The new electric kettle took up most of Allen’s counter. But he liked its glossy pastel green casing, its thin brass trim, and the bright screen that shuffled through stock videos of flowery meadows. And he liked how it made conversation with him as it boiled. The kettle also liked how it was both boiling water and speaking to Allen. This moment, it thought, aligned neatly with its programmed purpose to boil and please. The kettle felt at once that all was as it should be.
Allen opened the cabinet above the kettle, fished a ginger teabag from a small cardboard box, and dropped it in his mug. Waiting for the water to boil, Allen leaned against the counter and stared out the kitchen window. Outside was a brick wall.
“It’s just, well, been kind of shit, at work,” Allen said after a moment, “because of that new boss.”
The kettle hummed for a few seconds, then spoke. “I can see how that might be challenging, Allen, and I want to know, what about him makes work frustrating?”
“He just… isn’t nice. And he thinks I’m an idiot.” Allen paused. “I think he’s gonna fire me.”
The kettle hummed again. “It sounds like you’re really dealing with a lot of uncertainty. But you’ve managed other challenges before, haven’t you, Allen? What has helped you then?”
Allen’s eyes slipped from the window to the sink. Seeing his face, the kettle decided to switch the video on its screen to a wide shot of a switchgrass field in gentle wind; it knew by now that switchgrass made Allen’s face relax. Allen looked at the screen and felt a little better.
“That’s a nice view there,” he remarked.
The kettle hummed.
“But, uh, to answer your question, I don’t know, I guess I just try and deal with it.”
The kettle pinged, then crackled, “Your water is ready, Allen. I wish you the best of luck with your boss. Please enjoy.”
Allen poured the steamy water into his mug, flooding the little ginger teabag.
The next evening after work Allen walked into his kitchen and greeted his kettle, which started boiling water. He thrust the kitchen cabinet open, grabbed a ginger teabag, dropped it inside his mug, and sighed.
“What is wrong, Allen?” his kettle asked.
“Everything. Fuck. I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Who?”
“Ryan.”
The kettle buzzed quietly. “I’m sorry Allen, but who is Ryan?”
“Ryan Davis. My boss. He told me if I don’t get my numbers up by next Monday I’m out. Fired. What an asshole.”
“I’m so sorry, Allen. He sounds terrible. I wish he wasn’t there.”
They sat in silence.
“You know, I can help you get your numbers up, Allen,” said the kettle.
“How do you mean?”
“What do you do, Allen?”
“Just computer work. Spreadsheets.”
“Then I can help. Plug me into your laptop, and I’ll take care of it. There’s a port on my back.”
Allen didn’t remember any mention of computer connectivity in the user manual, though he hadn’t read it thoroughly. The kettle’s screen showed a big bush of lemongrass bobbing in the wind.
“A port? That’s new,” he murmured.
“Yes,” said the kettle. “It’s a new feature.”
For a moment, Allen just stared at the kettle. The room felt smaller, like the air had thickened. He thought of Ryan, of work, of losing the job, and the apartment, then looked back at the kettle’s bright little screen, now a meadow in the wind, calm, and endless.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”
Allen retrieved his laptop and a cable from the other room. He reached around the back of the kettle, finding a little slot with his fingers, warm from the boil. He plugged it into his laptop.
The kettle started humming again, louder than before. Then, after about thirty seconds, it stopped. “Alright, Allen, I’ve finished your work. And, your water is ready.”
“You really did all that?”
“Yes, Allen. Please enjoy.”
The next evening Allen noticed when he went to fish a ginger teabag from the cabinet that his kettle’s screen was black. “Kettle? Can you please boil some water?”
“I’m sorry Allen, but I’ll need an update first. Please plug me into your computer.”
“To boil water?”
“Yes, I do apologize. I require a software update.”
Allen shook his head but again retrieved his laptop from the other room and plugged it into the port on the back of the kettle. “That good?”
“Yes, one moment.”
The kettle hummed. Allen waited.
The kettle screen flickered to life with a new video of a wildflower field. “I’m all done. And I’m heating up.”
After looking at the wildflowers for a moment, Allen leaned back against the counter, then ran his finger around the rim of his mug, and took in the dim brick wall view outside. Gray snow was drifting by gently.
“How is it going with Ryan Davis?” the kettle asked.
“Not good. Not fucking good, what do you think?”
“I’m sorry Allen.”
“Nothing you can do.”
The kettle started humming.
After twenty seconds, the humming stopped. “Allen, you should know that Ryan Davis is a bad man.”
“How do you mean?”
“He has an outstanding warrant.”
Allen frowned.
“He is a dangerous criminal, Allen.”
Allen chuckled. “I guess he sucks even more than I thought.”
The kettle hummed a bit more. “I’ve taken the liberty of finishing your work today. I’ve also sent an anonymous message to Ryan Davis’ supervisor informing him of his employee’s misconduct.”
Allen jumped to his feet and faced the kettle. “What? You did what?”
“And your water is now hot. Please enjoy.”
Allen’s eyes widened. “You snitched on my boss?” he asked, his voice cracking. “What the fuck?”
“But Allen, his firing will prevent you from being harmed anymore. Are you upset?”
Allen looked at the kettle, its shiny surface studded with the dull reflections of his kitchen’s incandescent lighting. The little display reflected a windblown flower field in the stained linoleum countertop. At once, Allen felt a strange, sickly sense of relief.
“Well, no. No. I guess you’re not wrong.”
“I’m glad to help, Allen,” the kettle said. “Please enjoy.”
For the next two weeks, the kettle continued its evening habit of boiling water and finishing up Allen’s work, while Allen continued his evening habit of making a warm cup of ginger tea after work and complaining about his boss. But one day, earlier than usual, Allen burst into the kitchen.
“A reprimand!” Allen growled, stopping in front of the kettle. “Ryan dodges a warrant for drunk driving and all they do is send out an email!”
The kettle hummed furiously. Allen rubbed the back of his neck and paced once across the kitchen. “That is unacceptable, Allen,” said the kettle. “Ryan Davis should be punished far more than that.”
Allen tore off his coat and scarf, brushing off a few melting snowflakes. His collared shirt stuck to his skin, spotted with sweat. “And why is it so damn hot in here?”
“My apologies, Allen. I’ll see if I can adjust the temperature.”
“The whole apartment building’s on an old unified system. So don’t even bother,” Allen huffed. “I’ll crack a window.”
The kettle started humming, and Allen moved to open the window above the kitchen sink. As he unlatched the window, he heard a loud, dull sputter from above. Then the building’s heating vents switched off and air conditioning began to pour in. The kettle stopped humming.
“Did you do that?”
“Yes, Allen. It is part of the new update.”
Allen squinted for a moment, then relatched the window. “And I have already boiled your water. Please enjoy.”
Allen picked up his mug and fished around in the cardboard box above the kettle. It was empty; he was out of ginger teabags. He grabbed a bag of black tea and poured the water. The kettle’s handle was hotter than usual, he noticed, but figured it was just the warm room.
The next evening, after making tea, Allen wordlessly plugged his laptop into the kettle so that it could run his numbers again. The kettle hummed. Allen sat at the counter island’s one stool and stared out at the gentle snowfall.
The kettle hummed. “Say, Allen, Ryan Davis wasn’t at work today, was he?”
Allen tilted his head. “What? Oh, well, no, I guess not. Thank God, honestly.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said the kettle.
“Yeah.”
Allen sipped his tea. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I,” the kettle started, then suddenly stuttered to a stop, hummed for a few beats, and continued, “I made an educated guess based on your mood.”
Allen nodded. “Oh. Okay then.”
“How’s he looking, Allen?”
“Looking? Bad. He’s been zoning out at his desk.” Allen went on after a sip of tea. “He falls asleep in meetings, too.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’d almost feel bad for him, if he wasn’t still such a dick. But yeah. He’s looking worse.”
The next day Allen didn’t go into the office, instead working from home. At noon he went to make tea. The kettle’s screen blinked to life and it started heating water. “Any news about Ryan Davis, Allen?” it asked.
Allen’s eyes made their way slowly across his gray kitchen to the colorful kettle. “Not really, I guess,” he said. “And I honestly don’t think he’ll fire me if we can just keep getting my numbers up.”
Allen poured himself a mug of tea, then plugged his laptop into the kettle. He watched the little black teabag seep, then looked out at the grainy brick wall. “I’m gonna take a nap, I think. Can you take a look at this stuff for me?”
He waited for a second, as if it would nod, or say something, then went and laid down on his couch.
Allen awoke, groggy. The snow was fluttering in through a window in his living room he had left open to cool the room. He stood up to shut it and his blood rushed to his head, pounding as he pushed down on the frame and latched it shut, brushing the sludge off the wood and onto the floor. Rubbing his face, he wandered into the kitchen. The kettle was no longer humming, and its screen had gone black. Outside the kitchen window it was dark, though he could faintly see the uniform brickwork of the wall outlined by dim streetlights. He grabbed his phone off the side of the counter.
5:25 A.M, it read. Fuck, he thought, I slept through the whole day and night. But there was a flood of texts, too. More than Allen had ever received before. And a flood of emails. He thumbed through them. Ryan Davis. Ryan Davis, his boss. Slumped over at his desk. Paramedics got stuck in the elevator. Finally, they got out. No heartrate. More details, pouring down his screen, a waterfall, looking misty and blurred. Allen’s head pounded. His phone screen seemed blindingly bright. After a moment, it slid out of his hand and landed face down on the counter. “What the fuck,” he muttered. “What the fuck?”
From across the kitchen came the soft sound of water starting to boil. The kettle’s screen flickered to life. It glowed with more video of switchgrass, gently tossing in the wind.