I flew us out to Capri along with Ashlee, my parents, and about a dozen girlfriends, and we had a gorgeous hotel high on a cliff. We girls all partied so hard the first night, Eric could barely keep up. With Ashlee and my crowd fully melded into one, we had become a happy-go-lucky band of ladies, just enjoying life.
I rented a yacht to take us from Capri to Pompeii. I’ll be honest, I wanted to see the stone phalluses that are peppered throughout the city’s walls and streets. So the day was basically one long penis joke. Someone had warned me that I had to wear sneakers because of the cobblestones. Now, I don’t even have flats, so I definitely didn’t have sneakers. So I got Asics and wore them with jean shorts and a muscle tee. I looked absolutely ridiculous. Meanwhile, Ashlee and all my friends were dressed for the cover of Italian Vogue. It was the least sexy I have felt in my entire life at a time when I was embracing the beauty of sex. But I had to laugh because I was having great sex.
On my birthday, we all had dinner at a restaurant, sitting outside by the sea. It was all my favorite people at one table, their beautiful faces lit by candlelight. Adrienne had a tradition where we each went around talking about what the birthday girl meant to them. I had never made a big deal about my birthday before, so this was the first time I was the focus of the ritual. What people said was so amazing. I think we move through the world assuming people know what they mean to us. But so often those assumptions fall short. I am one of those people who has a lot of best friends—I just love them all differently. But for some reason, a lot of those people just consider me their one best friend. I was so moved, but I kept it together until we got to CaCee. CaCee is so quick-witted, I expected a funny story.
“I am proud of you, Jessica,” she said. She talked about watching me bloom recently, moving away from fear and becoming a strong woman.
I began to weep, because I thought I had failed her in my divorce. She had come in and out of my life around John, and I thought I had broken her heart when I left Nick. With her speech, I felt released from that guilt—it was the best gift she could have given me. If someone I looked up to so much said she was proud of me, I had to be doing something right.
My friends and family surprised me with a cake, a gorgeous circle of icing flowers and one pink candle in the very center. I know I told you I believe in birthday wishes. As my friends finished singing “Happy Birthday,” I looked into the glow of the flame, made my wish, and blew it out.
Later, in our room, I sat on the bed and watched Eric doing half-naked QiGong in a corner. I loved him.
“Babe,” I said.
He looked over.
“I know we’re not supposed to tell our wishes, but I can’t keep my mouth shut about this one.”
He said nothing, just stood at the edge of the bed.
“This could scare you off,” I continued, “but I wished for a baby girl. And I would like to make that happen with you.”
He leaned over and kissed me. Our sex was always powerful, because we were both very present in our bodies, but that night it was spiritually explosive. The kind of love that makes miracles happen.
From then on, we were inseparable. I told him to just move in with me so we could start a family. We’d take it one day at a time, but our days went until four a.m. staying up talking. He brought his vintage record player and LPs, filling my home—our home—with his music, Bob Marley and reggae. And I made sure he knew every Willie, Waylon, and Hank I’d ever loved. The area where we always sat had a little fountain, and we lived in peace and gratitude that we’d found each other after not knowing we’d ever love again. When a dream falls through, you think maybe it’s lost forever. And there we were, ready to scoop it up and get that second chance.
There was only one catch: Wharton. Eric had been accepted to business school at UPenn. On paper, it would be crazy not to take that opportunity, and I wasn’t going to stop him. I even bought him a computer as a going-away gift, and I talked myself out of being disappointed when he went to visit Philadelphia to pick out an apartment. The weekend before he was set to leave, I had to go to Dallas to do some work for the Collection. Eric started packing while I was away, probably knowing it would be hard for me to watch him do that and keep my poker face. But as he packed, he later told me, he started getting upset. The whole point of going to Wharton was to anchor himself and meet people so he could build a community. He’d done that here with me and our friends.
When I came home, he said he was having second thoughts about business school. It was only then that I said my piece.
“I have a GED, and my business just cleared $750 million,” I said. “We’re closing in on a billion and trending up. A GED. You don’t need to go to Wharton. You can hire someone who went to Wharton.”
He thought long and hard and spoke to several mentors and coaches from his past. Eric confided in them that he knew he would marry me, and we would raise kids together. If Wharton could jeopardize that future, it wasn’t worth it.
“All right,” he told me. “I’m going to Jessica Simpson Business School.”
I was so relieved. The irony is that soon after, I told him that I was returning to the Persian Gulf. I said it so casually that he was confused. “Just a couple of days,” I said.
Kidding aside, in October, I went back to the USS Truman to pay a visit to the troops. Back then, it seemed crazy that the war in Afghanistan had been going for nine years, and the war in Iraq was then at six years. I didn’t want service members to feel forgotten. I was working on a second Christmas album, recording it quickly for a November release. I really wanted to do a duet of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with a service member. I chose that song because I believed they should all be able to come home. My dad arranged for it, as only he could. The crew of the Truman had an American Idol–style competition, and when I flew in, I would judge the final eight with the winner becoming my duet partner.
It was beautiful. I watched eight sailors and marines perform, and the clear winner was Petty Officer John Britt. I remember he was on his fifth or sixth tour. We recorded his part of the record in the announcement room of the Truman, and I invited him to also perform with me at the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting appearance I had scheduled for later that month. He wasn’t sure he could, and my dad said he’d make it happen for him. He did, and John’s wife and child were able to come to New York to see him perform with me. I was so proud of that and of my father for making it happen.
The media didn’t give my trip the coverage I wanted it to bring the service members, but I was resigned to that. But then I accidentally handed them a headline: “Jess’s Run-in with Nick!”
So a girl walks into a Mexican restaurant with her boyfriend and her crew from the Collection. My mom and all the girls had been working so hard, so we thought we’d all leave the showroom one night and have fun in the form of margaritas at Red O. They brought us to a table, and as soon as we sat down, the energy at the table got really awkward. Someone whispered to my mom, and she scanned the room quick.
“Jess, Nick is here,” she said. “He’s with Vanessa.”
I looked up, but I didn’t see them at all. “He’s spotted you,” my mom said. I couldn’t for the life of me see him. The restaurant was dark with gold and red lighting, but it wasn’t that dark. My heart started going into overdrive, and I began drinking heavily, thinking it would help everybody loosen up. When even the waitstaff started to seem anxious, I realized this was ridiculous.
I stood up. “I’m just gonna go say hi and make it not awkward,” I told the table. “Where is he?” People made subtle head nods in the direction of what seemed to be the entire restaurant, which, while subtle, was not helpful. “Well, I’ll find them,” I said, smoothing my shirt. I’d been working, so this was hardly how I imagined looking when I spoke with my ex for the first time in years, but hey. Growth.
I walked further into the restaurant, squinting and craning my neck to see him. Finally, I stopped and did a 360 scan of the place. I couldn’t se
e him. I turned back to my table, and everybody’s eyes were wide open, staring at me.
“I don’t see him,” I said, just loud enough that my voice would carry to my table. “I don’t!” So I marched back.
“Jessica, you were right there next to them,” my mom said.
“You guys, I swear I did not see them,” I said. “And I am not wasted. Now I’m gonna drink because I feel like a freaking idiot.”
I started crying, so Eric and I left. My mom went to them to try to smooth things over.
“I don’t know why Jessica didn’t see you,” she told Nick.
“It was probably for the better,” he said. He might have been annoyed, but he was graceful to my mom, and I appreciated that.
I still don’t know why I didn’t see him. Maybe God put blinders on me so I wouldn’t be tempted to look back and just keep moving forward.
23
Since I’ve Been Loving You
November 2010
I love TV. I didn’t get to watch much as a kid, so I made up for it as an adult. Before bingeing shows was a thing, I could lose myself in TV, watching episode after episode. Friday Night Lights, Weeds, Californication . . . At this time, our show was Parenthood. I called it our show, but Eric isn’t someone who can just sit and watch a show like me. He needs to be moving around. On the morning of November 11, I was mainlining the second season on DVD, crying with the Bravermans in Eric’s big Yale sweatshirt and the underwear I called my rufflebutt panties. I heard Led Zeppelin blaring from the direction of my bedroom upstairs.
He came into the living room and saw me literally crying from the television show I was watching.
“You gotta see what Bentley did upstairs,” he said. Bentley was his dog, an Airedale terrier I had grown to think of as mine, too.
“Babe, I’m totally lost in the middle of this,” I said.
He went upstairs and called down. “There’s something wrong with Bentley!”
I jumped up and ran up those stairs now, worried about Bentley. But when I got to our bedroom, Bentley was fine, and Eric was out on the balcony, and there were rose petals all over. I realized my favorite song was playing, Led Zeppelin’s “Since I’ve Been Loving You,” from the How the West Was Won live album.
I walked to him, slowly realizing what was happening. When I got to him, he got down on one knee, presenting a beautiful diamond-and-ruby ring,
I was so overcome I sat down on his knee. “Whoa,” I said.
“I know it’s only been six months,” he said, “but I know that the rest of my life is yours. If you’ll have me.”
It was an immediate yes. I enjoyed him, my best friend, in the hard stuff and the fun stuff. I didn’t ever want to sleep without him next to me. We understood each other when nobody else ever seemed to.
Eric timed the proposal for exactly 11:11:11 on November 11. He knew 11:11 has always been a special time for me for some reason. I happen to look at the clock at that exact moment and freak my girlfriends out by telling them to make a wish.
“I know you would not want to be anywhere but your home when I asked you,” he said. Anybody who knew my heart knew that was true. I would not have wanted to say yes to forever in front of anybody else or anywhere else.
“But how did you know that I wanted a ruby?” I almost yelled.
“Because I know you,” he said. “It’s your birthstone, and I know what’s sentimental to you.” He told me my mom helped him pick out the ring, and she told me he paid for it himself. It’s so funny, because he lived so simply that I always assumed he had no money. But all those years playing in the NFL, he’d saved. We kissed, and by then the record had gone through “Stairway to Heaven” and started Eric’s favorite, “Going to California.”
“Your bags are packed,” he said. “I’m taking you up to San Ysidro Ranch.” It’s a hotel that’s one of the most romantic places in the world. He’d confided his proposal plan to Lolo, because she’d brought us together in the first place, and she suggested it as the perfect getaway.
“How did you do all this?” I asked. How long had I been watching Parenthood?
“I just did,” he said. It was about a three-hour drive to San Ysidro, and we called all our loved ones on the way. He told me he’d asked my parents’ permission, and they’d given their blessing. None of my friends were shocked, or at least nobody said they were. Everybody knew we were meant to be together. We already had a plan: we would get married the following year, so our wedding date could be 11/11/11.
I remember looking out on the coastline, thinking that now more than ever I wanted that wished-for baby girl. Trust God’s timing, I told myself. She’ll appear.
THE FOLLOWING SUMMER, A YEAR INTO TRYING TO HAVE A BABY, I KEPT A stash of pregnancy tests in the downstairs bathroom. I didn’t want them in my bathroom, because I would constantly see them. I just needed to know they were there when I was ready.
When I had the surgery to remove my right fallopian tube as a teenager, the doctor had said I would likely only be able to get pregnant every other month. Then, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Now it seemed like it cut my chances in half. It was summer, a month where I would be ovulating on my left side, where I still had a fallopian tube. Those months were always full of hope. I had been trying ever since Capri. I know that there are people who’ve waited longer or been told more definitively that they will not be able to conceive or bring a baby to term. I am in no way comparing heartaches. For me, passing the year mark was hard. I wasn’t ready to start monitoring when I was ovulating, because I was afraid of realizing I had a real issue. But I took a pregnancy test every month, just in case, and this time the Not Pregnant sign on the test hurt my heart.
I needed Eric. He was outside at the glass table with Master Wang, who was visiting. They were sipping tea, and Eric was listening intently to his old mentor. Master Wang was a powerful man, somehow young and old at the same time, and able to command any room he is in with silence. Eric always said he gave it to him straight and had no time for the trappings of ego or excuses.
I went outside to Eric, crying uncontrollably, a year’s worth of tears coming out. “I’m not pregnant,” I said, “and I’m never gonna be pregnant. And I just want to be a mom.”
Master Wang paused a long time, seeing the hurt in my eyes. He softened.
“Let me try a treatment on you,” he said. “An adjustment.”
I’m not a doctor, chiropractor, or nuclear scientist, so this is not advice. But we went inside, and he somehow knew that my issue was on my right side, where my fallopian tube had been removed. He did an adjustment that I can only describe as popping my pelvis. I asked God to make this work.
The summer continued, and I saved photos of wedding dresses on my phone for a November wedding. In August, Eric and I headed to Watch Hill, Rhode Island, for a getaway with his parents. He was intent on getting me on a bike to tour the area. I resisted and was irritable about it. I just felt a little off. But Eric won out, taking me out on ten- to twenty-mile bike rides. It’s beautiful there, with old Victorian-style “cottages” that are really these sprawling mansions by the ocean. We watched the sun set, and I was proud that we’d gotten through our bickering and gone riding. Go team.
When we got home, we still had the cycling bug, and we made plans to see Eric’s friends in Venice. It was morning, and Eric was upstairs in the shower. I was standing in the kitchen when I had this strange feeling. It was so striking, so clear, that I said the words aloud:
“I don’t feel alone.”
Some instinct put my hand toward my lower stomach, and my heart started beating fast. I slowly walked to the bathroom, pulling open the drawer where I kept my pregnancy tests. I’d had my period, and this wasn’t even a month where I would be using the fallopian tube I had. I heard my girlfriends’ voices in my head telling me I was crazy. Asking me why, if I had my period, did I insist on taking pregnancy tests and putting myself through the pain of the bad news. But the voices faded. I peed on the st
ick and read the instructions in the same ritual I always followed, even though I knew the drill by heart. “Place on a flat surface . . . windows facing up . . .”
I did. And I waited, thinking, Should I have waited for Eric? Was it wrong to do this alone?
No, I decided, if this is a baby, it’s just me and this kid right now. We have these minutes to find each other, or not. Finally, I looked.
Pregnant.
I ran upstairs screaming. We’d found each other. Eric thought something was wrong because I was crying. I couldn’t talk, just handed him the pregnancy test. What I’d known for that minute, he now knew, and I watched the excitement and relief wash over him.
We called everybody. My sweet mother almost tried to turn around on the highway to get to me sooner. Everybody wanted to come over, and we welcomed them. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but I would have if I’d had your number.
One of my girlfriends who knew my cycles asked if I wanted to take a second test. I didn’t want to pee on another stick, because I didn’t want it to say anything different. If this was some foolish dream, I wanted to live in it longer.
I called my dad. I love my father, but he responded as a manager of a talent who had a lot of deals in the works.
“Well, what are you gonna do?” he asked.
“What do you mean what am I gonna do?” I said. “Um, I’m having the baby?”
“No, what are we gonna do? I have all these things.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe do some things for you. I’m not gonna work for a bit, how ’bout that? We’re just gonna grow the business of the Collection, and I’ll do design meetings. And I’m not gonna go on the road.”
Creatively, I had been my parents’ outlet for so long. My having a baby felt like an opportunity for my mother to take even more ownership of the business and for my father to put his energy and ideas into other things.
Open Book Page 28