Doom-Scrolling and Other Delays
Delaney
I was still staring at the eviction notice.
In my rush to gather cleaning supplies, I hadn't noticed it the first time. But I should've noticed it. I'd stomped on it for God's sake.
I mean…if the shoeprint fits.
My hands trembled as I took a closer look. It was dated May 2nd, nearly two weeks ago. Apparently, she was being evicted for non-payment.
Impossible. Tessa was the most responsible person I knew.
I glanced around. Where on Earth was she?
My stomach twisted with fresh worry. What if something had happened to her?
If something had gone wrong, would the family even know?
Regardless, I should've known.
Just over a week ago, I'd come to Chicago on a similar mission. That time, I'd stopped by Tessa's office, thinking I could catch her at work if she was avoiding my calls.
But when I'd asked for Tessa by name, the receptionist had acted all funny, mumbling something about a leave of absence.
At the time, it felt like an excuse – a way for Tessa to give me the brush-off without confronting me directly.
True, this wasn't her style, but some might say I had it coming. Afterward, I'd left Chicago in a big, stupid huff without bothering to check Tessa's apartment.
But I was here now.
And she wasn't.
I scanned her apartment, looking for clues. Finally, I spotted something on the countertop next to the fridge – a note, written on pink notepaper in Tessa's flowing handwriting.
I rushed over to snatch it up.
April 15 – Miami
4:40 PM flight
Check in
Confirm hotel
I read it twice before murmuring, "Miami? April fifteenth?"
This was nearly a month ago. While away, had she forgotten to pay her rent?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered I was supposed to be meeting someone for dinner – and not just any someone. He was the most fascinating person I'd met in ages, and my pulse quickened at the thought.
But if Tessa was in trouble, there was no way I'd galivant off with a stranger, leaving her God-knows-where.
I returned my attention to the eviction notice. Stapled to it was a second page I hadn't yet read. I flipped up the first sheet and squinted at the update on page two.
Oh. So she wasn't evicted?
Relief flickered through me as I scanned the details. Someone had paid the rent on Tessa's behalf – not just the back rent, but two full months in advance. The amount hadn't been cheap either.
I said the payer's name out loud. "Ryder Vaughn."
Who was that?
It didn't sound like a company. If it was a person, it was probably a guy.
But who?
I bit my lip. Was she living with someone?
What if my timing had been worse? Like…what if I'd shown up in the middle of something naked?
Yikes.
Was I stomping around in her secret love nest?
I needed to know. I rushed to the bathroom and opened a few drawers, scanning for aftershave, men's deodorant, or one of those fancy shavers – anything too masculine for Tessa.
I found nothing.
Still, I had to be sure. Feeling way too nosy, I ducked into the only bedroom and threw open the closet. No suits. No oversized hoodies. No men's shoes lining the wall.
I let out a long sigh of relief, followed by yet another flicker of panic as I recalled my dinner plans.
We'd agreed to meet in forty minutes. But between cleaning up the mess and sizing up the situation here, I'd probably burned through at least twenty minutes already. My gaze drifted to the bathroom, and I frowned.
I should get showered and dressed. And yet, my thoughts lingered on Tessa.
She was gone.
Evicted. But not evicted. And maybe in Miami. Probably for business, but not for sure.
Before we'd lost touch, I recalled her being sent out of state plenty of times – once to California for a whole month for some domestic winery campaign.
So the Miami thing shouldn't have been a big deal. And yet, a twinge of unease prickled at my spine.
She was my only sister. For years now, our relationship had been on shaky ground, but I still loved her.
If anything happened to her…
No. I refused to think that.
I'd been off social media for nearly a year – and for good reasons, too. It wasn't just the family thing – or that weird threat I'd received last summer. It was everything.
Unlike Tessa, I wasn't big into brand names, business news, or celebrity gossip. And the way I saw it, browsing social media was just another way to feel inadequate.
As the family rebel, I'd dealt with that enough already.
But now, I simply had to know.
I reached into my pocket and yanked out my phone. Desperately, I started scrolling, pulling up Tessa's page, knowing exactly what I wanted to see.
Miami. Work. Everything's fine.
My stomach tightened. Nothing about Miami.
And yet, at first glance, her page looked pretty normal, with Tessa's typical clean, professional posts. A recent client launch. A polished brand teaser with one of those captions that sounded effortless but probably took an hour to write. A promo for an upscale spa I could never afford.
The dates caught up with me before anything else.
I slowed, scrolling back up to be sure I hadn't missed something. But there it was again – the last post, sitting quietly at the top of her feed.
It was dated April fourteenth.
The day before the flight.
I stared at it for a long moment, letting out a slow, uneasy breath.
I reminded myself that Tessa wasn't the type to document every hour of her day. She was private and focused – the kind of person who went on a work trip and, you know, actually worked.
I tried to think. Maybe her internet was spotty?
I almost rolled my eyes. In Miami?
Yeah, right.
My thumb hovered over the screen again.
If I truly wanted to know, there was one other place I could check.
I just didn't want to, that's all.
Damn it.
Bracing myself, I pulled up Mom's page.
A photo from some charity luncheon filled the screen. Mom was front and center, smiling like she owned the place, with a table full of elegant people I didn't know.
The caption read, "So grateful for everything I've built. Stay fabulous!"
Technically, Mom hadn't built anything. She'd inherited a slice of a timber fortune ages ago.
The money had long run dry, but this had never stopped her from pretending otherwise.
I scanned the next post – this one from a boutique she surely couldn't afford. She was gushing about "timeless pieces" and had included a carefully angled selfie with enough filters to sand off a decade at least.
I scrolled again, slower this time, and finally saw it – a photo of Tessa smiling at the beach. This photo had no filters.
It didn't need them.
My sister was absolutely gorgeous – with long blonde hair, baby blue eyes, a perfect body, and a smile that always turned heads.
Sometimes, standing next to her, I felt just a little invisible – until Mom pointed out my latest flaw and fixed that problem fast.
I let out a bitter laugh. Growing up, there were some days, I swear, invisible would've been an improvement.
I read the caption that accompanied the photo. "So proud of my girl! Taking Miami by storm. A big new branding project. Tropical beverages this time! She's a real go-getter!"
Funny. Mom made it sound like the photo was taken in Miami. It wasn't. It was taken on Lake Michigan three summers ago by yours truly when Tessa had stopped by for a weekend visit.
My heart clenched at the memory. The visit had ended in a big, stupid argument when I'd gotten miffed about Tessa sharing some of my writing samples with Mom – as if I didn't get enough mockery already.
One thing had led to another. Tessa got defensive. I got offensive. And in the end, neither of us was smiling at the beach.
Tessa had left five hours earlier than planned, and I'd spent those hours pounding at my keyboard like it owed me money.
And now she was in Miami.
But for how long?
Mom's post was only a few days old, so that was good, right? Sure, the photo wasn't quite new, but Mom wouldn't have posted the update if she hadn't talked to Tessa recently.
I scrolled further and saw several more posts about Tessa before I spotted one about me.
At the sight of it, I literally groaned. It was a shot of me at the kitchen table, hunched behind my laptop with a startled, deer-in-headlights expression that made me look wildly suspicious, like I'd been caught surfing monster porn.
The photo was at least two years old, because that's how much time had passed since my last visit to my parents' place.
It wasn't only my expression that was unflattering. It was my clothing too – an ancient gray sleep shirt with a stretched-out collar and frayed sleeves.
But in my defense, the time was long past midnight, and I'd been working – not that Mom would ever believe it.
Regardless, it was the caption that really twisted the knife. "That face you make when you claim you're writing a novel. Fiction comes in all forms, I guess. But we can't all be go-getters."
My mouth tightened. Hah! Little did she know I'd actually written – and yes, published – nine novels, thank you very much.
But I'd be a fool to let her read them.
My books weren't the kind you showcased on the family coffee table.
And besides, I was the family laughingstock already.
Plus, people used pen names for a reason.
I scrolled a little longer and stopped when I saw an old photo of me and Tessa together as kids, wearing identical yellow sundresses. She looked fabulous. I was covered in mud.
And yet, both of us looked happy – Tessa with her usual sunny smile, and me looking just a little wild as I grinned from ear to ear. Apparently, falling into the creek bed while lunging for a glitter-covered egg hadn't dampened my enthusiasm one bit.
But Mom?
She'd been decidedly less enthused.
But in my defense, I'd been only five. By now, it had been twenty years since I'd found myself covered in mud.
Even so, the way my mom talked, you'd think I mud-wrestled for a living. She posted that stupid photo every Easter, adding a new caption to the mix.
This year's caption said, "One daughter found eggs. The other found the creek. Crazy how trends continue. Happy Easter, everyone!"
My lips tightened. In reality, I'd found just as many eggs as Tessa, maybe even more. And honestly, the mud disaster wasn't my fault.
I mean, seriously, who hides a glittery egg on the edge of a slippery creek bank?
It hadn't been me. So, why was I being ridiculed years later?
My gaze drifted to the corner of the screen, and I nearly choked when I saw the time.
Oh, crap.
How long had I been standing here doom-scrolling through my family's greatest hits?
Somewhere downstairs sat the most attractive man I'd seen in ages, and here I was, spiraling over Easter trauma.
There was no way I'd make it on time, and I hated the thought of making him wait – and not only because he was so stupidly hot.
It was because, well…it would be incredibly rude, no matter who the person was.
Damn it. I knew what I had to do.
I just hated the thought of it, that's all.