“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no. I’m not getting on that itty bitty tiny plane until you tell me where the hell we’re going.”

A taxi had dropped us at Thira National airport, in the heat of the day. When JC said we were staying overnight somewhere, I imagined somewhere close. Maybe a nearby island. I was in no way mentally prepared to get back on that puddle jumper and fly over water. I folded my arms across my chest and planted my feet, staring up at JC, who was more than a little amused. His smirk was starting to piss me off.

“Okay, look. I know you like to surprise me, and I get that. I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just need to be prepared for how long we’ll be in that… thing. I want to know where I’m going. I’m already in a foreign country.”

JC slid a hand up my back and stepped closer to me. “First of all honey, relax. Second, to get where we’re going, we have to go back to Athens. We can sit on that tiny plane for an hour, or we can take the ferry, which takes seven hours. I might add that we have a four hour bus ride once we hit Athens. So unless you want to travel all day, get there and have to turn around and come back, I suggest that you pick up your bag and shimmy your sexy ass into this airport because I don’t want us to miss our flight.”

I huffed, clicking my tongue and rolling my eyes, but I slid the handle of the carry on suitcase and snapped it into place. “I’m only doing this because you called me sexy.”

“Works every time,” he said, walking behind me into the building.

One white-knuckled hour of rickety, windblown flight later, we were back at the Athens airport and rushing toward the bus terminal. JC stopped at the ticket counter and it was then that I learned where we were going.

“Two for Volos, please.” He accepted the tickets and, before he turned toward the line of buses, winked at me and walked away.

I stood a moment longer, dumbfounded. Volos was the city that my family was from. George and Ana were born there, met there, married there. My history was there. For my birthday, he was taking me “home”.  

JC waved at me from a few hundred steps ahead, yelling for me to hurry up. I quickened my steps until I reached him and handed him the suitcase, which the driver stowed beneath the bus. We climbed on and found two seats just before an announcement sounded over the loudspeakers and the bus began to pull away from the station.

I elbowed JC, sheepishly rolling my eyes up to his face. “I’m sorry I was crazy fucked up earlier.”

He laughed and lifted his arm to wrap around me. “That’ll be our new term for your tantrums. Crazy fucked up.”

I laughed along, still embarrassed, and burrowed my head into his chest. His heartbeat thumped under my cheek and the bus rolled along the road smoothly, only lightly swaying back and forth. I suddenly knew what JC meant about being able to sleep on a tour bus. We were both gently rocked to sleep.

A few hours later, the bus had stopped to drop off and pick up more passengers. It rumbled in place, the exhaust fumes puffing out beneath our window. There was little air circulation and the sun beat down on us through the window panes. I yawned, but couldn’t sleep anymore since it was so hot. I kept wiping at the sweat that had pooled around my neck and in my cleavage. JC watched, lewdly grinning.

We passed the time talking, both to each other and other passengers, playing games on our phones and staring out of the window. Four hours was a long time, when you had nothing else to do. At least when we were on our road trip, we had radio and CD’s and interesting landscape to distract us. This trip was really nothing but dry, flat land. I was never so happy to see a bus station when the driver announced our arrival in Volos.

We caught a cab from the bus station and due to heavy traffic, got an eyeful of everything the city had to offer.  It was afternoon in the port city, which apparently meant lots of people rushing around. Not only is Volos the main export center but as one of the newest port cities, it was also a major tourist attraction. A large proportion of modern buildings blended with old world charm and a culture steeped with history.

I was nervous, a little. We’d talked about maybe coming this way on our trip, but nothing was ever set in stone. When JC asked me to leave a few days open for him to plan something for my birthday, it never crossed my mind that I would be stepping back in time, into my history. My heart thumped out of my chest at the thought that I might meet someone named Karides (or Galanis, Ana’s maiden name) and they just might actually be related to me. It was a long shot, but more likely here than anywhere else.

The cab safely delivered us to our hotel, an elegant contemporary building with a resort feel to it. The front of the building was lit up like Las Vegas and was right on the water. Right outside our hotel were gathering spots for day excursions to other islands and villages nearby.

I left our suitcase with JC while he checked us in and walked a few steps past the lobby. My curious mind found lots to see—a spa, an a la carte restaurant serving Mediterranean and Western food and a coffee corner where we could get drinks and snacks, a pool, a business center boasting free wifi and satellite TV and a gym. It was like a vacation away from our vacation.

“See something you like?”

JC was behind me, rolling our suitcase next to him. He handed me our room keys and the receipt and then nodded toward the elevator. I followed him inside once the steel doors opened and then closed behind us. We climbed higher and higher until the elevator stopped at the lit number ‘10’. JC motioned for me to lead the way. According to our receipt, we were in room 1064, so we walked around one way and then another until we found it, a corner room down a long, brightly lit hallway.

Inside, the room was spacious, carpeted, and very modern. The king sized bed was covered in a white bedspread and accented with a baby blue pillows and sheets. Sheer draperies covered a wall-to-wall window, the center of which were two sliding glass doors that led to a patio. The requisite flat screen and desk and ceramic tiled bathroom completed the room. I looked around, thinking the room was very comfortable, but I didn’t feel like I felt in Santorini. I didn’t feel like I was in Greece.

“I don’t know about you,” JC said after he slid our suitcase into the closet, “but I’m hungry. We should go see what kind of food they’re serving down there.”

I hesitated, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I’m hungry, too. But I was thinking….”

JC crossed the room and sat next to me, a look of concern embedded in the ‘v’ between his eyes. “You were thinking what? You okay? Want to lay down for awhile?”

“No. No I’m okay. I was just thinking that maybe we could find that restaurant that my grandma’s family owned? She and George met there. I would love to see it, if we could find it.”

“I’m sure we can find it. I don’t remember the name, though. Maybe we could ask around. Or we could call them?”

I perked at that thought. Yes, we could call them and ask. They would love to hear from us in Greece. “And maybe they know of some places we could go.”

“Yeah, we could do that.”

JC’s hand on my thigh was gentle, soothing as he rubbed through the denim of my jeans. “Are you surprised?” He asked softly.

I nodded, while my bottom lip trembled and my eyes clouded over. I didn’t mean to cry really, but I was touched and very moved. Somewhere in this city, there were people who weren’t so distantly related to me. I had never known that feeling, not really. In so many ways JC had brought me full circle. I felt like I owed him my life. He loved me. So much.

JC scooted closer to me and wrapped both arms around my shoulders. He pulled me near to him, his nose buried in my hair, his lips occasionally dropping a sweet, dry kiss on my forehead. When I could breathe without a hiccup, I pulled back and wiped my face. I burst out laughing at the wet spot on his t-shirt.

He glanced down and laughed with me. “It’ll dry,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder. Then he stood up and pulled me up with him. “Let’s go eat. And find your grandma’s family, maybe. And look at some Volos shit.”

*

We found it. It didn’t take a lot of searching, just a quick phone call to Denver. George and Ana each got on an extension at the house and were excited to give us directions and put us into contact with old friends of theirs. We were promised that we would be taken care of, so we made plans to do some sightseeing and stop into the restaurant later that night for dinner.

The area around our hotel bustled with activity. Commerce mixed with restaurants and gift shops. People milled about, everywhere around us. I was starting to miss Santorini, where there seemed to be an equal distribution of locals to tourists. It felt more authentic.

“I find it funny that I can go to Greece and eat Italian or Mexican food.” I nodded toward the brightly lit strip of restaurants advertising every kind of fare you could think of. There was even a Denny’s type of place and a fast food restaurant that served souvlaki.

“Well, maybe Greek people like to eat international, just like Americans do.”

“I guess. It’s just so… touristy here.”

“Yeah.” JC looked around, up one street and down the other. “Feels like LA.”

Now with the setting sun behind us and thoughts of dinner before us, we climbed out of a cab in front of Papadis. Once a traditional Greek restaurant, it had been sold several times before turning into a small plates venue, much like tapas. The interior seemed very old world European, in striking contrast to the modern way of serving food.

It was still early, as the restaurant had just opened for dinner. The wait staff were wiping down tables and pushing chairs underneath them. A short, rather rotund woman with gray hair spun into a bun at the nape of her neck was bent behind the front counter, just inside the entrance.

“Yasu! Kalispera (hello, good evening),” she said, her accent thick and her voice muffled from behind the stand. 

“Yasu… er… hello,” I answered back.

“I be right with y—“ She straightened, and once she saw me stopped mid-sentence, her mouth agape. “Ohhhh,” she said, slowly coming from behind the stand. “You… you remind me of someone. A very good friend. You look exactly like her.”

I grinned. “Is her name Ana?”

The woman’s eyes lit up like little brown bulbs and her mouth opened in a huge smile. “Yes! Yes, Ana Karides. She is a wonderful friend of mine.”

“Ana is my grandmother. You must be Adonia. She told me to ask for you.”

She was excited, bouncing on her toes, clasping her hands to her chest. “I can’t believe it! Ana’s granddaughter here! Yes, yes I’m Adonia. My husband Abram and I run this restaurant. I have known Ana since we were children. This—well the old restaurant—is where George and Ana first made eyes at each other.”

She must have noticed JC standing behind me, watching the scene unfold. She pointed at him and wiggled her brows. “You’ve come to strike up new love for yourself, no?”

I laughed and wound my arm around JC’s waist. “This is my boyfriend, JC. I took him to meet George and Ana last year. We saw all of the photos he took of Greece, so he decided to bring me for my birthday.”

“Oh! Birthday! Today?”

“Today,” I confirmed.

“Come, come,” she said, waddling into the restaurant and waving at us to follow. She called for her husband, prattling something in Greek. He answered back with a hearty laugh. She led us to a booth that was a half moon shape. We slid inside toward the middle and watched as the table filled with food.

Sometimes I meet people who are a couple, and I think they match each other. I like to think JC and I match each other. The moment I saw Abram, I knew he belonged to Adonia. He was taller than she, but still short. Grey beard, small beady eyes, bald head and a bright smile that I saw coming from across the room. He brought a tray of more plates—some roasted lamb and beef and a kind of rice. It smelled spicy.

Adonia pointed at me as if to say, ‘look’. “I told you. She looks like Ana!”

Abram nodded. “She does. Does your mother look the same?”

“George says we are three of a kind. We all look the same.”

“Ah, George. He’s my good friend. I have not seen him in more than a year. He will visit soon, he says. Soon has been over for a long time.”

“I’ll probably see him in a few months. I’ll tell him that you demand him to visit.”

Abram liked that idea. He smiled and shuffled his way back to the kitchen.

If eating was a sport, JC and I could compete professionally. We ate until we thought our bellies might explode, and then after a few minutes of settling, ate a little more. Fresh seafood, meat dishes, rice and potatoes and bread and olives and cheese… and then dessert and drinks. The servers kept dropping plates at our table, saying Adonia wanted us to try it. We shrugged and ate on.

While we were enjoying an after dinner Turkish coffee and nibbling on pastries (and rubbing very, very full bellies), Adonia and Abram came from around the corner. She cradled a large book and held it close to her chest. She slid into the booth next to me and handed the book to me.

It was a photo album. The leather on the cover and back was so worn it was nearly non-existent. The binding was falling apart and as I opened it, many of the pages and photos were yellowed. But inside, so many precious memories already stood out, to me.

I recognized Ana as a little girl. I saw my face in hers. Adonia pointed out pictures of the two girls, like peas in a pod. How nice it must be, I thought, to have known someone your entire life. Time passed, through the pages and photos. My great-grandparents, long dead, my great aunts and uncles who no longer lived in the area and hadn’t been in touch since the restaurant was sold were all memorialized in Kodak color.

There were pictures of the old restaurant, and Ana as a server in her white apron and dress. Her long, curly hair was pulled back and tucked behind her ears. We parted our hair in the same spot. She had a slight smile on her lips, pretty round cheeks and the same grey eyes that stared back at me every morning. I saw exactly what George saw in her. She was beautiful.

“You take this album back with you,” Abram said.

I gasped, wide eyed. “Oh, I couldn’t. These pictures are yours, and they’re so old!”

“We have our memories,” Adonia said, her hand soothing down my arm. “And many, many more albums. You take it. You must have pictures of your family.”

And a past. I would finally have a past.

The motor of the cab gently rocked along the streets on the way back to our hotel. We were only about three miles southeast, but it was three of most packed, busiest miles I’d ever seen. I clutched the album in my arms and held it close to me. I considered taking the pictures out of it and moving them to a new album, maybe one that wasn’t falling apart, but now thought differently. It looked like Greece and felt like Greece and smelled like Greece. I didn’t want to change a thing.

“I think I’m going to put this downstairs in the den. You know, next to that album you have, with pictures of your mom and your stepbrothers and sisters? Would that be okay?”

JC’s arm tightened around me as he twisted to kiss my temple. “I think that’s a great idea, honey. I’m glad you got something out of your trip. That album is like gold.”

“It is,” I answered, settling against the seat and up against JC. “I’m overwhelmed with happiness right now.”

Later that night, after the racy satin and lace number had long since been peeled off and tossed onto the floor, and JC and I worked off a little of our dinner, I laid in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. JC laid on his side, a leg and an arm tossed across me, a light snore hitting my ear every once in awhile.

I played back the events of the day, and then the last few days. I’d never had so much fun with JC. I smiled at certain memories, thoughts of us goofing around in Santorini or just having fun in our room together. He was my best friend. Maybe I shouldn’t but I could and did tell him anything. He took everything in stride, hardly anything fazed him. And as he’d mentioned the day before, there didn’t seem to be anything I did or said that he couldn’t get over.

And then there was this trip, this amazing, life-changing trip that he paid for and arranged without my even asking him to do it.

Not that there was any question, but I was more sure than ever. I wanted forever with him.

###

The next morning, the sun was merciless, beating down on us hotter than we expected. We were headed for the beach. More specifically, we were hopping an excursion boat to the Sporades islands, just a few miles across the shimmering water from Volos. We didn’t have swim wear, but found towels and shorts in the hotel gift shop. It would have to do.

The ride across the water was short. The wind was light, so the waters weren’t choppy and the boat sailed smoothly for about an hour before docking near the beach. We headed straight for a prime spot, laid out our towels and set about the business of relaxing.

We baked in the sun, we ate from the many vendor carts placed closed enough for the scent of food to waft over us, we drank—mostly water but couldn’t resist an ice cold beer or two. After awhile, we couldn’t stand the sun anymore, so we packed up and pounded through the sand to find some shade.

The island where we’d chosen to sunbathe was lush with forests and wildlife. We found a bar on the beach with plenty of cold drinks, a TV and shade. Our view was duplicitous with the beach on one side and the trees on the other. We relaxed in a booth, across from one another, enjoying a beer a piece and a few appetizers.

Out of the blue, completely unexpectedly, JC brought up the elephant in the room. Well, in my mind, anyway.

“So… forever, huh?”

Cool. Calm. Collected. Crazy? I nodded, once. “Forever. Does that scare you?”

“Not really. I just so rarely think in terms of forever.” My eyes shot up meet his. His lids slid closed, regret showing on his face. He opened them again and flushed a little. “Except… I mean. When it comes to you. And this.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that? With me?”

“Good question. I want to be. Been thinking a lot about it, you know? In terms of what I’m going to do with my career. My music. What direction I want to go.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t that up to Sony, kind of?”

“Kind of.” He flicked at the corner of the label on his bottle, peeling it from the edge. “Deal’s mine, if I want it. Heard from Eric last week.”

My heart almost jumped out of my chest. How could he be so nonchalant about something like landing a recording contract? After waiting for so long for the perfect opportunity… unless—

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? Or is there a problem with the contract?”

“No. No problem. Just evaluating.”

“Evaluating what?”

“Us.” He set his bottle down and slid it to the end of the table. “If I take this, what does it mean for you and me and what I want and what you want? We haven’t even really talked about that…. so how can I make a decision that affects a future we haven’t even talked about, you know? So I put it on hold.”

“Okay. I mean… I don’t want to stand in the way of you getting this deal, JC. If you want it, take it. We’ll make it work.”

“And then what? I go record. I’m gone all the time, again. I go tour, I’m gone all the time, again. I’m not getting any younger. And my girlfriend is impatient and misses me a lot when I’m gone.” He chuckled, giving me half a smile. “And maybe I’m thinking about other things. Moving on to another part of my life.”

“Your whole life is music, JC. You’re not happy unless you’re doing that. Do you think I want you to sacrifice your job and what makes you happy for me? I changed my life, my job, everything so that if you decided to record and tour that I could go with you.”

“I know. I appreciate that. It’s just not a long term solution.”

“And quitting music is?”

“I wouldn’t quit. I can’t quit. I’ve just been thinking. You know my old friend, Tony Lucca?”

I nodded. I’d heard of him. Tony had spent years traveling, writing music, recording and doing small shows but stayed just beneath the radar. His personal live thrived. He seemed to live life on his terms, which was doing pretty well, for a musician.

“Starting to think he has the right idea. Do music when you want. Tour when you want. Don’t do it for the money or the fame, but for the love of it. And your life is your family. Your wife, your kids, your home, your past, present and future. That’s what it’s all about.”

JC sat back, slouching against the faded cloth of the booth seat, his eyes tracking some animal outside the window.

“I can’t live with one foot in the past and one in the future. I need to—want to step forward.” His eyes moved to meet mine. I’m sure I seemed confused. Because I was. “I want to do that with you.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I’m asking. What do you want?”

Wow, what a question. And why wasn’t I prepared for it? I spent a year whining about how he never considered what I wanted. He just assumed I would uproot everything and move to Florida and retire from music with him and raise some kids that look like us. But the funny thing? That’s kind of exactly what I wanted.

“I just… want to be with you. Wherever you’re happy, doing whatever makes you happy. You’ve made sure that I’m comfortable where I live and that I like the work I do. I’m great, right now, not tied to anything. I want to be where you are, wherever that is.”

“Okay. So, say I don’t take this contract. Will you hate me?”

“Will you hate you?”

“I’m working through that. But would you?”

I stopped to think about it for a second, seriously. Ever since I’d met him, I’d been pushing him toward more music, because he seemed like he wanted to be there, back in the limelight and the public eye. Something was holding him back, though. What if the something was… himself? What if he didn’t really want to go back to being wildly famous? What if he was content for the press to ‘not give a shit’ for the rest of his life?

Could I still love him, if he didn’t take the deal? If I wasn’t dating ultra famous uber popular JC Chasez? What if I was married just plain old Joshua Scott Chasez? Could I be happy?

In an instant, I had my answer. My stomach flip flopped and my heart beat double time and the hairs on my arms stood up at the thought of being married to him, whether he ever got back on a stage or not.

“Not if you truly don’t want it. If you’re just scared and think you’ll fail, so you’re opting out so you don’t have to go through that again, then yes I will hate you. I will still love you. I’ll just hate you. A little.”

He laughed, the mood lightening. ‘Good to know. I guess.” He sighed, directing his eyes back to the view. A long, quiet moment passed.

“JC? What do you want?”

It took him a few minutes to answer. I know he heard me but he stared out of the window, unblinking. He seemed lost in another world for quite some time. Finally, he inhaled deeply and returned his gaze to me.

“I want to make music. Mostly, I just want to make music. I like what I do. Writing, working with a bunch of different people, creating sounds. Making tunes out of noise. That makes me happy.”

He paused for a moment, and then went on. “But I like playing music, too. I like being on stage and playing to a crowd and feeling that energy come back at me. It’s kind of self involved. I mean, I know I’m giving music to people but it’s as much about me as it is about them.

“And then there’s you. You and me. I never thought of myself as the husband type until I met you. Maybe I just never met the right girl, or I just wasn’t ready.”

He stopped and smiled, held out his hands and waited until my hands were in his to keep talking. “Before anything else, I want you to be happy. I want you to have everything you ever wanted, that you never thought you could have. I want to give you the world, as much as I can, of it. I want to give you what would make you happy, both tangible and intangible.”

“I think I’d like that,” I choked out, around my throat closing up.

“Me too. You think that’s possible? That we could make each other happy? We could be like my parents or yours, or even George and Ana or Adonia and Abram, chasing each other around, 50 years from now?”

“Calling each other a freak.” I nodded, vigorously. “Yeah. I do.”

“Looking forward to that. Growing old with you.”

“I thought you weren’t going to get old,” I joked, recalling one of our funnier road trip conversations.

“Changed my mind.” He paused for another moment, stroking the backs of my hands with his thumbs. “So, what do you think we should do, if you and I want the same thing, and we think we could make this forever thing work?”

Deep breath. Calm.Cool. Collected. Not crazy. “I think we should get married.”

JC’s lips pursed in his effort to keep from smiling. He looked like a duck, which made me laugh.

“You do, huh? Are you asking?”

“Are you?”

“I asked you first.”  

I laughed, and then, never more serious, said, “Yes. I’m asking. Would you marry me?” Now he looked like a fish, with his mouth opening and closing and then opening. And then closing again.  “Don’t rush to answer, or anything.”

“I’m not,” he said. He was flustered, his skin a deep pink and beads of sweat popping up along his brow. “I think, actually… I’m gonna hold my answer.”

I swallowed, my smile fading. Was he kidding? “Excuse me?”

He sat back, grabbed the neck of the fresh bottle of beer that was set before him and sucked down half of it. He belched quietly and then his eyes lifted to my stare.

“I think uhm… I think I’m not ready to answer. So I’m just…” He pushed against an imaginary boulder with his hand. His expression held an air of resolution. He seemed confident in his waffling. “I’m just holding off for a little bit. I need to think some more. Not long. Can I have some time?”

Not at all what I’d been expecting. Melissa and I had a bet that I’d come back from Greece engaged. I was almost counting the money in my head. Now I owed her a hundred dollars. I sat across from JC and looked into his eyes and felt his heartbeat racing through the palm of the one hand still holding mine. I wasn’t afraid of waiting. I could wait forever, if I had to. I just hoped I didn’t have to.

I smiled a sweet smile and relaxed, squeezing his hand around mine. “Take all the time you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”