Going Off Script (28 page)

The boxes marked “miscellaneous” are still waiting to be unpacked when we make another decision. Dr. Schoolcraft transfers our last embryo into Delphine. Maybe life is about just this, a series of chances, of boxes unopened, of terrifying journeys you can’t be sure of surviving. So we do what we’ve learned to after too many tears and so many blessings. We wait, and we pray. The stress of the move, of too many plane trips, of all the uncertainty I feel about my career, all takes a toll on my body. The few pounds I lose send me into a panic: What if the cancer is back? Was I wrong to opt out of chemo? Is it too late to do it now? When my angular shoulder blades are revealed by a strapless gown I wear to the Golden Globes and then again by a black jumpsuit I wear at the Grammys, I’m body-shamed in the media, falsely accused of being anorexic when really I’m under immense stress and my cancer medication has caused me to lose weight. It’s been hard to see myself lose the fit and toned body I had before treatment yet all people on Twitter can say is “eat a burger.”

When my father gets ready to open his new store—that ten-year lease that amounts to his declaration to continue working until he’s nearly ninety—I promise to come for the gala grand-opening party. Bill and I are in New York, where Bill is running the New York City marathon, his third marathon. This time, he is doing it to raise money for my charity, Fab-U-Wish, which offers women who are going through breast cancer treatment a wish, like a makeover or shopping spree, or a dream trip to Hollywood for a day of pampering with me. It is a tough day for the marathon, with bitter cold winds. Bill is exhausted by the time he gets to the finish line, frozen to the bone. We have a friend’s plane waiting to get us to D.C. in time for my dad’s big event. “You should stay here and rest,” I urge Bill. “Babbo will understand. I’ll go.”

“No, no, I want to support your dad,” Bill insists. He takes a two-second shower and we fly to Washington.

When we rush in, the store is already packed. All of my father’s customers are there, along with the family doctor, the dentist, and the usual cast of Italian relatives. Babbo even has a red carpet out front, and beams with joy when I walk down it.

“Honey, we have a surprise for you,” Bill says excitedly.

“For me?” I am confused. Is there a cake or something?

“It’s someone from your childhood,” says my sister-in-law, Nikki, who has orchestrated it all. I have a flash of fear: my parents have remained friends with Richard D. and his family.

“Wait, who, an ex?” I urgently ask.

“No, are you kidding?” Bill says. “Turn around.”

And there she is in person. Barbara Harrison. She is exactly how I remember her, not a second older. The same blue eyes that gazed at me from my television set for so many years look at me in person now. I literally gasp, and she smiles. I start crying. I don’t know what to say.

“Hi, Giuliana, I’m Barbara,” she says.

“Oh my God, Barbara, you don’t understand,” I say, finally finding my voice. “I’ve worshipped you since I was a little girl. You taught me English! Once when I was at the mall, I was on the third level and someone said you were downstairs, and I tried chasing you but I couldn’t catch up!” I am babbling like an idiot, but can’t stop. It is such an emotional moment for me, bigger than interviewing an A-lister, bigger than meeting Madonna or even Clooney.

“I don’t want to sound weird and stalkerish, but I literally talk about you all the time,” I go on. “You’re such a big part of my story.”

Barbara Harrison is taken aback. She looks like she is fighting tears now as she thanks me for the compliments and tells me how
incredible she thinks my journey is. She tells me to look at what I have done and all that I have achieved. Not only am I seen by viewers in Washington, D.C., like I dreamed of as a little girl, but, Barbara reminds me, I am seen all over the world.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says.

I look around the room and take in the moment. Some people say you have to change to make it big, that success always comes with a price. That you have to leave your old life behind in order to get the shiny new one you’ve always dreamed of. But as I look around the room at my lifelong friends, my incredible family, and my soul mate who has given me the greatest gift of all, my son Duke, I realize Barbara is right.

I did it.

I
t’s New Year’s Eve again, three years to the hour since Bill and I clung to each other anxiously in Times Square and got the joyful news that we were going to have a baby. This time, half a world away in Dubai, we are again waiting for Dr. Schoolcraft to call us with the news we so desperately want to hear. It’s a perfect night in the Middle East—seventy-five degrees with no desert winds, just the electrifying energy of ten thousand people waiting in the arena for me and Bill to host their version of the Times Square ball drop. I’m wearing a beautiful red couture gown. I feel grateful for the past year full of laughs and love and good health, certain that even more awaits us in the new year. It’s a cool coincidence, Bill and I tell ourselves, that things are playing out the exact same way; that come August, we will once again welcome a baby into our lives and into our home. We secretly decorated the guest room next to Duke’s room in pink florals, knowing it would be a nursery for the daughter we would one day have. It’s the promise that our last embryo,
which we recently discovered is a little girl, will come to life and complete our family.

T
he phone rings. It’s Dr. Schoolcraft.

“Hi Giuliana and Bill. First of all, Happy New Year,” he says.

“Happy New Year to you, Doctor! We can’t wait to hear the news.” And then, a pause, followed by the two words we’ve heard too many times, yet still they stun me.
I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry, but unfortunately six weeks into pregnancy, the embryo is not developing and therefore we have determined this is not a viable pregnancy. There is no baby.”

Bill and I keep the conversation short. All I can say to the doctor as I fight back tears is, “You can’t win them all.” He agrees. We thank the doctor and look at each other. We are sad. Bill tells me that it’s okay. That our family is already complete. He’s right, but it doesn’t make the pain that’s quickly building inside of me go away.

D
uke has stayed back in Chicago at Bill’s sister’s house, and at that moment, a text comes through to both of us from her. It’s a video. She is driving Duke around the neighborhood to look at the Christmas lights that are still up. Duke is singing “Jingle Bells” happily in his car seat. He’s holding his blankie and looking at the lights as he sings. He suddenly notices the camera and stops, almost as if he knows we are looking at him, and says, “Mama…Dada…Home.” I smile through my tears; he’s right, it’s time to go home. Life is never the perfect fairy tale, and mine will no doubt have more ups and downs before it’s over. But no matter what, I know I will live happily ever after.

Thank you to the following people who, if they hadn’t played a part in my life, this book would be a lot thinner.

My fabulous editor, Suzanne O’Neill, and the rest of the gang at Crown Archetype. Thank you for believing in this book even before I walked into our first meeting and for giving me the freedom to tell my story. And sorry for missing a couple of deadlines. This whole memoir-writing thing isn’t easy!

Thank you to my literary manager, Richard Abate, for convincing me to write my story. Why are you always right?

To my longtime friend and manager Pam Kohl. I can’t imagine not speaking to you 100 times a day. I love you Pam!

Ted Harbert for plucking me out of my cubicle and onto the anchor desk. More important, thank you for your friendship and all the laughs. I am forever grateful.

Niki Ugel for teaching me the importance of higher education and being the first to tell me that education is the one thing no one can take away from you. Thank you for your guidance when I needed it most.

Melissa Rivers for always believing in me and for being the superwoman you are. I am eternally grateful to you for your friendship and generosity.

Joan Rivers. Thank you for your candor and honesty and willingness to take a chance on a girl with a funny name. I will always remember your favorite story of the bumble bee. The bumble bee wasn’t supposed to fly, but no one ever told the bumble bee that. And that’s exactly what he did. Fly. I love you.

To the little sister I never had, Tara Bassi. At twenty-four, you were taken from us too soon because God needed you in Heaven. You will forever live on in my heart. Until we meet again.

Sarah Knight, Catalina Su, Brenda Kovar, Monica Rose, and Melissa Brown. Thank you for years of loyalty and friendship and for making me laugh so damn hard every day. I love you girls!

Colet Abedi, since the day we gave each other the stink eye at the fax machine you have been my most trusted and loyal friend. You are a beautiful soul and I am so lucky to have you in my life.

My parents, Eduardo and Anna. I can’t imagine more perfect role models. Thank you for loving me, shaping me, and always rescuing me. My brother, Pasquale, for keeping me in line when we were kids, and Monica, you are more than just my big sister. You are my first mentor and idol. Thank you for teaching me the ropes. I love you.

Delphine for giving us the greatest gift, carrying our son, Duke. And Brett, Mason, and Ewan for supporting Delphine and us throughout the nine months. Friends forever!

My
E! News
family…the most talented bunch in the biz. Thank you for making me look good every day. And Lee Schneller for always having my back. Love you, Lee!

My
Live from the Red Carpet
and
Fashion Police
families. Thank you for being so damn talented. And Lisa Bacon for all the late-night texts and for always believing in me.

Bill’s loving family, Gail, Karen, Katie, and Beth. Thank you
for treating me like a member of the family from day one. I definitely hit the in-law lottery! And to the memory of Dr. Edward Rancic; I never had the privilege to meet you in person, but I feel your love every single day in your son Bill and your grandson, Edward Duke. One day we will meet.

My nieces and nephews, Eddie, Olivia, Alexa, Maxine, Jordana, Jasper, Zack, Luke, Noah, Jake, Ben, Sara, Rachael, and Liam. Life is waiting for you to make what you want of it. Carpe diem.

Dr. John Kostuik for making me straight, Dr. Armando Giuliano for making me healthy and Dr. Devchand Paul for keeping me healthy. Also, Dr. Richard Childs and Dr. Maria Merino for treating me like a person, not a patient. Thank you.

Donald Trump for choosing Bill to be your first apprentice. We wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t said “You’re hired” to him.

To the memory of my grandparents, Antonio and Maria Santillo, Pasquale and Enrichetta DePandi, as well as my uncle Michele Santillo and my aunt Angela Santillo. Thank you for watching over me from Heaven.

My favorite beeeech, Tamara. What an incredible gift you have. Thank you for sharing it with me. I’m in awe of you.

Barbara Harrison, thank you for being the epitome of class and elegance and for inspiring my career path.

I thank God, my Father in Heaven, and Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, for holding my hand each day and blessing me with this beautiful life.

To my son, Duke. It took many years and many tears to get you here, but it was worth every moment. I can’t wait to see the wonderful man you will become one day.

And finally, Bill. You are not only my husband, but you’re also my best friend, confidante, and partner in crime. You’re my dream come true and your love is intoxicating. I thank God every day for bringing us together. I love you until the end of time.