A Field Guide to Wayward Roommates (The Aimee Position #4)

Chapter 1

Bode

The sun blasted through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows like it was making a point about my recent lifestyle choices.

It lit up every surface it touched with its aggressive cheer: the coffee cup I hadn’t moved in three days, the stack of books on Japanese woodblock printing I’d been hyper-focused on for two weeks, and the throw blanket I’d been living under since Tuesday.

Outside, the same sunbeams highlighted the grassy slopes of Elkhead Butte Mountain Resort.

The resort had been cheerfully green all summer, but the grass was turning brown the way it always did when fall approached.

The aspen trees that framed the runs had a hint of gold on them, too.

I didn’t have much time before people would start to expect things from me.

Instead of dealing with any of that, I pulled my hood up and sank deeper into my couch as if that would help me hide.

My phone vibrated and I frowned at it. Most of my friends were in Chile right now, at a competition in Valle Nevado. September in the Southern Hemisphere meant sunny days and spring weather, which used to be my favorite. It vibrated again, twice, buzzing against my heavy rustic wood coffee table.

Couldn’t be something urgent, could it?

I reached for it with a sigh and swiped it open, only to find exactly the sort of notification I’d been avoiding.

Mack had started a new group chat on Instagram, separate from all of the ones I’d already muted. It was titled “Bode get your ass on a plane.”

I frowned down at it, fighting the urge to just delete Instagram.

But in the back of my head, I could hear my mother’s voice telling me to post some old footage I’d never used, or do a throwback post. Anything to keep the two sponsors who hadn’t abandoned me happy…

one of which was my mother's outerwear company.

MackAttack: Bode the pow here is criminal. Like I should call the cops.

LeifHaugen: The cops? What does that even mean?

MackAttack: Fuck off, Leif.

Ashtonnn: brUH

Ashton Reeves and Lila Green? I couldn't understand the unhinged logic Mack had been using when creating this group chat, and it made me wonder if he was really hurting for friends to ride with without me in the mix.

MackAttack: Bode. Ashton won’t shut the fuck up. Need you here man.

Ashtonnn: DUDE. Why would I shut up? It was sick man!

LilaGreene: Nothing was sick except the amount of tequila you consumed last night.

Ashtonnn: They’re jealous.

Ashtonnn: But bro, I filmed a line this morning that I NEED you to see in person because the video doesn’t do it justice.

LilaGreene: How would that work? Is he going to travel back in time?

Ashtonnn: B is so sick he could figure that out. brUH.

MackAttack: He’s not going to respond, is he?

I stared down at the increasingly exuberant messages. They didn’t get it. No one did. I wasn’t even sure I could explain it. So I didn’t.

I held the power button down, watched the screen go dark, and tossed the phone onto the cushion next to me, flopping back on the couch. Why had I ventured onto Instagram? I couldn’t remember anymore.

Before I could figure out the answer to that question, the front door banged open.

I didn't look up, but I knew it was my mother from the way she dropped her keys on the entry table, then kicked off her shoes. For one thing, she was the only one with keys. For another, she was the only person bold enough to just barge in in my current state.

She appeared in the great room with two reusable grocery bags, stuffed to the brim.

Was she afraid I'd forgotten how to grocery shop?

She'd had me at twenty, and for so long, it had just been the two of us.

And even though I was 26 and we lived in different houses now, she would probably still call herself my best friend.

Forty percent of the time, I'd agree with her.

“You really need to do laundry; it smells like dirty socks in here.” This was the other sixty percent.

“Hi, Mama.” I didn’t move from the couch. I did pull my hood further down over my face. Not effective as camouflage, but better than eye contact.

She set the bags on the kitchen island and paused for what I had to assume was a comprehensive assessment of the state of the place. She made a dismissive little sound and started unloading containers into the fridge.

“When did you last leave the house, Bode?”

“Last week.”

“You sure? I haven't seen you in at least two weeks. And I’ve been reading about burnout. The physical manifestations. Sleep disruption, appetite changes, anhedonia—”

“Anhedo-what?”

“Inability to feel pleasure. Does that sound familiar?”

“I might feel more pleasure if you stopped diagnosing me with weird shit you read about on the internet.”

My mom made a dismissive noise and kept unpacking containers into my fridge. “I’m not diagnosing you, I’m worried!”

“What is all of that, anyway?”

“Your grandmother is also worried about you! And now that she’s retired, she has no outlet, so she’s been stress cooking.”

“Ah.”

“She made all of your favorites. Shrimp gyoza, gyudon, salted salmon, miso onigiri, and some fruit.”

With great effort, I restrained myself from lunging across the room and making off with a big pile of plastic containers. Best to do that after my mom left.

“Call your grandmother back, or this won’t stop.”

I watched her from under my hood and said nothing.

“Have you heard from your father?”

I snorted. “Fuck no. Not time for his annual guilt-call. And would I answer if he called? Would you?”

“I usually do. Sometimes he sends me a guilt check, and you know how I love those.” She winked at me.

She was always making light of the fact that she’d had to raise me alone because Hans Eriksen had been off chasing his big mountain passions, but right now the sting hit harder, and deeper than usual.

When I didn’t say anything, she stopped unpacking and stared at me directly. My mother had the same dark eyes I had, the same sharpness in them when she was ready to ask a direct question. So I knew it was coming. “Has Kona dropped you?”

“Kona is evaluating their athlete portfolio.” I kept my tone extremely even. “It’s a normal thing that happens.”

“That’s not an answer.” She held my gaze a beat past comfortable. The truth was, the sponsors that had dropped me quickly had been easier. Kona had promised me time, and the not knowing sat in my chest, heavy and uncertain.

“Is Moriko threatening to drop me, too?” I asked, changing the subject with a pointed question of my own.

“Of course not. You’ll always have my company as a sponsor.” She picked up the empty grocery bag and folded it neatly. “But if you could make some small effort to fulfill your contract, it’d appear considerably less like nepotism.”

“Don’t need your nepotism.”

“It’s not nepotism. You’re my son. I love you and I believe in you, so I sponsor you.”

“Sounds like nepotism.”

“It’s not. Dropping you would be bad optics.”

“Bad optics?”

“How would it look if I drop my son just because he’s going through a rough patch? You are with Moriko Outerwear for life, like it or not.”

“Just cite breach of contract, like everyone else did.”

“No. I won’t. And I talked to Alex from Kona, and he’s been encouraging them to wait it out, too. He has a personal history with depression.”

“It’d be easier if they just dropped me. More final.”

“Well, anyway, I have a short-term solution to your finances.”

I dropped my head back against the arm of the couch. “Mama.”

“This is about the house.”

“I’m not selling the house.”

She studied the great room with an expression that suggested several things were, in fact, wrong with the house. “It’s big for one person.”

“I like it big.”

“You liked it big when it had all of your friends living here. Now you rattle around in this big place like a sad, lonely… ping-pong ball.”

“Do ping pong balls get lonely?”

“You know what I mean.” She leaned on the island and looked at me. “You need a roommate.”

“I kicked them out because I don’t want a bunch of fucking snowboarders around, Ma—”

“I’m not talking about your couch surfing friends. I’m talking about someone who can pay.” She cut through my objection before it was out. “Help make ends meet.”

“The house is paid off.”

“Sure, but you’ve got taxes, insurance, electric bills, food. This place costs way too much to heat in the winter for a guy with no income.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. She wasn’t wrong. I had some money stashed away, but it wouldn’t last forever. But I didn't want to think about money right now. Or anything, at all, really.

“I don’t want some random person in the house,” I said.

“She’s not random. She’s my new industrial engineer.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve already picked a roommate for me. Ma, come on. Your meddling addiction is overtaking your personality again.”

She smirked at me. “I'm not meddling! Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor, even if it was only temporary. Her name is Lucky Venkataraman. She’s been trying to find an apartment in Elkhead for weeks, but you know how the rental market is.”

The mountain town real estate situation was a disaster. A surge of remote workers during COVID had compressed an already small inventory into something that required either significant income or significant connections to navigate.

“She’s finishing up her notice period in Nebraska, but she's planning to move in a week,” Sachi continued, in the mild tone she used when she was conveying information that had been pre-decided and she was only technically informing me of it. “And I need her at my company.”

“So move her into your place?”

“I don’t have the space you do. Come on, Bode. Please? She’s talented, organized, and she’s not going to bother you.”

Some nerd from Nebraska. I turned this over. That was what I needed right now. Someone who’d pay rent and leave me alone and never think to mention snowboarding to me.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“A couple of years older than you. Late twenties, but college educated, quiet and responsible and focused on her own work.”

“Mama.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you already tell her she could have the room?”

She paused, mischief making her lips twitch. “I told her I’d discuss it with you. She seemed… optimistic.”

I sat up, yanked off my hood and glared at her.

“Would it be so bad, really? It’s $1500 a month, and it’ll help me out. She specializes in production and workflow optimization, waste reduction, all the things I should have figured out years ago.”

“$1500 a month is a steal for this neighborhood.”

She grimaced. “Her salary isn’t that great. Yet. Besides, you have four extra bedrooms. What are you doing with them? Rotating which one you sleep in?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—” I trailed off, unable to come up with a good excuse for not doing this.

I didn’t want my space invaded, but I needed the money, and her company needed this woman’s expertise.

And as one of my two remaining sponsors, Moriko Outerwear was pretty damn important to me, even if I didn't consider the impact on my mom.

Her eyebrows shot up, and I could tell that she was reading my acquiescence on my face. “Yeah?”

“Fine. Yeah,” I said. “I’ll take this one Nebraska geek. But no more surprise roommates. And no snowboarders. Or skiers.”

“Of course,” my mom said. She kissed the top of my head on her way past the couch and breezed to the door.

“You should shower,” she said as she slid her shoes back on.

“I was going to.”

“Today.”

“Mama.”

“I’m just saying.” The door opened. “I’ll make a group text with Lucky so you can meet her. She should be here in about a week. Eat the food from your grandmother and text her to thank her. And for fuck’s sake, post some B-Roll on your socials. It takes two seconds.”

The door closed.

Fuck. I picked up my phone, turned it back on, and watched the notifications come in.

MackAttack: Okay, he’s dead.

Ashtonnn: RIP Hayashi. I’ll smoke a bowl for you.

LilaGreene: Bode, I will come for you.

I should have showered or vacuumed. I pulled my hood back up and sank deeper into my couch instead.