Chapter Text
Tahani has her own space off the kitchen, thank heavens, so she doesn’t have to sleep next to a drunken Eleanor mumbling about which Real Housewife would survive in a zombie apocalypse situation. The unfortunate part is that her space is still part of this teeny, tiny clown house. She’s trying so very hard to love it, because this is The Good Place and everything is meant to be perfect and what would complaining make her? She sees their neighbors, though, with their opulent mansions, and wonders what she did in life that didn’t earn her such a reward.
She opens her drawer to find silk and satin matching sleepwear sets, a stark contrast to the absolute mess in Eleanor’s drawer. Not for the first time, she wonders how two diametrically opposed people could possibly be soulmates. Tahani has met Malala Yousafzai, for crying out loud. Eleanor would probably think Malala was a type of food. How absolutely boorish of her to hypothetically do that.
Tahani slips into her sleepwear set and crawls into her bed. It feels too small. She’s almost certain it’s smaller than Eleanor’s, which is just adding insult to injury, at this point. When her head hits the pillow, she dreams of Kamilah in big, big houses where all the doors are locked.
The newspaper that lands itself on the clown house’s doorstep that morning is positively nonsensical. Tahani had picked it up in the hopes of familiarizing herself with the current events of the neighborhood – and perhaps scoping out who the most important neighbors who will be – but she finds herself staring at it now, eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Last night I had cereal with milk for the first time? Life changing?” What sort of editor must this paper have that things like this get through? Her good friend, Dean Baquet, current executive editor of the New York Times, would never let such a thing happen.
Eleanor, who’d previously shown no interest in the paper – I get my news on the streets, baby, she’d said, and Tahani still isn’t sure if she was joking or not – perks up and makes her way from the couch to the kitchen table where Tahani’s sitting, peering over her shoulder. Tahani can hear her whispering the drivel to herself as she reads it before she suddenly goes completely silent. Against her better judgment, Tahani is worried she’s had some sort of cardiac arrest, but when she turns to look at her, Eleanor’s jaw has dropped.
“That’s no newspaper, Tahani,” she says. “That’s Kylie Jenner’s Twitter feed.”
It rains borscht that afternoon. Tahani spends the next hour scrubbing it out of her hair.
At the emergency neighborhood meeting, Tahani notices that George’s nose hair has grown exponentially over the night. It’s—disturbing. When she speaks to Emily, the smell of garlic wafting from her breath is so overwhelming she nearly asks Janet for her fainting couch right then and there. That would be rude, of course, so she doesn’t. She goes outside, and then she asks Janet for her fainting couch, like a lady.
Michael finds her there after the meeting is over, sprawled out like a Victorian lady who’s just been told bonnets are no longer in style. “Tahani? Are you all right?” he asks kindly, and she’s almost taken aback because that’s the first time she’s been asked that in so long.
She’s not sure quite what it is, but something about Michael makes him so likable. Makes her want him to like her, too. Perhaps it’s the bowties. People do seem to be fond of a white man in a bowtie. Whatever it is, she doesn’t want him to think she’s being a poor sport, so she sits up. “Oh, of course! Of course. I was just—thinking of ways to fix this issue! I do all my best brainstorming… horizontally, you see.” She cringes internally.
“That’s too kind of you,” he says, and she practically beams with pride. “But where’s Eleanor? I’m sure you could do with a sounding board.” Her smile falls.
“Oh, Eleanor.” The way Eleanor’s name feels in her mouth is unpleasant, like the oysters she had at Blake Lively’s garden party in 2016. It shouldn’t be this way, should it? It should be perfect. Everything is finally supposed to be perfect, and even now— “Michael, would you mind if I… inquired about an aspect of the neighborhood?”
“It’s your soulmate, isn’t it?”
Tahani pauses, taken aback. How does he know? Could he just sense that she wasn’t cut out for this? A small sense of shame creeps into her stomach. “Well… I don’t mean to question your methods. It’s just that Eleanor is so very small and loud and… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s quite female.”
Nothing she says appears to faze Michael at all. What she would give for that level of assurance in life. “Oh, Tahani.” For a moment, she could swear there’s a mischievous look in his eye, but then it’s gone. “You just don’t know all her good qualities. Did you know she’s the top points-getter in the neighborhood?” He laughs. “She got so many more points than even you.”
“Did she,” Tahani says through gritted teeth. How.
He puts a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s not uncommon to have an… adjustment period.” He waves his hand. “Some pairs take months, even years, before they’ve settled into their new life.”
“Years?” she asks, and the look on her face must be devastated, because Michael squeezes her shoulder.
“Compared to eternity, I’d say it’s a steal. Wouldn’t you, Tahani?” He smiles his winning smile.
She looks around them at the various couples milling about the square, each getting on swimmingly if their irritatingly saccharine smiles are any indication. It doesn’t seem common to clash with your soulmate; it seems like it’s only a Tahani problem. Years seem like a very long time to suffer when she’s already spent her entire life singled out, but Michael is looking at her with such a confident smile that she feels she has no option but to agree.
“I thought we might bond today, my… Lilliputian chum,” Tahani says, trying very hard to sound friendly. She is not going to fail at something in Heaven. She has a limit, and that is it. Besides, if Michael’s right and Eleanor really is the top points-getter, then clearly they have more in common than she thought.
She really hates that Eleanor is the top points-getter.
“Um, your who-what-now.” Eleanor shoots her something that can only be called a capital-L Look from her bed. It must be 11 A.M. by now, and she still hasn’t dragged herself out of bed. Sleeping in late has to shave some points off your score, doesn’t it?
“Irrelevant literary reference,” Tahani says, already feeling disappointed in the interaction. “Anyway, I realized we hadn’t yet spent much time together despite our soulmate status, which was – of course – entirely unintentional on my part, and I’m sure yours as well…”
“Yeah,” Eleanor says unconvincingly.
“I thought perhaps we could greet the neighbors we hadn’t met yet together, or perhaps visit the French café. I do adore France. Or I suppose we could peruse the bookstore, to avoid future literary ignorance.” All right, that one’s passive aggressive and she knows it.
Eleanor finally drags herself out of bed. She’s wearing red flannel pants that remind Tahani of a lumberjack. “Look, dude. Obviously, we both know we’re not—” She pauses. “Ooh.” Tahani furrows her brow. “Okay. We should be soulmates.”
Tahani frowns. “We are soulmates.” She might not sound entirely sure of this herself, but she trusts Michael. This is the afterlife and he’s a higher power. He has to know something she doesn’t.
“Right,” Eleanor replies, winking confusingly and clicking her tongue. For a brief moment, Tahani goes back on her previous sentiment. Michael’s clearly wrong—no, no, he has infinite knowledge, and she must trust him. “Okay. You want a date? Let’s go on a date.”
Tahani scoffs, like Eleanor has just accused her of something. “That is decidedly not what I said. I simply… wanted to spend time with you in a one-on-one setting to determine our compatibility as soulmates—”
Eleanor raises her eyebrows.
“It is not a date,” Tahani says firmly. She only goes on dates with Kennedy-tier or higher. Eleanor does not fit that criteria.
“All right, jeez. Thanks for the ego boost.” Eleanor raises her hands, offended. “Fine. Let’s go on a one-on-one bonding sesh. Better?”
Tahani sniffs. “I suppose it will have to do.”
Eleanor crosses her arms, looking at Tahani appraisingly. Tahani suddenly feels very self-conscious under her gaze, which is ridiculous, because she’s wearing a piece from the latest Coco Chanel collection and Eleanor just rolled out of bed and has a little piece of dried drool in the corner of her mouth.
“If we’re gonna do this, I’ve got a couple changes to make first.”