Pumpkin Spice

Warning: murder.

I opened the door to the sweet scent of pumpkin, fresh and ripe. There he was again, pumpkins on the table, their innards piled on newspaper, his hand scooping another load of mushy, seedy mess out of, like the sixth one.

"You devil!" I shook my head. He just looked up and grinned. I hated that smile.

"Just making sure I get it right. That's important, you know."

"All I know is I am sick and tired of smelling pumpkin," I took a sip of my latte.

"What flavor is that?"

I lowered my cup and stared at him, "Pumpkin Spice," I hated when he did that, pointed out the obvious. I put the milk and eggs in the fridge and left the other groceries to put away later. It had been a hard day at work and I just wanted to relax.

My body ached and I longed for a warm bath, so I shut the bedroom door and cracked the window to let the cool Autumn air stir some of my tension away. The sun was beginning to slide down the horizon and it's orange glow mocked me, "Pumpkin orange, really?"

I slipped out of my clothes and into the tub, the soothing water enveloped my body and relaxed my mind. But, I still had THAT to deal with, it held me captive because I KNEW this was the night. I could not wait any longer. I had to get rid of him. I could not stand his crazy ways one more day. I mean, pumpkins. Every night the same thing for nearly a month! What was wrong with him?

I wondered how our time together had regressed to such a putrid state. I am not one to believe in love at first sight, but this came close. Well, I THOUGHT I was in love. I allowed myself to lean into the passion he lit up in my heart right away. Of all things, what first caught my attention was his grin, it drew me from across the room and I asked him to dance. When his arm wrapped around me and our bodies swayed so closely together to the perfect song, I knew we had something special. Maybe there was something to this soul mate stuff, after all.

After two years of togetherness, I was still quite reluctant to let him go. But, he was really getting on my nerves now, and I was going to let him know tonight. He had to go before I went insane.

All of the little fires he used to spark in me had turned to smoke. It made me WANT to smoke. When he would run his fingers through my hair, I used to lean into him to feel his breath on my cheek. Last week, I cut my hair. When he played our song, I would embrace him and lay my ear over his heart to hear it beat. Now, I shout, "I'm in the bathroom!" And when he grins at me, I cringe and want to slap his face. Just looking at him makes me feel like there are a million little bugs crawling under my skin.

Things got weird. HE got weird. Yes, tonight it would be over. As I rested my thoughts on that determination, the door opened and he stood smiling at me, one hand rested on the knob, the other held the carving knife, "You gonna be long? I ordered pizza."

"I dunno yet. Maybe a few more minutes."

"Okay, we can warm it up if need be."

"Fine," I closed my eyes as he shut the door. No need to tell him to clean up the mess in the kitchen, he always did, immaculately, every time. I wondered what his fascination was with cutting out jack-o'-lanterns. For nearly a whole month, every night I'd come home and there he would be carving away on, like, the ninth or tenth pumpkin. CRAZY! And every time I asked why, he would give me that stupid grin like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

At first I thought it was funny, but he insisted I not laugh. How could I not? Every surface in the kitchen was covered with these creepy, lop-sided-smile orange orbs. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.

After about a week of this, I finally asked, "What gives? Why this obsession with pumpkins and when is it going to stop?" This was our first fight, over stupid pumpkins.

"Don't pick on me about this, okay! It's something I've gotta do. I can't explain it and I don't want to. So, please? Okay?" His grin was gone and he stared at me like a madman.

I stared back and mocked him, "Okaaayyy!" I could not leave the room fast enough.

Every night since, I came home to pumpkins being butchered and gutted and gutted and butchered. I mean, if he was at least a decent kind of artist, he could maybe sell them to the neighbors for their stoops, but they were every one warped and stupid looking, like a preschooler had done them. So, off they would go into the growing pumpkin pile in the backyard, just tossed away. Refuse. I asked him why again and got the same answer.

"Just making sure I get it right. That's important, you know. Practice, practice, practice," with that stupid grin on his face. I hated that smile.

Tonight, I was going to tell him tonight this was not working out for me. Maybe before the pumpkin insanity there was a chance, but no. He had driven me over the edge now. I was calling it quits, and I NEVER wanted to see another pumpkin as long as I lived.

We sat across from each other with warmed over pizza on paper plates. As I anticipated, the kitchen was spotless. No sign of pumpkin skin, seeds or pulp anywhere. Just a subtle scent hidden behind the waft of pepperoni. I pulled my flannel robe tighter against the chilled air.

"You cold? Sorry. I left the door open as I cleaned up in here."

"I'll warm up soon enough. Looks nice in here. Thanks for putting the groceries away."

"No problem."

"Why do you keep doing that?" I took a bite of pizza.

"With the pumpkins? Told you. Practice, practice, practice," as if on cue, he lifted the carving knife and sliced through the left over pizza like a surgeon focused on a cadaver, "Want more?" he glanced up with his usual grin. This time I almost found it sexy.

I chewed my food and contemplated the evening ahead, "I'm good. Do we have any dessert?"

"Pumpkin pie."

"Really?! REALLY???" I jumped up and slung my pizza onto the plate, "Why do you have to harass me with those things? You are obsessed with them!" I shoved my chair out of the way and stormed out of the room.

He found me curled up on the couch watching an old sitcom, blocked my view and made me look up.

"I wasn't kidding about the pumpkin pie," he swung his arm from behind his back and bent toward me. I jerked back when I saw a silvery flash and he yelled, "SURPRISE!!!"

He held a pumpkin pie in his hand with a huge, beautiful diamond ring on top. He bent to his knee and took my hand, "Will you marry me?"

I was speechless for a second. When I caught my breath, I put my hand on his cheek and looked him in the eye, "Sweetie, why all the pumpkins?"

He grinned," Because I know how much you love pumpkins and I wanted to make you the perfect pumpkin pie. I have been working on it for so long now, and today I finally succeeded," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Honey, will you marry me? See the ring? I used my work bonus to buy it-and all those pumpkins."

"Why all the jack-o'-lanterns? I don't understand."

"To throw you off. I didn't want the pumpkins. I wanted the pulp. Are you surprised?"

"Very! And I have a surprise for you! I'll go get the knife so we can eat your pie, Sweetie."

-------------------------------

"Chief, have you figured out what happened here yet?"

"Far as I can tell, this is a double homicide. She killed him and he killed her."

"How in the world...?"

"Well, looks like she stabbed him to death with this knife and hauled him out to that big pile of pumpkin mush in the backyard where we found him..."

"But, how did he kill her if he was already dead?"

"Did you notice the pie? I believe after she dumped him in the pumpkin patch, she came back and ate some of that there pie. Betcha a hundred it's poisoned."

"Craziest crime scene I've ever witnessed."

"Yeah Jack, me, too. Me, too."