrought iron gate that led into another garden, leaning against it and taking in the view, the expanse of the park before us, behind us, around us. The scent of roses and fresh cut grass hung in the air, like a perfume except it wasn't overpowering. It was refreshing. It was a perfect day. The last thing I wanted was to bring up something that might make him uncomfortable.

He bumped my hip with his and rested an arm on the rusty iron. "Spit it out, woman."

"Okay. So, at the Kickoff Party for Qwest, remember that?" He nodded. "I didn't tell you that I met the CEO of the West Coast division and uhm..." I stalled and kicked at tuft of grass and weeds around the fence. This speech sounded so much better and like a more attractive proposition in my head.

"And?"

"And, well, so, he said he was impressed with how Qwest went down. Which was good, a compliment.  And he said that he had some connections for me, if I ever thought about moving west." I stopped and inhaled a deep breath, bracing. "I'm thinking of taking him up on it."

His lashes fluttered as he blinked, several times. He recovered quickly, but not before I caught his reaction. "Really."

I nodded, once. "Yeah."

He blinked a few more times, and stared into space for a few seconds before he spoke again. "Isn't...isn't this something we should talk about? Should have talked about when you were still in LA?"

"Well, yeah, we'll definitely talk about it. I wanted to think it through, first. Try to work out the logistics of everything." I bit down on my lip and braved a look up at him. "And avoid that blinking thing you're doing."

"So, you haven't decided yet."

"I keep flip flopping. Yes, then no. But a final decision?" I shook my head. "Nope."

"Well, were you going to tell me, before you decided?"

"Not really." I pushed off of the fence and headed back toward the pavement path that wound through the park.

"How about before you landed in LA for good?" He met me at the path, falling into step beside me.  "So I don't get a say? I get no vote?"

"Why would you get a say about something I do? This isn't about you, JC. This is something I need to do for me.  This could mean a chance to do other things I'm qualified to do, that I've wanted to do for a long time, that I'd have no chance of being able to do at StarTel."

"I'm all for that, I'm not saying I'm against that. I'm saying-- Serena..." He stopped and grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop and face him. "I'm saying I wish you would have brought this up to me before now. This is a big deal, and we should talk about it. Together."

"I know, and I was going to-"

"But not until after you made your decision, like my input doesn't matter."  He turned a slow circle, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes narrow and blinking rapidly. "That's kind of shitty, Serena."

Dramatics were so unlike JC.  He was the king of ‘I don't care, whatever man.' I imagined all sorts of problems and arguments and tantrums-namely from my parents and Melissa. He was the last person I expected such a passionate reaction from. Regret began to mount inside, balling itself up into a fist in the center of my chest. Regret that I even told him-and that I didn't tell him sooner.

I bowed my head and blew out a long, slow, calming breath. "I guess I should have brought it up. And we should have talked about it when I started thinking about it.  Give me some credit, though?  Don't make it sound like I was going to show up on your doorstep next week with luggage and a cat. This is why I didn't want to say anything. I guess I know how you feel about it."

I walked ahead and he followed.  "You can't know how I feel if you haven't talked to me about it."

"I shouldn't have even brought this up," I said, a weary sigh behind the words. "I'm kind of sorry that I did. I'm not trying to cramp your style. I'm just thinking about it. It's a potential plan for my future. Let's just drop it? Okay?"

"Yeah, let's not talk about it some more. Good idea."

We ambled through the park, tense, uncomfortable silence and more distance than usual between us. We weren't even looking at each other as we passed happy couples and bike riders and rollerbladers, people walking dogs and playing Frisbee and running along the path. We came out at Fifth Avenue and stood there. We could walk down Fifth, or head back through the park and come out elsewhere.

He tipped his head toward the long line of shops. "I want to stop in at Kenneth Cole a second."

I shrugged and followed him as he headed to one of the many boutiques on the famous road, mentally kicking myself, over and over. And then kicking him, cursing him under my breath.

He pushed me to say something, deluding me with that ‘don't let anyone tell you what you can tell me' line. He was just being nosy, until he found out it meant something that involved him. Heaven forbid I disturb his groove.

Melissa and Jen were so right. Should have kept it to myself, until I was all set up and he didn't have to do anything but come over for dinner. 

I found a comfortable chair outside the dressing room and sulked. We were making a big show of being together but hardly talking at all, which was uncomfortable. We were always talking-JC at least had a stream of consciousness sometimes that was alarming, so the silence was actually deafening.

The view outside Kenneth Cole was pretty much just Fifth Avenue. Expensive cars and yellow taxis rolled by and couple after couple walked past. It seemed like every pair were hand in hand, laughing and talking and joking. It reminded me of that post break up feeling when all you see is what you want back. Even if what you want back is what you had at 7AM.  

A door down the hall clicked open and JC padded down the narrow walkway in a pair of slacks too long and too tight. They clung and stretched across his thighs, a bulge perfectly imprinted in the fabric.

"What are you rolling your eyes at?" He turned several times in the mirror, kicking at the long hems.

"Nothing," I said quietly, shaking my head.  

"Serena. What?"

"Nothing." I caught his glare at me in the mirror and gestured at the slacks. "Why do they have to be so tight?"

He looked down at them, and then in the mirror, turning again. "Well, I like them to fit."

"Fitting is one thing. Choking is another."

"I'm not choking, look." He slid a finger between the band of the slacks and his skin. "These aren't even that tight."

"That's not what I'm talking about," I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear me.

One eyebrow lifted and the other lowered and he looked altogether annoyed. "Then what?"

I got up and stood next to him, and with my index finger traced the outline of him plastered against his thigh.

"Oh. Well," he said, shrugging a shoulder, turning pink but trying to stay nonchalant. "That's not a big deal."

"To you," I said, resuming my spot in the chair.

He bit his lip to keep from laughing. "It's a big deal to you?"

I tried not to smile. We were fighting, dammit. "Most people buy clothes that fit well, everywhere. You buy clothes that fit everywhere but there. You like that, don't you?"

"I'm just not all that shy about it." He smirked, and looked again. "There's nothing I can do about it, it's there. I can't take it off. What do you want me to do?   Tuck it?'

I couldn't help the bubble of laughter that popped up. "I want you to wear a bigger size!"

His laugh bounced off of the walls as he made his way back down the hall. They did look good on him. Everywhere. I just really didn't want everyone looking...everywhere and then looking at me and nodding and smiling and winking and wiggling eyebrows- people were rude and could be really inappropriate. It disturbed me that people would try to connect with me based on the bulge in his pants. I wasn't used to having a nationwide audience thinking about me having sex with my boyfriend.

A few pairs of the too long, too tight slacks hung inside a garment bag laid over his arm. He had a tailor in LA that would hem them for him, which was the only reason I could breathe a sigh of relief-he wouldn't be wearing them out that night.

"Let's go in there," he said, as soon as we hit the sidewalk outside Kenneth Cole, and headed across the street to Sak's Fifth Avenue. I'd never been in an actual Sak's before, though I had longingly admired some of their products on the web and in catalogs. Brand names, big, expensive brand names screamed at me as we walked in-Gucci, Prada, Louboutin-every luxurious and indulgent and decadent need or want was on display. All you need is money-come and get it!

"Holy shit, look at that." Out of the corner of my eye, a gorgeous patent leather satchel called to me, and as I floated toward it, the rest of the world faded away. I dared not check the price tag-I knew better. I was too in love, and it would completely break my heart.

"That looks uhm, handy. Like you could put a lot of stuff in it." I ignored him as he walked around me, watching me admire it. "You should get it, if you like it."

"I'm scared to check the price tag." I caressed the shiny almost plastic leather, the stiff, strong handles, admired the roominess of the interior. I was a sucker for a shiny bag.

"Come on, how much can it...." He flinched as he turned over the tag. "Wow. $850."

"Shit. That's a lot." $850 was a flight and a half to LA. My mortgage. Two and a half times my car payment. $850 was ridiculous. But it was pretty. I sighed and turned it over in my hands, tested the straps, felt the heft of it. 

JC stepped back around the display and muttered in my ear, "Honey, do you want me to get it for you? I will, if you want."

The trance broke, and I set the bag back on its stand in the display, turned on a heel and started to walk away. He was offering to be nice, but was probably hoping I'd say no. I wouldn't dream of saying yes.

"That's okay. Do you want to look at some of their Diesel shirts?"

"Serena, I don't mind. Let me get it for you." I turned to say no again, and he had the bag in his hand, folded over and under his arm like a football. I sighed, took the bag from him, walked it back to its spot and set it, again, on the display stand.

He flapped his arms against his side, the hangers inside the garment bag clinking against one another. He watched me eye the bag one last time and then walk away from it.

"I don't get it."

"You don't have to get it. Let's go."

"Serena, why-"

A sharp pang of anger raced through me and I turned around again, eyes wide. "Stop trying to buy me! You already had that girlfriend!"  

I don't know what he said in response, because I was rushing toward the door in a huff, tears stinging my eyes. I got out to the street and stopped. I looked right and left and then remembered--- I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I had no choice but to wait for JC, who took his time sauntering out of the store, garment bag over one arm, not in any hurry at all.  He walked out to the curb and stood next to me as I fumed, arms crossed and avoiding his stare.

"What is wrong with you?" His tone low and very serious. "Are you...hungry or something?"

"Yeah, I'm hungry," I snapped, glaring at him. "That's my whole problem. Yes, that's it." I rolled my eyes and looked away. I could have  probably set him on fire if I looked him any longer. "Do you need to drop that stuff off?"

He shot out a hand and a taxi swerved toward the curb and stopped in front of us. "You are the weirdest woman I have ever dated," he said, swinging the door open. "I've dated some weird women. You're taking the cake, right now."

"I wasn't trying to win a contest," I said, ducking into the taxi. The ride back to the hotel, through the lobby, in the elevator and up to our room was painfully silent.

I sat in the chair in the corner, far away from him and  watched him hang the garment bag and take off his scarf. His jaw twitched as he found random things to do in the room to avoid looking at me or talking to me-rifling through his bags, digging through his suitcase, scrolling through his phone.

I flipped through the hotel brochure and waited for him to say something--anything-- but he was uncharacteristically quiet.

"So, do you want to go back out, or eat up here?"

"Don't care," came a tight lipped, terse response. "Whatever you want."

I tossed the booklet onto the table and huffed in frustration. "Well, I don't care either, so I'll guess we'll just keep not talking to each other."

"Okay, you know what? Fuck this." He had been bent over his suitcase, unzipped and open on the bed, but now was standing straight, red face and dark eyes. For a minute, I was sure this was it and we were over.

"What?" He spat out, his arms open wide. "Are you mad that I'm not flipping cartwheels that you might move to LA? Maybe you think I think you're poor because you saw a bag you can't afford?  If that's not it, then tell me. Tell me what I did or said, so I can say I'm sorry and we can get over this."

I sank into the chair, my foot nervously twitching as it dangled.  I'd never seen him actually really mad before, let alone mad at me. It was a little scary.

"I don't even know," I sighed. "I'm... I don't know. Maybe I'll go for a walk."

"No, you stay. I'll go."

Before I could answer, the door opened and closed and I was alone, in that giant, gorgeous expensive room. I listened to the silence and kicked myself some more. The pendulum of the day had swung from perfect to hellish to okay and back to hell, all because of me. I was close to losing the best thing I had going in my life. The thought made me cringe, my shoulders hunching up toward my ears.  

Half an hour later, I was submerged in a tub full of hot water and fragrant bath beads. I felt some stiffness in my neck and shoulders melt away, into the water and the suds and the scent. The lower I sank into the tub, the lower I felt, until I was almost completely underwater.  

I heard the room door open and close and then a knock at the bathroom door. A head of dark hair poked in and all I saw were two eyes, big and round.

"Is it safe?"

He was smiling. I could tell by the tone of his voice and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. Dammit, he was cute. I smiled, sheepish and shy.   

"It's safe."

JC stepped in and closed the door behind him, then stood in the middle of the room, staring at the ceramic tile as I stared up at him. He was clearly uncomfortable, scratching his throat and then temple and then dropped his hand with a slap to his thigh, and finally perched on one of the steps next to the tub. He peeked over the edge into the water, his eyes traveling from my feet to my face, pink from the heat-- and embarrassment.

"So, I don't like fighting with you. I don't like fighting, period. What do you say we stop fighting, and start talking?"

Relief. It was a sweet feeling. I nodded, my head bobbing. "I'll start. I'm sorry. I suck."

"Okay," he said, laughing, scratching the short hairs at the nape of his neck, his eyes wandering the room.  "Me too. I don't know what to say to you when you're... you know."

"Bitchy?"

"I got pinched the last time I called you bitchy." He looked relieved to hear it, though.

"If the shoe fits," I said with a sarcastic smile. "I just have more things to think about than you, and whether or not you're okay with me moving to LA. I figured you would be the least of my problems." I shrugged as I looked up at him. "We have a bigger problem if you don't want me out there."

His head wagged and he pounded his fist on the ceramic edge of the tub. "I didn't say that. I never said that, ever. You still haven't asked me what I want, or how I feel about it."

"You acted like you didn't want me there."

His eyes closed and his jaw twitched, and then his eyes fluttered open. "Stop trying to read me," he said slowly, "and ask. My point is that we've been together awhile, and it's not about just me or just you anymore. I care about you, and what happens to you, and I want to be in on this. You shut me out, but you let other people in and I get to just sit back and be informed about something that will change my life, too. You don't want it to be about me, but it is."

"Alright." I stalled, brushing my hair back from my face, pushing the suds around. "So... do you want me to move to LA?"

"I don't really care," he said, breaking into a wide smile, his face red with laughter that came from deep in his chest. I huffed and rocked my head back and stared at the ceiling.

"You can be such an asshole," I said, shaking my head.

"I know," he said, catching his breath. "I am evil. Nah, seriously, I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it."

He pushed his sleeve up over his elbow and dipped his hand into the water, swirling it around before it came to rest his fingers curled around my side. His thumb started that soothing, circular rub, which felt even better under water.

"See, I want the same thing you want, outside of the obvious selfish benefits." He squeezed my waist and let his hand wander down my thigh, to my leg, to my calf and back up. "It has to be a good move for you, something that would benefit you, not just a shit job or a shit place to live, just to be in LA. Everything you know is in Atlanta, and you live a good life, there. I wasn't going to ask you to leave everything behind so I can have my girlfriend with me all the time."

His voice, soft and low, soothed me almost as well as his fingers did, moving back and forth, the waves making the water lap against the edge of the tub. "I just figured we'd work it out, I'd sacrifice, you know? To make it work. And here you were, making big plans behind my back.  I wasn't expecting you to want to move so soon."

"I guess I misread you. I thought you were mad."

"I was. Mad that you kept it from me. I thought we stopped doing that."

"We?" I laughed a haughty, sarcastic laugh. "I have to drag information out of you. You don't tell me shit about what you're doing and what's going on with you unless I beg, but you're mad I didn't tell you one thing? No, sweetheart, we didn't stop doing that."

His eyes dropped and he pressed his lips together in an attempt to conceal a shy smile. "Point taken," he said, finally. "Okay, let's us stop doing that, then. So, we share everything because everything is about us, now. Us is you and me, not just you, carrying the world on your shoulders, like a martyr."

I rolled my eyes dramatically and crossed my arms. "I do not play the martyr."

"Okay," he said simply, with a snicker.

"Whatever. Do my back for me?"

I handed him the cotton cloth with the hotel logo embroidered into it, and the bottle of bath gel and faced the wall. He scrubbed lightly, in tight circles, from my shoulders down to the small of my back and then started at my shoulders again. It was a soothing, relaxing feeling. I loved when he did it for me and he was good at it.

"So, what did you mean by you already had that girlfriend?"

I snorted, the sound hollow as it bounced off of the tile walls. "Like you don't know."

"Like I don't. What does it mean?"

"I meant Bobbie," I said softly, embarrassed that I'd let fleeting thoughts of comparisons to his exes get the best of me. I'd heard all about her, read all about her, had my own opinion of her and it wasn't flattering. I didn't want to be her and I didn't want to remind him of her.

He stopped scrubbing for a few seconds, and then started again. "That's a pretty old skeleton you're pulling out of the closet. What about her?"

"Well, you know. She was-- well, you must know the rumors that went around about her."

"Do you know how long it's been since I was with her, Serena?" I didn't answer.  He rinsed the towel and squeezed it over my back, the water cascading into the tub and washing away the soapy residue. "So, she's why you've been bitchy today?"

I shook my head and tried to explain as best I could. "JC, you're in the business, you live this every day. It's not what it is; it's what it looks like. If people see you forking out $800 for a purse for your girlfriend, they start talking and whispering and chattering." I flapped my fingers together, mimicking the gossipy talk that flew around Hollywood day and night. "Pretty soon I'm in the same category as Bobbie. I've watched it happen."

"So...you're saying she was a gold digger? And you think people will think you're one, too?"

"Opportunistic, if they're being polite."

"I don't believe this," he muttered under his breath. "I dated her a long fucking time ago, a century ago. I was still in *Nsync when we broke up. You've been shitty to me all day because of her?"

"No," I shot over my shoulder. "Not just because of her, because of what people think of her." I drew my knees up to my chest and rested my arms on them. It was getting cold in the room and the water was cooling off-like the conversation that had started sweet and was turning sour again.

"I felt like you thought I was hinting for you to buy me that bag. I feel like this trip is kind of extravagant. Nice, really nice, but so much more than I'm used to. I know you're trying to impress me and I'm having a great time, but I draw the line at ‘rich boyfriend takes me shopping', or ‘rich boyfriend showers me with gifts'. I'm not that girl, JC."

He dropped the towel and poked me in the side. "Turn around. Look at me."

I obeyed and sat cross-legged near the edge of the tub, shivering in the cool air of the room.  "Okay, look. I get it," he said, nodding. "I get that you're trying hard to not be something you hate. I see that, and I appreciate it, but you're trying so hard that you're turning into something I hate."

If he was trying to get my attention, it worked. My head popped up and my eyes bugged out and my heart slammed around in my chest.  

"I'm not an idiot," he said, matter-of-factly. "I know you're not with me for my money, you know you're not with me for my money-let's just know that and have fun. What's not fun is when I can't do anything nice for you because it makes you uncomfortable when I buy you things."

He pulled at a wet curl that had fallen out of the elastic band holding my hair up, winding and unwinding it around his index finger. 

"When I was a kid, I used to think it would be so cool to be rich and famous. So I could do things I couldn't do before. See things I couldn't see before. Buy whatever I wanted and not have to worry about where the money for it was coming from. Even if I didn't want anything, if I changed my mind, I could buy it. I wanted that for my family, too, and anyone I was with. If you're with me, I got you covered. Especially if you were with me when I had nothing."

He let the curl unwind itself from his finger and fall against my shoulder, and then leaned his elbow up on the edge of the tub. He was almost smiling, with his eyes at least.

"I'm pretty sure you won't let me spoil you. Not too bad, anyway.  Did you really think I would bring you to New York and not show you a good time?  Bring you someplace nice, make it special, even for your birthday? I mean..."  He seemed to run out of words and stared into the murky water.

I ran a hand through his hair, messed up his perfectly arranged curls and waves and scratched his scalp the way he liked it. His head sank onto his arm and I leaned forward to kiss his temple. 

"I love that you want to do nice things for me. I don't know how to not feel guilty for loving it, and for taking them. I don't expect gifts and shopping trips from you-- I hope you know that. And I love that you offered to buy that bag for me.  Even though you know I don't really need another bag. You've seen my closet at home."

He sighed, a strangely amused expression on his face and then reached under the water and pulled the plug in the tub. The water began to drain, loudly and quickly.

"Come out of there. You'll be a raisin." He got up from the step and unfolded one of the large towels that were stacked on a shelf on the wall. I stepped into the towel and he wrapped it around me, and then followed me out.

"Damn, it's cold in here when you're wet!"

 I unwrapped the towel and started to dry myself off and pulled my hair out of the ponytail. The half wet mass plopped down on my back, sticking to my skin. I didn't notice it, at first, the big black plastic bag with white logo design on it, until I picked up my suitcase and slid it onto the bed.

"What is that?" I asked pointing at the bag. He shrugged and plopped down on the bed next to it, but didn't say a word.

My shoulders sagged and my eyes closed and I rubbed my forehead. Sometimes it was like what I said went in one ear and out of the other. This was one of those times.

"JC, what did you do?"

When he didn't answer, I reached for the bag and opened it. Wrapped inside layers of tissue paper was the patent leather bag from Sak's. 

"I don't believe you. What did we just talk about, Chasez?" I cocked my head and tried not to smile, but I held the smooth, shiny bag in both hands.

"I heard you," he said, hands up in surrender, his grin smug. He seemed to be very proud of himself.  "But I want you to have it. Enjoy it. You should take it tonight. But get dressed so we can eat, we gotta be where we're going by 7."

I'd forgotten that we had plans that night. My heart skipped a beat and I was suddenly very excited. "Where are we going?"

"You've learned nothing today. Relax. Just go with it." He got up from the bed and moved behind me, then dipped his head to bury his face in my neck. "Stop being a control freak. Have some fun. Get dressed."

I smiled and leaned back against him. "Who are you calling a control freak, bossy?"

He laughed, his stomach muscles rippling against my back. "See, that's how I know you're not mad anymore. You call me Chasez and say I'm bossy. Get dressed."

A hand lingered around my waist as he walked by, dropping to the curve of my hip before he bent over his own suitcase, humming and picking through piles of clothing.

I set the bag on a chair and tried not to stare at it. "This cannot become a habit, Chasez. You hear me?"

"Honey, I wouldn't worry about that."

*

Shortly after 6 PM we piled into a taxi for the ride to a new club in SoHo. JC smelled good, the Varvatos cologne he favored sharp and pungent. It reminded me of the night I met him- all heady and intoxicating. He was in a good mood. I was in a good mood- finally- and determined to not ruin the rest of the weekend.

"I think you'll like this place. I've only been there once before, but it's really cool. It's like, eco friendly but trendy. It's fun."

I smiled up at him and stroked a freshly shaved cheek. "You're so excited, that's cute. I can't wait, I'm sure we'll have a good time."

"We will," he agreed, nodding before he shoved a thumbnail into his mouth.

"Stop that." I grabbed his hand and held it in my lap. A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest and he dropped a dry kiss on top of my head. I leaned back against him and listened to his chatter about the difference between LA Clubs and New York Clubs and watched the city lights come on, one by one, as we crept through Saturday evening traffic.

Quite some time later, we arrived at Greenhouse. I'd never heard of it, but judging from the long line, it was all the rage. We climbed out of the taxi and headed for the entrance, but instead of getting in line, JC walked right up to the doorman, a large, menacing looking man with a thick neck and dark, sunken eyes that widened when he saw JC.

The glare melted away as soon as the wide smile broke and the loud laughter boomed out of his chest. "I do not believe my eyes, is that C over there?"

JC smiled and laughed and slapped the man loudly on the shoulder. "It's me, man, it's me. Good to see you're still here."

"Hell yeah I'm still here," he said, simultaneously checking ID cards and allowing people inside a few groups at a time. "Can't give up a good gig. I got this at night, going to school during the day, it's all good. What's up, why are you here?"

"Having a little party, I should be on the list for Darren."

"Yeah, lemme check that out." He picked up a black lacquer clipboard and ran a thick finger down the list of names. "Chasez plus one, right here."

He leaned around JC to see who his guest was, and I gave him a shy wave. He smiled politely and with a nod, lifted the red rope barring us from the entrance. Behind us, a loud chorus of ‘booo' and ‘that's not fair, just cause he's famous' rose from the crowd in line. JC laughed a mocking ‘haha' as he walked down the dark, narrow, dimly lit hallway.

Greenhouse was New York's first environmentally friendly club. The floors were bamboo and instead of flourescents, the club was lit with bright LED lights. Live, growing plants climbed the walls and the veranda outside. It was Studio 54 meets jungle safari, in a hip, trendy, celebrity magnet kind of way. The entire place was covered in low leather couches and the glow of thousands of little lights overhead gave the room a purple haze.

JC led me by the hand to a section at the back of the club, away from the main dance floor and the bar but still the center of action. A small group of people were already gathered there, talking animatedly and sipping on drinks in large goblets. Glass tables doubled as planters with greenery arranged inside them and were strategically placed in front of each section of couches. A wide assortment of alcohol bottles covered half of every table. The other half held an ornate bucket with a bottle of champagne nestled in the ice.

"This is recycled glass," JC shouted in my ear over the music, pointing at the tables. I smiled and nodded, following him toward the group of people, who all stood and offered hugs and handshakes.

"This is Serena," he said, stepping to the side. "This is Darren, the host."

He pointed toward a lanky man with dark hair that flowed past his shoulders in a long sleeved print screened t-shirt and jeans. Darren's long fingers swallowed my hand as we shook. He grinned, his smile wide and full of straight white teeth.

"Darren is a buddy of mine from way back in the day. He's an amazing producer. I'll be in the studio with him while I'm up here. I told him I was coming up and it was your birthday so he put us on the list for this little get-together."

"Thank you," I beamed to our host. "This place is awesome; I can't wait to look around."

"Go ahead," he shouted. "Take the tour. It's the hottest place in town, right now!"

Darren waived us off and we took a quick tour around the nearly full lounge, watching the crowd bounce in rhythm to the music and the lights jingle to the beat. The ivy and moss gave the club an odd smell but the eclectic design more than made up for that. We finished the circle around the building and ended back at Darren's group, where they slid along the couches to give us room to sit.

"So, Serena, what do you think of this guy?" Darren angled a thumb at JC and winked.

"He's alright," I answered, giving Darren a flippant head shake. JC laughed and wrapped an arm around my neck.

"Please, I rock her world. What are you drinking?"

I ended up with a large glass of something sweet, pink, and fizzy and JC nursed a bottle of some environmentally conscious brand of grain alcohol.

"Sip that slowly, honey," he said to me, smirking.

"Shut up," I said, but took a tiny sip and set the glass down in front of me.

His arm slid around my waist, a thumb working the hem of my blouse until he felt skin. "So, no more fighting. We're having fun. Okay?"

I nodded and gave him an apologetic grin. "Okay."

His lips grazed my temple as he mumbled into my ear, "Love you. I just want you to be happy."

"Love you, too. I am happy. Just trying to stay happy, is all."

"Hey lovebirds, smile!" A bright, hot white flash blinded me as I looked toward the voice and in the next instant I was blinking away orbs of light.

"Hey, come on, man. That's not fair," I heard JC protest as he twisted around and away from me.

"Sorry, dude. Sorry," said the voice.

JC's jaw twitched in irritation as he turned back around. "Asshole," he muttered. "Sorry about that. So, what's your plan, for moving?"

"Uhm, well if I were to move, I need to find a job and eventually a place to stay." I reached forward for my glass and took another tiny sip.

I knew he would be confused, and it showed in his face, creasing his forehead and pursing his lips. "Why do you need to find a place to stay? You'll be at the house all the time, anyway."

I shrugged, watching my drink fizz. "I kind of like having my own space. I like to be able to go home and give you your space, too."

"We need to talk about this, later."

He tipped the bottle back and took a long drag, swallowing slowly. "Not bad," he said with a low belch, reading the label, and then suddenly whipped his head in my direction. "Do you know how expensive it is to live in LA?"

"Well, let's hope I don't get shitty contacts and some entry level shit job so I can actually afford to live there."

 "But you have to stay somewhere till you get on your feet."

"Maybe." I took another sip, a big one. It tasted sweet and the fizz tickled my nose and I started to feel warm and loose and relaxed. "You're being nice, I know. And I love you and I thank you. And it would be convenient.  But what if I bug you? Or you bug me? If I live there I can't pack my bag and go home."

I hated to admit that some nights I had really wished I was at the hotel, with peace and quiet and control of the remote. When he wasn't thinking about it, he was a little clingy. Not in a bad way, he just had to always be touching me or laying on me or wrapped around me. Sometimes I just wanted air, or three inches of space that I could call my own. On the other hand, I loved waking up next to him, watching the sunlight spread across the room, his heavy breathing in my ear, his stubble pricking my shoulder.  There were definite benefits but the sacrifices had to be counted, too. I didn't want to make it seem idyllic--living with him would be hard after living alone for so long. Living in a new city, even if it was somewhat familiar, would only add stress.

He leaned toward me and bumped his forehead against mine "You're bugging me right now," he said, then pulled back and laughed. "It's a big house, Serena. We'll go to our corners. Just think about it. I'll help you find something, if you want, after awhile. The offer stands."

"Alright, already. I'll think about it."

Somehow, I only had a swallow or two of my drink left. I blinked at it, finished it and slid the glass back onto the table. I was done, for the night.

"That means yes," he declared, and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

JC was... popular, in New York. He was the most nondescript person I'd ever met and yet people made a beeline for him as soon as they walked in. I met so many people I started to forget names, and then gave up trying to remember.

We talked and drank and laughed, had a great time out on the dance floor, then rested and danced some more. The DJ started a slow song and all across the club, couples began to form, swaying together cheek to cheek. Sweaty and winded, we weaved our way through the crowd back to our section and collapsed against the seats, gulping down water.

JC stretched an arm across the back of the couch and his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Darren jumped him into the middle of a raging debate and soon our section of the club was rowdy with laughter. Half of the group got up to refill drinks at the bar. The other half hit the dance floor again, and then it was just JC and I. I was starting to yawn, but stifling it-I was always ready to leave a party first but I was determined to not be the one to suggest we leave.

One second our section was mostly empty-the next second three girls had wormed their way in and sidled up next to JC in young, giggly excitment. They were very pretty and obviously ignoring the woman he was sitting with. The one sitting closest to JC did something with her lips that I think was supposed to be sexy, and asked if he'd like to dance.

"Oh, I... we just got off the floor," he said, his arm dropping around my shoulder. "We're just resting. But thanks."

She leaned close and smiled a sweet smile full of pearly white teeth, then crossed one long, shapely leg over the other. Her skirt rode up on her thigh and she placed a hand on his bicep. "Well..." she said, drawing out the word, dragging a fingernail down his sleeve. "We could maybe dance the next fast one. I bet you still have some nice moves." Her eyes traveled down his body and stopped at his crotch and popped back up to his face.

"Uhm..." JC glanced down at his arm, picked up her hand and dropped it gently back into her lap. "I'm with someone. But thanks, I appreciate the invite."

"So?" Another of the girls peeked around the first girl, her grin wide and her eyes bloodshot. These girls were drunk off their asses trying to seduce JC Chasez in a club. I wanted to laugh but stayed quiet and let him handle it.

"Yeah, so?" The first girl put her hand back on his arm and batted long, fake lashes at him. "That doesn't mean anything. If you're not married, you're fair game."

Once again, JC picked up her hand and placed it back in her lap. "I'm... not interested. But thanks, ladies. Thanks." He nodded and gave them a tight lipped grin. They sighed and scurried away, no doubt to giggle and blog about how they tried to get JC Chasez to dance with them.

"Damn," he said, watching them walk away. "Girls go hard here."

"Must be flattering, though."

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbled. "I bet if I only had a couple bucks to my name they wouldn't give me the time of day. Are you ready to go? I see you yawning."

I laughed as I hid another yawn and stood up. Truthfully, in another few minutes he would have had to carry me out.

"Yeah, let's go, before they get brave again. Did you see her look at you though? See what I mean, about your tight pants?"

We fought through the crowd to the front door, made it outside and then to the curb, and waited to flag a cab down. It was cool out, the air refreshing after being in the stuffy club for hours. I reached for JC's hand and relished the feeling of it closing around mine, our fingers winding together.

"Did you have fun?"

I leaned up against him, tired but content. "That was fun. Did it smell weird in there? I feel like I smell like dirt."

He bent to sniff behind my ear. "Nah, you smell good. Sexy."

A line of cabs turned the corner and he waved an arm to flag one down. When the car pulled close to the curb, we climbed inside. JC gave him the address of our hotel and we sat back for the slow caravan back to Times Square.

"You didn't even bring the bag I bought you," JC managed to say through a yawn.

My head felt heavy as I slowly rolled it toward him. "That's because we're taking it back tomorrow."

"We are?" He bumped his head against the headrest a few times and groaned. "We were making such progress."

"Mmmhmm. I was thinking that if I'm moving to LA, I need the money more than I need the bag. Take it back, put the money in savings. I might need it."

He nodded but smiled to himself. I giggled as we bounced along the uneven pavement. "I can't even believe you bought that thing. Who are you, and what did you do with my cheap ass boyfriend? What's wrong with you?"

"Temporary insanity?" He laughed for a second, and then said, "I don't know. I thought it would smooth things over."

"Money doesn't really buy happiness. Not mine, anyway. Words work way better."

"I used to know that. I'm rusty at this, I guess." He lifted his arm and dropped it around me, then slouched down in the seat and leaned agains the door jamb.

"Don't worry. You'll pick it up."

###

"Look at all this stuff down here!  We need more time."

The taxi rolled slowly through Lower Manhattan, past museums and stunning buildings and places ripe with culture and tradition. Hearty, stoic brownstones and block after block of food, clothing, and gift shops seemed to stretch on for miles. I couldn't peel my eyes away from the window for more than a few seconds at a time, except to look out of the window on JC's side of the car.

"We'll come back and stay longer. It's impossible to see everything on your first trip."

I pointed at a church that had to be over a hundred years old. The stained glass windows were probably original. "Check that out-now that's architecture."

"It has a bell tower," JC said over my shoulder. "I wonder if they still ring it."

"Yep," said our driver. "Six am, noon, six pm, everyday. ‘Bout to go off in a few minutes."

The car threaded through traffic to Church Street, where he let us off at the corner of Church and Vessey. My heart caught in my throat as soon as I turned around and took in the view of Ground Zero. No TV image, no photo, no movie screen could duplicate the experience of seeing, in person, the site where so many lives changed in an instant.

We opted out of the guided tour and walked around to the Viewing Wall, where the plaques bore the names of every person that died on September 11th. I ran a finger down the list, looking for a name- Gladys Willis.

Gladys was the half sister of my father and my Uncle Walt, from Grandpa's previous marriage. She was quite a bit older than they were, pretty much an adult by the time they were in grade school. Gladys had worked for Port Authority for over 30 years and threatened to retire every year, and then every year decided she'd work one more. In 2001, she was finally going to move out of her Tribeca condo and head to Tampa to live with Walt and Esla, saying the hard living in New York had finally caught up with her.

"Here it is, honey." JC found it and marked it with his finger until I made it to where he stood. And then I just stared at her name. Sadness and regret and anger and... nothing balled up in the pit of my stomach until I couldn't take it anymore, and looked away.

"Did you know her?"

I nodded, walking past the plaques bearing lists and lists of names, toward the observation deck. "Yeah. We weren't close, but I knew her. She was a cool lady. Funny. Really outgoing. I wish I'd spent more time with her."

"You shouldn't feel guilty about it. It's not like you knew."

"We never know what will happen. I know I shouldn't feel guilty. I just do."

A heavy construction fence surrounded the sprawling 16 acres of destruction. Where two towers once stood was a giant pit of dirt, crawling with construction workers and cranes and plows and trucks. From right to left, buildings stood empty and uninhabitable, possibly forever scarred by the memories of that day.

"Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it?" JC mused as his eyes traveled over the site, occasionally biting his lip or rubbing his chin.

"Can you imagine driving past here every day? Having to see this, knowing people died here?"

"No." He shook his head, almost violently. "No way I'd drive past this every day. I'd drive through, like Connecticut to go around it, if I had to."

"It just amazes me, you know?" I nodded my head to pedestrians strolling by, nonchalant. A few didn't even glance up as they hurried past the site. "They rush around here like it's nothing, just a random pile of dirt. People are taking pictures like this is Disneyworld. And we're gawking like it's a museum exhibit. Just... life goes on."

"But it doesn't, for some people. And what matters is the life you lead after you realize it doesn't go on, for some people." He reached for my hand and held it tight, and then tucked it to his chest. "I'm not trying to be cheesy, but there's a lesson in this."

Despite the solemn mood and the seriousness of the view, I buried my face in his arm and laughed. "A lesson, huh? What should it teach me?"

"Life is short. So, if there are things you want to do, go for it. You might not get the chance again. If you try something and it goes to shit, oh well." He shrugged a shoulder. "You tried it, at least."

"You're talking about our conversation yesterday."

"You're very smart."

"You're a smart ass."

"Serena, be serious." He ducked his head around to see if anyone heard me. If anyone did, they paid us no attention. "Which will you regret more? Moving, or staying where you are?"

"Good point. Very good."

As we walked away and headed toward the Subway, I hoped he was listening to himself. I wasn't the only one who could use that lesson.

*

"You got everything? You'll be okay right? You're getting home really late."

JC peppered me with useless questions as I rushed to push my carry on out to the waiting taxi, patiently huffing outside the hotel doors.

"I'll be fine. Melissa is picking me up."

"You sure you don't want me to come to the airport?"

"I'm sure," I said, holding my arms out to him, my hands stuffed with ID and a copy of my airline reservation. "Don't make this hard. Kiss me."

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed, holding on tight. I didn't think he was going to let go, but he did, and stepped back, cupped my face with his palm and kissed me, light and sweet and feather soft.

"Call me when you land," he said, when he pulled back. "I'll be with Darren, so the phone will be off. I'll check messages, though and I will have your ass if you don't." He wiggled his eyebrows  at me and tried to look stern and serious. "Got me?"

"Yes sir," I said, pecking the corner of his mouth.  "Thank you for this trip, it was fun. A lot of fun. I'll call, I promise."

I winked as I started to back away, toward the doors and the cab, away from him. I longed for the day when I didn't have to say goodbye to him.

"See you in a couple weeks. We'll get your house ready to sell."

"And you'll meet my parents."

He cringed. "I knew that was coming."

"You didn't think I was moving to LA without you meeting them did you?"

"I was hoping for it." He reached for my wrist and yanked me to him, curled his hands up into my hair, planted a heavy kiss on my lips and then pushed me back. "Go home. I love you. Fly safe. Call me, I'm serious."

"I love you, I will!"

I folded myself into the taxi and shut the door, waving through the window as the car pulled away from the curb. I got comfortable for the ride, closed my eyes, and started planning my move to California.