Little Talks: The Thermostat

A series of short stories about a relationship starring a fictional couple who live rent free in Scott’s head.

“I feel absolutely drunk with power right now,” she says as she fiddles with the thermostat settings.

“Not vodka?” I say.

“Well, that too. But mostly this.” she says and gets back to her project. She takes a sip to empty her drink, shakes the glass of lonely ice around as a signal she’s ready for another and hands it to me. Then she taps on the dials some more. She’s got a confidence that says she’s very much in command of our interior climate for the evening, which I very much respect. It’s fun to be in charge sometimes. But I do wonder how much finagling it takes to set a specific temperature. It’s not like she’s trying to boil the ocean over there. (I hope.)

“You sure do like being in control,” I say.

“Might even tie you to the bed posts later.”

“I don’t know how much I’d like that.”

“Right. Because you dig control too.”

“Not so much that as being able to move about freely.”

“Tell that to your back,” she says. “I think it missed a memo somewhere along the line.”

I hand her a fresh cocktail and make a show of heavily sighing while I gingerly lower myself back onto the couch.

“If that ain’t god’s honest truth,” I say.

“Need a heating pad?”

“Depends on where you just set the temp.”

“You’re probably not gonna need it.”

“Thought so.”

“It’s about to get toasty in here.”

“Should I start taking layers off? Now? Just to get out ahead of it?”

“Yeah, I’d start disrobing.”

I take off my shirt jacket. Don’t want to sweat that thing up and make it smell more battle-worn than it already does. I anticipate that before too long I’ll be taking off my T-shirt as well, maybe my jeans, at which point I will sub in my kimono because it’s nice and drafty.

“This new spot of yours sure is nice,” I say. “You’re livin’ large.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, nods at the thermostat. “I barely even know how to use a contraption like that.”

“Right? All this newfangled technology is totally crazy.”

“I’m still so used to having a radiator you can’t control that goes on and off at random times and makes all kinds of weird noises. And that makes it extremely hot and even kind of steamy when it’s not that cold outside, and then it won’t kick on for days when it’s below freezing temps. Sometimes I’d have to turn my oven on for warmth.”

“But now the world is your oyster.”

“Well, yeah — when it comes to interior climate control over a modest bit of square footage.”

“And now you can do away with window units, which is always fun. I assume. They’re great but it’s not the best when you can’t even open your window to let in a bit of a breeze.”

“Yeah, I’d always really miss not letting the scent of hot garbage waft freely through my apartment.”

“That smell’ll make you feel alive, though. Fresh air is for the weak.”

“If you say so,” she says as she takes a sip. “One thing you should know about me was I’d always leave mine in, year-round.”

“Your window unit? Why would you do that?”

“Pragmatism for one thing. I mean, where else would I have put it? I didn’t have the closet space for that.”

“And the other?”

“I was always way too afraid of taking it out, especially on my own, because I was worried it’d end up falling out of my window and maybe crushing a passing-by pedestrian.”

“That’s a reasonable fear. Has to have happened before.”

“Probably more times than we’d even guess.”

“If I’d have been around I would’ve helped you remove your window unit. You know — just for the record.”

“Okay, but, is this in a previous time when your back could handle hoisting anything even remotely heavy?”

“Sure. This scenario takes place during my salad days.”

“The good old times.”

“Sometimes I miss them. But I can’t miss them that much.”

“I get that. Nostalgia is cool and all until it drives you a little crazy.”

“That’s for sure.”

I realize I’m starting to burn up a little bit. I’m used to my place where I rarely use heat and even keep a fan in my bedroom running on high at all times. (I absolutely fear complete silence. It’s a thing.)

“Do you mind if I adjust this thing a little bit?” I say, nodding over at the thermostat. “I might start sweating soon.”

“Well, but then I’m going to get cold.”

“You can always put more layers on or adorn yourself in blankets. You can only take off so much before you’re fully in the buff.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s a tactic I’m using?”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. I’ll get full-on naked right now.”

“Do it, you coward.”

“Okay, but if we get naked and have an epic sex session I’m definitely going to sweat my dick off.”

She sighs. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“I should think not.”

“Alright, fine. You can adjust it.”

I make my way over to the thermostat while struggling to get out of my skinny jeans. I’m hopping around the room in the sexiest possible way, if you can imagine.

I return to the couch where we commence adult activities.

She pulls away mid-kiss, says, “What’d you set it to?”

“Sixty-nine degrees, of course.”

“Niceeee.”