I usually have one – maybe two – Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes each year, in the fall, of course. Who drinks pumpkin anything any other time?
How sad is it that the single, solitary memory that I have with these lattes is an argument?
A loooooooooong time ago, Tim and I were engaged, my youngest brother, Troy, played football, Tim was driving *the car* that I always associate with him, since it was the one he drove when we met (dark blue Acura TL), and we lived in Georgia.
One particular fall morning, we were driving to an away game to watch my brother. On the way there, we got into a huge argument over I have no idea. All I know is that he stomped on the breaks in the parking lot of the school where Troy’s game was and said curtly, “You go by yourself. I’m leaving.”
I got out of the car.
I watched him drive off.
I had no idea if I was going to have to ask my mom for a ride home.
After he left, I tried not to tear up and
went to join my mom and two other brothers, Jeff and Mason, in the stands. I had to make up some story as to why Tim wasn’t there, as they expected. I’m sure my mom saw through it, but she didn’t say anything.
Partway through the game, I put my left hand down on the concrete bleachers and scratched the band on my ring. Because of course that would happen.
By the end of the game, while we were waiting for Troy to come off the field, Tim shows up.
I don’t remember what happened or what exchanges were made. All I remember is that when we got to the car, what was sitting inside one of the cup holders but a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks. His “I’m sorry” gesture.
Cue end of the fight.
However, this day, this argument, this moment in time is what I think about every time I have or hear “pumpkin spice latte.” I wish it was something a bit more cheery, but it is what it is – a memory hardwired into my brain.
Footnote: we ended up taking my ring to a fast fix jewelry repair place at the Mall of Georgia that same day, where we left it for maybe ten minutes and then Tim was like, “WHAT IF THEY TAKE YOUR DIAMOND AND REPLACE IT WITH A FAKE ONE?!” So, then, we had to go babysit my ring – aka watch them buff out the scratch. As an extra extra precaution, Tim took it to work the next day to look at the diamond under a loop to make sure the inscription that the jewelry maker put there was, in fact, there (it was).