I was enjoying having a fresh, new romantic moment with Nick. We even joked about how we were going to pace ourselves and not rush anything. Once, he sent me a gigantic, gorgeous bouquet of flowers while I was in London, signing the card, “from a Pace University dropout,” because things were going fast, fast. We’d quickly established a solid friendship, then even more quickly hopped on our own underground love roller coaster. We could share our layers with each other. We connected on some very core things. He was a good guy. He was faith based. He was ambitious. He had been in the entertainment industry for a long time, so he understood the madness. He paid attention to me. The power dynamics between us felt even.
I was clear with Nick that I was not at all interested in becoming physically vulnerable again. I was not going there unless there was complete commitment, which at the time meant marriage. (So, obviously I would have had to break the vow I made to myself about never marrying again.) Nick respected my position.
I sincerely thought I would never have kids. Our relationship changed that. We talked very seriously about having children, and that changed everything. Having children together became our reason. Our desire to have children became a force of nature and why we got married so quickly.
Way back then it was the simple things
Anklets, nameplates that you gave to me
Sweet Tarts, Ring Pops
Had that candy bling
And you were my world
—“Candy Bling”
The whole world is pink yet lavender when you’re in a good swirl, and we were in a sweet swirl (a swirl is the opposite of a spiral). Nick’s proposal to me was wrapped in childlike romance. He was always eating candy, which the “eternally twelve” in me found totally acceptable for a grown man. On the evening the Empire State Building was scheduled to be lit up in my signature “pink yet lavender” colors, in celebration of a native New Yorker making history with “Touch My Body” setting a new record, Nick and I were chilling in the Moroccan room, talking, laughing, and listening to music. With that enormous, luminous smile of his, Nick gave me one of those big candy Ring Pops; it was among other confections inside a little metal Hello Kitty lunch box. I thought, Okay, this is cutely festive—I’ll eat some celebratory candy with him. Disguised as a candy pop ring was a large, clear emerald-cut diamond, flanked by two moon-cut diamonds, surrounded by smaller pink diamonds—a very real ring! It was dazzling and matched the situation. I wore a lavender dress with a pink cardigan, and we took a helicopter ride over the city and marveled at the lights and reveled in our moment. That night, Nick and I sparkled and shined brighter than the Empire State Building itself.
Our wedding was just about the absolute opposite of my first. It was a total spiritual celebration, not mostly an industry production. It was intimate—maybe a dozen people in all. I had my pastor, Bishop Clarence Keaton, come in from Brooklyn to officiate. We held it at my beautiful house in Eleuthera, Bahamas. The white silk matte jersey gown I wore was custom-made for me by Nile Cmylo, an independent women’s designer I’d worked with for years, not by a high-profile fashion house. It had a simple, form-fitting silhouette, and my shoulder-length veil required no handlers, only a few bobby pins. My ex-sister’s first son, Shawn—whom I lovingly refer to as my nephew-slash-brother-slash-uncle-slash-cousin-slash-grandfather, because he really has been the blood family member who has been with me and for me in so many capacities, and I cherish him—walked me down the sandy, salmon-colored aisle. And after the ceremony, I kicked off my Manolos and twirled barefoot in the fine pink grains, allowing the hem of my cloud-colored gown to swish and sway in the aqua-blue waters. We basked in the glow of the Bahamian sunset and genuine love. It was ours to have and to hold. We didn’t overstage anything. We didn’t even really care about photos (though, ironically, they ended up as a cover story for People). This time, I was sipping fine champagne with fine friends—no more lonely, salty tears in sad, sugary daiquiris.
It was near Christmastime, and I was ten weeks pregnant. It was our Christmas miracle! Nick and I were beyond excited. We kept our little secret just between us, but of course I planned to make the revelation an event over our Christmas vacation. I was even designing tree ornaments as the announcements for friends and family. But on a routine checkup at our obstetrician’s office, the sonogram was silent. The sacred, rhythmic swoosh of our baby’s heartbeat was gone—and in that silence I could hear my own heart crack. I survived my miscarriage, but I will never forget it.
After the devastation I made it my mission to prepare my body to healthily hold and sustain new life. I totally detached from the industry machine and went underground to heal and build. It was the first time in my entire career when I turned down work to concentrate on my well-being (I passed on some big acting opportunities, and after Precious, that’s really where I wanted to go). I employed mostly non-Western medicinal practices, like Chinese herbs and acupuncture. I had meditation moments (and it’s hard), whatever it took. Nothing mattered except putting myself in the best possible
