Pumpkin
*****
The first sign that something was amiss with Wanda was not from the woman herself. Quite the contrary. Her current status was the metaphorical picture of health and good cheer. Indeed, she seemed happier than Vision had ever seen her in their five months and eighteen days of acquaintance. Their evening binge-watches had become the highlight of his days, and although she was not as emotionally open with him as he might prefer, she was also not as closed-off as she had once been. As their Avengers training progressed, they became a formidable team, either paired off by their superiors or by their own initiation. Humans were still a mystery to him, but the mystery of Wanda herself had begun to feel less infinite, as if he was on the precipice of truly knowing her.
Therefore, he was taken aback one afternoon by an overheard conversation between Natasha and Sam. As he played a solo game of chess in the living area, his colleagues were in the process of cleaning up detritus left in the kitchen. With a groan and the sound of a paper product being tossed into the waste bin, Sam said, “Shit, there’s another one.”
Natasha’s response was a sarcastic snicker. “Of all the women in the world, Wanda’s the last one I’d have expected to fall victim to the PSL disease.”
Sam’s chuckle was slightly less sarcastic. “Happens to the best of ‘em. I lost my sister to that crap a few years ago.”
Vision stared down at the chess board, resisting the suddenly overpowering urge to turn around and enquire about their subject matter. They had likely not even noticed he was in the room; that tended to happen far too often for his comfort level. Still, their words concerned him. Deeply. But before he could announce his preference and request elaboration, the alert klaxons reverberated through the living quarters, rudely disrupting the Sunday afternoon calm and summoning the team to fight yet another foe.
On the quinjet, he maintained a demeanor of calm interest in the mission, all the while carefully observing Wanda for any clues as to what had befallen her. She seemed, well, her usual self: mildly annoyed by having to go fight, but also alert and contributing to the mission plan. Her physical appearance was also in keeping with her typical mode; in fact, she looked even more beautiful than usual in her leather jacket and leggings. When they arrived at a “tacky tourist trap” (Natasha’s words) on the Florida coast to combat a “mutant manatee are you fucking kidding me?” (Sam’s words), he noticed that Wanda’s fighting style was a bit more loose and fluid than customary, though that could be explained by relaxation during the previous few weeks without any work to perform. They defeated the poor, irradiated manatee without any significant problems. Afterward, Wanda asked if she could stop by Starbucks before they flew back. Their colleagues groaned but did not stop her, and she was downright cheerful (which could also be a sign of something amiss) on the flight home.
By then, it was late, and she was too fatigued for them to engage in their nightly Netflix session. So they retreated to their respective rooms.
Best use the opportunity for research. Vision sat down in his armchair, closing his eyes, opening the web portal in his head, and typing “PSL” into a search engine.
First result: Party for Socialism and Liberation, a political organization. That would certainly fit Wanda’s prior predilections, but she had seemed uninterested in politics since immigrating to the United States.
Second result: the Physical Science Laboratory of a state university. He chuckled. While he would be interested in visiting, Wanda would likely view it as akin to a dentist appointment.
Port St. Lucie was a coastal city in central Florida, not far from where they’d been today. However, his colleagues had referenced “PSL” before the summons. The causality did not fit, unless they possessed similar psionic powers to Wanda’s.
The rest of the results also seemed unlikely. He then googled “PSL disease”, which immediately returned a listing for Primary Lateral Sclerosis, a degenerative muscular disease. A frisson of alarm coursed through him, but it was soon overtaken by his logical mind. To be fair, it could explain the change in Wanda’s fighting style. Conversely, the acronym did not match, and the potential diagnosis did not correspond to her lack of symptoms. Still, it was a possibility to file away. The best course of action would be to simply ask Natasha and Sam for clarification. Vision decided he would do that tomorrow. In the meantime, the increasingly paranoid progression of his thoughts indicated he was long overdue for some sleep.
*****
Monday morning dawned bright and beautiful, with a slight bite in the air when he phased through the exterior walls to gauge the weather for himself. This was the first fall of his existence, and he quite liked it. The trees were dappled in shades of ochre, gold, and crimson, and the early morning sky seemed to glow with promise.
A smile on his face, he went to the kitchen and found Wanda with a similar smile. Indeed, she was still the picture of perfect health. The autumnal equinox several weeks ago had brought out something new in her. Something he hadn’t expected at all, and Vision was surprised it had taken him this long to notice. Whereas before she had eschewed all shades of the spectrum except red and black, today she was in a soft, pale orange sweater that hung past her hips, with leggings in a subtle leafy pattern. Her dark hair was drawn back in a loose plait. And on her feet were … hiking boots? How very odd. Not in an unbecoming way, of course. She looked stunning. Yet the outfit combined with her good cheer made him briefly wonder if she had donned a Halloween costume two weeks early.
She greeted him with her typical “Hello, Vis,” and walked over to the kitchen, where she placed a plastic pod (terrible for the environment, but he’d excuse it) into the coffee machine. The scent of nutmeg and allspice filled the room. He pretended not to stare as she bounced on her feet while it brewed, and he was rather impressed by how she didn’t flinch as she took her first sip of what must be near-scalding coffee. A satisfied moan escaped her lips, and the sound hit Vision in parts of his body that he’d rather not think about.
Were significant personality changes a symptom of PSL Disease?
Ah, yes. He’d planned to ask his colleagues to explain, though not in the presence of Wanda herself. Said colleagues entered the room at this point, with Natasha announcing that she had to run into town for supplies, though she didn’t elaborate upon what those supplies might be. Wanda immediately perked up – well, even perkier than she had been before – and said, “I’ll go with you, since I need to stock up on some things too. I’ll even treat you to Starbucks.”
Natasha and Sam exchanged a knowing look, and through Vision’s enhanced auditory receptors, he heard Sam mutter, “Here we go again.”
That appeared to be Vision’s opening. Once the women left, he approached the man and asked, “Might I have a word?”
Sam looked up from brewing his own coffee and said, “Sure, what’s up?”
Hands clasped at his waist, Vision began, “I must confess that yesterday I overheard something that concerned me deeply.” Off the man’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “You and Natasha said that Wanda was suffering from something called ‘PSL Disease’.”
His colleague nearly choked on his brew, droplets of coffee spraying the vicinity. “Oh, man. That’s … damn.” He set down his mug and crossed his arms. “That was a joke. Well, not exactly a joke, because it’s some pretty serious shit.”
“Please continue.”
“Okay. So. You’ve heard of those pumpkin spice lattes at Starbucks, right?”
Pumpkin. Spice. Lattes.
PSL.
Oh.
“I don’t follow. How is that a disease?”
“Here’s the thing: every fall, a lot of women get addicted to that junk. Can’t get enough of it. Hell, my sister took on a few extra jobs at the docks to pay her Starbucks tab. Which is ridiculous because she lives in freakin’ Louisiana. It’s 80 degrees down there right now.”
Vision let that sink in. Not a disease, apparently, but the description did not sound benign either. “This only happens to –”
“To women? Yeah. Which is pretty sexist, now that I think of it, but I don’t know any men who drink that crap.”
“Indeed it does sound sexist. But an affinity for coffee does not seem to be a cause for concern.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, but it doesn’t stop at that. C’mere.” He walked over to the cupboard where Wanda kept her personal comestibles. As if unveiling a prize on a game show, he pointed with a flourish. “Check that out.”
Vision inspected the contents. Pepperidge Farm cookies in pumpkin spice flavor. Energy bars and trail mix. Flavored tea bags. A jar of pumpkin bisque from Trader Joe’s. Even several bottles of spice blends despite the fact that he had never seen Wanda attempt to bake.
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “Ever wonder why she keeps asking to go to Starbucks?”
Vision matched his sigh. “And I suppose that explains her new choice of attire.”
“See what I mean? It’s a disease, man. A fucking disease.”
*****
When the women returned, Vision and Sam were standing at attention in the kitchen. The latter said, “It’s time for an intervention.”
Natasha exhaled. “Finally.”
Wanda just looked confused.
Vision guided her to one of the bar stools, while the others assumed their places on the opposite side of the large marble island. As planned earlier, Sam took the lead, given his experience as a counselor. “Wanda? This pumpkin spice addiction needs to stop.”
Her face turned bright red, and she nearly dropped the extra-large paper cup in her hand. “What the fuck?”
Natasha shook her head. “Look, PSLs are delicious. I get it. But you’ve gone hardcore, sestra.”
The rotational nature of such discussions should mean it was Vision’s turn to speak, but he had nothing to say. He briefly considered taking her free hand to convey comfort and strength, but that seemed a bit too much. So when she glanced over at him, he simply nodded.
A look similar to betrayal flashed over her face. “You too? Jebat. It’s just coffee.”
“That doesn’t explain the clothes you’re wearing. Or this.” Natasha opened the cabinet, and Wanda’s face flushed red again. “We don’t care about you drinking all that coffee, or how you’re spending a small fortune on this shit. Do what makes you happy. That’s the American dream.” Her voice dripped sarcasm, and Wanda almost snickered then coughed.
Sam continued, “Do you have any idea how much sugar is in one of those things? I do. That venti of yours has sixty-six grams of carbs.” As he said the number, he tapped the counter for effect. Before Wanda could protest, he said, “That’ll screw with anyone’s insulin resistance, not to mention their pancreas and heart. Even an Avenger’s. Especially considering how many you’re drinking.”
Something about the tone of the words bothered Vision. “I believe our colleague means that these lattes are fine in moderation, but not to excess.” He glanced over at the man, who nodded. Vision exhaled in relief of having apparently said the right thing.
Wanda’s eyes flashed red, and she opened her mouth as if to growl. The three of them waited, on proverbial tenterhooks. Of course Wanda wouldn’t do anything rash. The idea of it was ridiculous. But she was also nothing if not mercurial. In a reversal of his earlier decision, he reached over and placed his hand on hers for comfort, hoping she would see the concern behind the gesture.
Then, as quickly as her temper had been roused, it seemed to deflate. She scrunched up her nose, like she was searching for the right words, and sighed. “I just like all this stuff, okay? It makes me happy. It reminds me of jeseň back home, even though we didn’t have Starbucks or cookies or energy bars. It’s like…” breath expelled from her chest in a huff. “It’s all so American, and I thought I hated everything about this place until I tried that first latte. So… I dunno. I wanted more of it. And I wanted these comfortable clothes. And all that autumn crap.”
She stopped to breathe again then just shrugged. Natasha crossed her arms and said, “Your ass does look hot in those leggings.”
Sam blinked. So did Vision. Were they supposed to agree? Would that be offensive? But Wanda actually laughed, just a bit, which was a relief.
After a moment of contemplation, Wanda finally said, “Okay, okay. One tall PSL a day. Will that meet your standards, mom and dad?” she ended with sarcasm that carried a hint of affection.
“Works for me,” Sam chuckled. “I might even get one with you, though that stuff tastes like burnt soap.”
“Me too. Don’t tell anyone, but I like them too. Once in a while.”
Natasha gave Vision a pointed look, indicating his turn to agree but also having apparently forgotten his inability to consume liquids. So he said, “I cannot partake, of course, but I am happy to inhale the scent. It’s quite alluring.”
Wanda actually squeezed his hand. “Sorry about all this. Or, I don’t know, not sorry, but….” Another shrug.
“No need to apologize,” Sam said, pulling a pumpkin spice Milano cookie out of the package and taking a bite. “Huh. Not bad. Anyway, I just get worried when I see my friend do a one-eighty like this.”
Although she had insisted to Vision that she would never direct her powers toward them, he could almost feel a wave of warmth emanate from her at the word “friend.” And that, in turn, elicited a similar rush of warmth in himself.
“Wanda?” he ventured. “I’m led to believe that this area is one of the best in the country for fall foliage. Perhaps this weekend you and I can go for a drive. I’m also very intrigued by the descriptions of the apple-picking farms.”
Natasha gave him a look; she likely caught the exclusive to him and Wanda pronoun choice in his offer. And though he had not meant it that way, he still felt a bit of gold rise in his cheeks.
In spite of his attempt to maintain control, it grew even brighter when Wanda patted his hand and said, “It’s a date.”
A moment of satisfied silence all around, then Sam said, “Thank god that’s over. Who wants to join me in the gym?”
Wanda’s lips curled up in a smirk. Pointed glances at each of them in turn, then she held up her venti pumpkin spice latte and announced, “Just as soon as I finish this.”
*****