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 see 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.