Eleanor hates almost everything about her house in the Good Place.
She hates the weird minimalist Swedish furniture; she hates the vomit-inducingly cute herb garden in the backyard; the less that's said about the clown paintings the better; and she still resents all of her neighbors and their fabulous mansions.
The worst part of the whole thing is the kitchen. Eleanor was never much of a cook.
She was much bigger on shoplifting frozen burritos from Trader Joe's and flirting with guys for drinks at sports bars and then eating all of their buffalo wings when they went to the bathroom. It's all a lot easier in the Good Place. Janet will show up with warm chicken tiki masala and a sixpack of PBR when asked.
But there's still this kitchen, just sitting there, taking up space in Eleanor's tiny Swedish house where there could be a sweet entertainment system that plays home videos of all of Eleanor's exes humiliating themselves in public.
Of course, when real Eleanor shows up, she spends fifteen minutes cooing all over the kitchen before opening the refrigerator and pulling out bunches of kale and some sort of fancy cheese that fake Eleanor (okay, whatever, now they've all got her thinking of herself that way) probably can't even pronounce.
"Oh, sorry," real Eleanor says. "I didn't think about whether or not you wanted to make something yourself." Her eyes are huge and round as they look up at fake Eleanor. It's completely earnest, and that's the worst part of all. Fake Eleanor should hate her weird, perfect doppelganger, but her, weird, perfect doppelganger is just too perfect to hate. Fake Eleanor didn't think that was physically possible.
"Nope, it's fine," fake Eleanor says, plastering a smile to her face and leaning against the doorframe. "I don't think I've actually set foot in this room before."
Real Eleanor just beams at her. "Thanks. I've been craving something that wasn't scraped off the floor off of Penn Station."
Fake Eleanor raises her eyebrows. "That's what they feed you in the Bad Place?"
Real Eleanor shrugs. "It's not as bad as it sounds."
Fake Eleanor knows it's exactly as bad as it sounds, but real Eleanor doesn't seem like she could carry a grudge if someone put handles on it. She doesn't even have the guts to hate fake Eleanor for stealing her spot in Heaven while enduring whatever awful punishments the Bad Place managed to conjure up for her.
"I know you're worried," real Eleanor says, "but I'm sure Sean will let you stay." She smiles at fake Eleanor, and what was it that she did again, save orphans in war-torn countries or something? It's actually a very comforting smile, like she's used to giving it to sad crying children.
Fake Eleanor would probably be offended if she didn't need the encouragement so badly right now. "Oh, I'm totally not worried," fake Eleanor says. "There's nothing to be worried about having to be judged by an all-powerful being who might decide that I have to spend the rest of my life listening to Nickelback."
"Well, you're here for now, at least," real Eleanor says, sounding far, far too reasonable. She pulls out a cutting board and a knife from one of the cabinets. "Do you want to help me make something?"
It's better than moping about or listening to Michael and Chidi argue about just how awful fake Eleanor is on the scientifically developed awfulness scale, which they are doing in the living room. "Sure," she says, stepping forward, letting the real Eleanor show her what to do.
And hey, maybe some of that goodness will rub off on her before judgment day.
A girl could hope, right?