Page 93 of Faking It Right
It was my personal mission to take care of some of the hardest workers out there, right up there with the baristas who somehow remember everyone’s thirteen-adjective latte orders during finals week. If I could, I’d even tip the firefighters whohad to reset the fire alarms in the dorms every time someone discovered they couldn’t cook ramen without water.
“Mmm, it smells amazing,” Ryker said as I handed him his dinner.
Ryker dug in, closing his eyes in bliss at the first bite. “God, I missed this. Mom’s cooking is great, but our Thai place is the best.”
“I know, right?” I savored my curry, reveling in the perfect balance of spices. “Hey, want to watch another episode ofGhost Therapist?”
Ryker perked up. “Always.”
“Perfect.” I used the remote to navigate to our streaming service, finding where we’d left off before spring break.
The show featured Dr. Vivian Shade, a self-proclaimed paranormal psychologist, and her sidekick, Marty, as they traveled to allegedly haunted hotspots across the country. Instead of exorcising spirits, they claimed to help them “process their emotional baggage and cross over peacefully.”
Their method consisted of Dr. Shade speaking soothingly to empty rooms while Marty waved his homemade “Emotional Energy Detector” around doorways and corners. His fancy tool was unmistakably a modified toaster decked out with dollar-store Christmas lights.
Each episode followed the same predictable formula, where a homeowner or small-town historical society would describe the standard repertoire of phantasmagorical bullshit of footsteps on the stairs and moving objects. Dr. Shade would then declare,“Just because you can walk through walls doesn’t mean you should keep your emotional walls up, too.”
The team would then spend forty minutes in near-total darkness, jumping at every house-settling noise and furnace click, while having one-sided conversations with the “Victorian child trapped on the staircase” or the “murdered woman still seeking justice.”
The show’s dedication to taking itself completely seriously while presenting zero actual evidence was what made it one of our guilty pleasure shows.
“What’s it gonna be tonight?” I asked, hovering over the season three menu. “The episode where they help the basement ghost confront why she’s still haunting the laundry room?”
“While ‘Spin Cycle of Grief’ is a classic, I don’t need the reminder of my laundry pile,” Ryker groaned between bites. “Dr. Shade spends twenty minutes trying to commune with a washing machine. Even for this show, that’s excessive.”
“Fair point.”
“What about the ‘Mummified Emotions’ incident?” I suggested. “Dr. Shade tearfully pulling out her scissors as she explains her plan to ‘Remove the metaphorical and literal wrappings of trauma’ as the curator rips her a new asshole is epic.”
Harley did a perfect impression of the poor curator. “‘I have four degrees and dedicated my life to preserving history, and you want to destroy it for an episode of your pseudoscientific garbage fire of a show? I’ll turn you into a mummy before I ever let that happen!’”
“What about ‘Paranormal Buck Fever’ instead?” Ryker suggested. “The one where they investigate that hunting lodge in Michigan?”
I snorted. “Oh my god, yes. Two men in a tree stand making out between hunting sessions while Dr. Shade tries to convince them the ghost of a twelve-point buck is stalking them for revenge.”
“The way Marty kept pointing his toaster at deer droppings and declaring them ‘ectoplasmic residue from the spirit realm’ was nothing short of brilliant. Meanwhile, those guys were more interested in each other than any paranormal activity.”
That reminded me of another one of my favorites. “Oh! I know.” I clicked through to season four. “Let’s rewatch ‘Spectral Study Session.’ The one at that college library where Dr. Shade tries to create a therapeutic space in the restricted archives for the ghost of a grad student.”
“Who could forget Marty using his toaster detector to scan a microfiche machine, dropping it, and breaking both?” Ryker snickered. “My favorite part is when the librarian loses her shit on them and forgets to be quiet as she tells them off.”
“Ghost Therapistat its finest.” After I selected it, the melodramatic theme music filled our apartment as we ate dinner.
As the episode started, we fell into our usual routine of eating, mocking the show’s outrageous butchering of pop psychology, and quoting our favorite lines. The only difference was now, there was a new awareness that made the simple act of our knees touching feel like a major event.
I bided my time until Ryker was fully engrossed in the show before reaching over with my fork to steal a piece of his chicken.
“Hey!” he protested, although his grin betrayed his amusement. “Some things never change.”
“Why would they?” I shot back, popping the stolen morsel into my mouth. “Everyone knows food tastes better when you steal it.”
“You say that every time, yet you never order the red curry yourself.”
“Because then I’d have nothing to steal from you.” I flashed a cheeky grin before I bumped my shoulder against his. “Besides, you love it.”
To my surprise, he retaliated by snatching a piece of chicken from my container. “Two can play that game.”
“I’m corrupting you already,” I said with a laugh. “Next thing you know, you’ll be swiping my clothes and using my expensive shampoo.”
