Schadenfreude

Part One: Carla

Have you ever met someone who is too perfect?

So perfect that you kind of want to hate them but you can’t because they are, in fact, too damn perfect?

Okay, let me take that back, maybe hate is too strong a word. Let’s go with unfairly dislike. I’ll just say that if somehow, someday, I find out that this person was actually not that perfect, like maybe they’re harboring a secret skin condition or something, I would be relieved and admittedly even a little bit elated.

What I’m saying is: I really, really don’t like my brother’s girlfriend Annalise.

I’m not proud of it. I just can’t relate to her.

Don’t get me wrong, she has been nothing but the model potential future sister-in-law to me. She’s polite, she’s funny, she never oversteps her bounds. She even managed to charm my usually ice-cold mother which is an impressive feat in and of itself.

Oh, did I mention she is also drop dead gorgeous? Like, so unnaturally beautiful you want to keep staring at her but you can’t because it would be too creepy after a certain point? She has this really thick dark hair that glints like a freshly shined shoe, and cat-like silver-blue eyes under lashes so long you almost think they’re fake (they’re not). Also, she’s a runner (of course she would be) so she has that really lean runner’s body with hard abs and long legs. Somehow, of course, even with all that cardio, perfect Annalise manages to keep her boobs to balance out her twenty-two inch waist.

With those stats you’re probably thinking she must be an airhead instagram model or some such. Nope. She’s studying to be a clinical psychologist. Her parents are both doctors or something like that. So yeah, she’s smart too.

It’s not fair.

My brother, Jake, is of course head over heels in love with her. So is mother, actually, maybe even more than my brother.

“Annalise!” My mother would coo enthusiastically every time we all got together. “You look stunning! I love that outfit. How come you can eat so much and not gain an ounce? Oh you’re training for a triathlon? How fun! How’s graduate school? Wow, I don’t know how you do it all. My son sure is lucky to have you. Oh you baked us cookies! You shouldn’t have! Oh, oooh. They are delicious!” Eventually my mother would happen to look in my direction and be obligated to give me a perfunctory nod. “Oh, hi Carla.”

You get the point.

I asked my brother right after I first met Annalise: “But seriously, Jake, don’t you think she’s just a little too good to be true?” and he just shook his head in that amused way when he thinks I’m making a joke.

I wasn’t joking. There’s something not right about Annalise. Everything about her is too good, too perfect, almost… rehearsed. Jake just can’t see it because he always assumes the good in people.

Anyway, having said all that, I’m really not looking forward to having dinner with everyone tonight.

—

Part Two: Annalise

I’ve always hated the phrase “not like other girls.”

It’s one of the things guys always say to me, like they’re giving me some sort of contest prize: you know, Annalise, you’re not like other girls!

Umm, thanks?

Jake likes to say that to me and it gets on my nerves. Oh, I know he means it as a compliment, but of course he’s painfully unaware that it’s low key misogynistic and actually even a little bit insulting, but I digress, it’s beside the point.

The point is, it’s true, I’m actually not like most girls. But not in the way you think.

For one, I’m a little… crazy.

No, not quirky. Not that manic pixie dream girl kind of cute crazy (don’t even get me started on that). No. I’m clinical. My parents even had me committed at one point. It’s the main reason I want to be a psychologist.

Don’t worry, it’s okay, I’ve made my peace with it.

Besides, I’m pretty good at pretending to be normal. It takes a lot of effort, keeping the crazy under wraps, but for the most part, I manage to do it. I probably have no business being in any kind of serious relationship, though.

Jake and I are having dinner with his family at some fancy restaurant tonight and it’s giving me so much anxiety that I ran an extra three miles on top of my usual five. My legs felt like jelly by the time I finished but it did the trick. It calmed me down.

His sister, Carla, is a few minutes early like usual. She is already at the table, with her blonde hair in a ponytail and face completely free of make up. She had on a plain white T-shirt and an old pair of comfortable looking jeans, an outfit which I’m sure she didn’t put any thought into selecting but ended up looking effortlessly attractive and classy. If you look up All-American girl in the dictionary I’m pretty sure you’d see a picture of Carla Marie Donovan.

She’s that generic type of pretty: pleasant enough face with conventional, symmetrical, forgettable features. No, not exotic, like I’ve been told I am (looking vaguely ethnic invites such comments), but pretty. Prom queen of a small town type of pretty. Or a Disney channel series lead. Likable, wholesome, normal. I’m a little jealous, honestly.

“Hey, Annalise.” Carla smiles at me tightly. That was another thing about Carla, I could sense that she really doesn’t like me. To this day I can’t figure out why. I always turn up my efforts to be the perfect friend when I’m around her. I even write down a list of jokes the night before we get together because if there was one thing I noticed Carla appreciates, it’s being funny. Sometimes I do make her laugh, but I could tell she still doesn’t like me. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt. She’s probably just being overprotective of her brother.

To be fair, she probably has good reason to.

Jake. Good old Jake. He’s like the dream Midwestern man. Dependable, classically handsome, and emotionally available. Everything is simple and logical to Jake. Unlike my brain, which weaves and turns like an unnecessarily complicated lattice, Jake’s mind seems to operate in straight lines. If he wants something he goes for it, if he doesn’t, he lets it go. If he loves something or someone, he loves them. Fully. I’ve never had a more stable relationship in my life.

I can’t explain it, but lately, it’s been kind of… suffocating.

It’s really not fair to Jake. After all this time, I don’t see why he’s still with me. Maybe he likes broken things.

I shake the thought away, for now I need to focus. I hug Carla. “Hey, Carla, how are --”

“Annalise!” I cringe at the loud gushing voice of Jake’s mother as she saunters ostentatiously towards our table. “How lovely to see you! What a cute dress, and look at your waist! I don’t know how you keep so tiny! How are you, my dear?”

I give her my warmest smile. When I first met Jake’s mother, she mistakenly said some borderline racist things about some local election, and at some point, when I had to casually mention, “actually, I’m half Indian” she apologetically backtracked and she’s been overcompensating ever since.

She meant well, I actually wasn’t even offended. I just wish she would stop trying to make up for it, I could tell it makes Carla uncomfortable.

I see Carla in my peripheral vision fight to roll her eyes. It would be almost comical if it wasn’t pertaining to me.

I sigh inwardly. I shouldn’t have agreed to this dinner in the first place. Not with what I am planning to do.

It’s my fault for putting it off for weeks. I keep chickening out. Tonight. I’ll have to do it tonight. After dinner.

---

Part Three: Jake

I think it’s fair to say that, like your typical Joe, I don’t understand women. Not at all.

I look at the three women I love most in the world sitting around the dinner table and I fight the urge to scratch my head in confusion like an idiot:

Mom is her usual over-the-top self. Carla is rolling her eyes at everything mom says. And Annalise is a bundle of nerves shaking her right leg under the table not unlike an over-caffeinated squirrel.

I wish I could call a timeout so everyone could just calm down for a bit.

The rundown is this: I am in love with Annalise and tonight I am going to ask her to marry me.

I was running late because I had to coordinate with the servers about when to bring out the champagne. The ring is now burning a hole in my pocket but the right moment just does not seem to come. The atmosphere was too tense.

I really don’t see why. I know my mother loves Annalise, but for some reason she kind of overdoes it when she’s around her and it just makes everything unbearably awkward.

And Carla. I don’t know what’s been up with her lately. Normally she doesn’t have any trouble making friends and getting along with all kinds of people. But around Annalise she’s stiff and even bordering on cold.

And my poor, lovely, Annalise. She’s been more withdrawn lately. She seems to have this idea that my family secretly hates her. Which might be true in Carla’s case, I don’t know. But I’m sure Carla will warm up to her eventually.

“Annalise.” I clear my throat and immediately it gets too quiet. Disconcertingly, I realize I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. I shake it off. Now or never, Jake. “I just want to say that the last eight months have been the best of my life. You have been an amazing girlfriend and friend.” I move to go down on one knee. My hands sweat as I reach for the little red velvet box in my jacket pocket. “I would be the luckiest guy in the world if you do me the honor of becoming my...”

Annalise starts to have a panicked look in her eyes and the words trail off from my mouth. She looks pained. “Oh, um, Jake… maybe we should…”

I feel a twinge of pain in my chest. No, no, no.

Mom turns pale as a ghost and looks like she is about to be sick. A hush falls over the entire restaurant.

“Oh my god.” Carla cries, looking back and forth at me and Annalise in disbelief. “What is happening?”

I feel lightheaded. Did... did Annalise just say no? I can’t comprehend it. We were so happy, so perfect... weren’t we? I blink my eyes. The walls appear to be moving slightly. The floor looks really close all of a sudden.

I hear Annalise’s worried voice faintly. She sounds far away. “Jake? Are you okay? Jake!”

—