“I hate to admit it since you won, but it was a good game. I enjoyed the challenge.”
“It was a good game. You’re going to fit in nicely here.” He starts picking up the board, and I lift to help him. “Your application said you’re majoring in research and statistics. What’s the plan after college?”
“Getting my master’s and then becoming a survey research specialist.”
He pauses. “That’s really specific,” Breaker says. “And not a job you hear on a list of what you want to be when you grow up.”
“Not so much, but I’ve always been into surveys. Growing up, I loved filling them out. I spent a great deal of time filling out every survey my parents came across. I loved the idea of someone being able to listen to me and gather information to make a change. And of course, I would make surveys on my own, handwritten ones on construction paper, and pass them around at family gatherings to see how everyone enjoyed themselves. Then I would draw up a report and send out an end-of-the-year letter, showing everyone where we excelled and where we could improve.”
Breaker smirks. “And did you find out anything constructive from these family surveys?”
“Yes.” I nod as I hand him the last few tiles that need to be picked up. “Whenever my uncle Steve decided to take his pants off after dinner, it always led to him doing the invisible hula hoop on top of the cleared-off dining table—which no one relished. I made sure to convey this to the family and Uncle Steve, but unfortunately, I have no control over their behavior. I can only survey what needs to change. Changes are made from within.”
“Uncle Steve sounds like a good time.”
“He had a mustache . . . and he’s known as the pervert in the family. So yeah, maybe you two would get along.”
“Not a pervert,” Breaker says while packing up the rest of the game.
“That has yet to be determined.”
“Can we make a quick assessment because I can assure you, I’m not a pervert.” He sets the board game to the side and then leans back on his futon while I press my weight on my hands behind me. I should probably leave. Everyone else has, but for some reason, I feel comfortable here, and I don’t want to leave just yet.
“If you wish.”
He touches his nose and points at me. “I believe the phrase you’re reaching for is, as you wish.”
“Princess Bride fan, are we?”
“What’s there not to be a fan of? Revenge, swords, master tales of times before. It’s got it all. Not to mention . . . Fred Savage.”
“I actually agree, which puts a check mark in your column of not being a pervert.” He fist-pumps to himself, which makes me chuckle. “But that’s only one check mark. There are more questions.”
“Hit me. Watch me pass with flying colors.”
“We shall see about that. Have you ever, since you’ve donned the mustache, peeped into someone’s window, preferably the sex you’re attracted to?”
“That would be women, and no.”
“Good answer. Next question, have you ever felt the need to walk into the ladies’ room because you wanted to take a gander?”
“I’ve heard there are way more stalls, which I’m jealous of because sometimes I just like to sit and pee. But no, I have not.”
My brows pull together. “Sit and pee?”
He shrugs. “I get lazy.”
“Okay, seems like more work to sit down and pee, but to each their own. One more question. Have you ever started a club for men with mustaches and purchased mini mustache combs and creams so you can have mustache care parties?”
“Wow, now that sounds like a good fucking time, but no, I have not.” He drapes his arms along the back of the futon. “So . . . have you deduced that I’m not a pervert?”
“Temporarily. I’m putting you on probation.”
“That’s fair.” He places one leg over the other.
“But I do need to ask a few rapid-fire questions, just to double-check.”
“Hit me.”
“Favorite singer or band?”
“Blondie.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Yup.” He pops the P, looking so relaxed that, in return, he makes me feel comfortable. “Obsessed.”
“Okay, good answer. How about favorite candy?”
“Smarties because I’m smart, and I think they make me feel extra clever.”
I chuckle. “I guess that’s a good reason. Favorite TV show?”
“Wonder Years. Hence, the Fred Savage comment earlier. Love him. Second to Wonder Years is Boy Meets World, as fuck, did I crush on Topanga so goddamn hard. And of course, Cory is my man crush.”
“Fan of the Savage brothers?”
“They’re my ride or die.”
“Makes you seem very relatable.”
He drags his finger over his mustache as he says, “Stick around, Lia. You’ll see just how relatable a finance major with a penchant to crash his model airplane every time he flies it is.”
“I always thought Shawn was whiny.”
“Join the club,” Breaker says with an eye roll. “Thoughts on Mr. Turner’s mullet?”
“Hot,” I answer.
“So if I were to, let’s say . . . grow this hair out to be a mullet, what would your thoughts be on that?”
“Pitiful, get your own look.”
He chuckles. “Man, you sure know how to bring a man down to his knees.”
“Apparently, it’s what I do best.”
“Apparently, I like that about you, though.” He moves his teeth over his lip before saying, “So, Lia, what did you think about tonight? Have fun?”
“I had a lot of fun.” Not wanting to sound like too much of a loser, I gently say, “It’s been hard meeting people here, you know, people who are on the same level as me. I just recently transferred, so not coming in as a freshman and making friends has been a challenge. Although”—I glance around his room—“I do feel comfortable here, despite these dwellings belonging to a mustache.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. And meeting new people is hard. Took me a second to figure it all out too. They always say college is where you get to reinvent yourself and find like-minded people. Well, they don’t tell you it doesn’t happen immediately. I’m a junior now and feel like I’ve just hit my stride.”
“Same. No one seems to like spending countless hours poring over a game of Scrabble or knitting hats for cats.”
“Hats for cats?”
“Quite fetching. I sell them to old ladies who think dressing up their cats is fun.” I shrug. “Started it for some side cash, but now, I’m invested. But yeah, tonight reminded me that there are like-minded people out there for me, making me feel like myself for the first time in a long time.”
His expression softens. “I’m glad, Lia.” He strokes the hair under his nose and says, “I bet a lot of you feeling comfortable has to do with the mustache.”
“It’s not the mustache,” I answer with feigned irritation.