Evening Bags and Executions(9)

“Nothing’s wrong,” I assured her. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

She stopped and whirled to face me.

“Haley, don’t you see what’s happening here?” she demanded. “You’ve turned into a breakup zombie.”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I’m perfectly—”

“Yes, you have.” Marcie insisted. “You’re living in breakup zombieland.”

I just looked at her.

“Listen to me, Haley. I know what I’m talking about,” she said. “You haven’t dealt with the breakup. You’re emotionally stuck. You’re walking around, going through the motions, but you’re really in a breakup trance—like a zombie.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Marcie drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “You have to face the truth, Haley. You and Ty broke up. He’s not coming back. And leaving all of this stuff in your apartment, pretending he’s going to come back and fix it, is only going to keep you suspended in breakup zombieland indefinitely.”

Marcie was almost always right about things. Oh my God, was she right about this?

My heart started to ache. My chest felt heavy. I could hardly draw a breath.

“He wouldn’t just leave all of this stuff here for me to clean up,” I managed to say. “He’s coming back so we can . . . talk about . . . things.”

“It’s been weeks, Haley. Weeks. If he intended to come back, he would have done it by now,” Marcie said.

“Ty wouldn’t walk away from the mess he left me with,” I told her. “I know him. He wouldn’t do that.”

Marcie looked at me for a couple of minutes, like she was judging me, trying to decide something, then said, “Look, Haley, I didn’t want to tell you this, but now I feel I have to.”

I didn’t want to hear what she was about to say.

“It’s the only way to make you see the truth,” she said.

I kind of liked it in breakup zombieland.

“You need to sit down,” Marcie told me.

She led me to the sofa in my living room and we sat down. She scooted to the edge and turned to face me.

“I saw Sarah Covington the other day,” Marcie said.

I hate Sarah Covington.

She was the vice president of marketing for Holt’s. She was pretty, smart, had her B.A., wore fabulous clothes and handbags, and made tons of money—all of which were reasons to hate her.

But the thing that really got to me was that she was all over Ty, all the time. She was forever tweeting, calling, texting, and e-mailing him about every tiny, miniscule, insignificant thing that happened at Holt’s. She had to see him personally about absolutely any and all aspects of her job, and she was forever interrupting our dates, phone conversations, and what little time Ty and I had together. The worst part was that Ty never realized what she was doing, hung on her every word, and allowed her to shoehorn herself into almost every part of his life.

I hate her.

Now, with Marcie sitting next to me wearing that brace-yourself look on her face, I double-hated Sarah Covington.

“When I saw Sarah the other day,” Marcie said gently,

“she had on an engagement ring.”

Breath went out of me. I thought I might faint. Then I got mad.

“He’s engaged already?” I demanded, and sprang off the sofa. “To her? To that—that—”

“I don’t know for sure that it’s Ty. I didn’t ask her,” Marcie told me.

“Oh my God!” I kicked the pile of trash, sending bubble wrap and packing paper flying around the room.

“But you know how close they are,” Marcie said. “So I just figured it was him.”

I grabbed one of the television cables and yanked it off my wall.

“It was his idea,” I said.

I might have yelled that.

“I came home and he was already packed. He said he couldn’t be the kind of boyfriend I wanted—but he never asked what kind of boyfriend I wanted.”

I’m pretty sure I yelled that.

“Do you think he wanted to ask Sarah to marry him then?” Marcie asked.

“I thought he liked this other girl—one I introduced him to.”

I definitely yelled that.

I scooped up a shipping carton and heaved it across the room, then spent a few more minutes slamming power tools into the grill, jumping up and down on the extension cord, and pelting my walls with nuts and bolts.

Finally, exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa again.

Marcie just sat there while I fumed, as a BFF would, then went into the kitchen and brought back two Coronas and a half-dozen frozen Snickers bars.

“At least you’re out of breakup zombieland now,” Marcie said.