Chapter 6 - The Ghost of San Francisco
Three months after the vineyard disaster, I was living in a small, sunlight-drenched studio apartment in San Francisco’s Mission District.
I had cut total contact. I changed my phone number, blocked every single relative on social media, and wiped my old cloud drives clean. I took a full-time lead video editor position at a boutique creative agency in the city—a job I had applied for weeks before the wedding and landed off the strength of my actual portfolio.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nobody was calling me to tell me I was a failure. Nobody was asking me to transfer money to Elise.
My life was quiet. It was peaceful.
Until a rainy Tuesday evening in November.
I was sitting at a local coffee shop on Valencia Street, editing a commercial cut for a sustainable apparel brand, when a shadow fell across my laptop screen.
"Ian?"
I looked up.
Standing in front of me was my uncle Richard—my father’s younger brother. He was the one who had chuckled at the wedding when my dad told me not to ruin things. He was wearing a wet raincoat, holding a dripping umbrella, looking significantly older and more tired than he had three months ago.
I slowly pulled off my headphones. "Uncle Richard. How did you find me?"
"It wasn't easy," Richard said, his voice hesitant. He gestured to the empty chair across from me. "Can I sit?"
"It’s a public cafe," I said neutral.
Richard sat down heavily, leaning his umbrella against the table. He looked at me for a long moment, taking in my fresh haircut, my clean clothes, and the high-end editing setup on my desk.
"You look... good," Richard admitted, rubbing his chin. "Better than I expected."
"I am good," I said. "What do you want, Richard? If my dad sent you—"
"He didn't," Richard interrupted quickly, raising his hands. "Robert doesn't even know I’m in California. He doesn't know I tracked down your agency through a mutual friend on LinkedIn."
I closed my laptop lid halfway. "Then why are you here?"
Richard let out a long sigh, looking down at the scarred wooden table. "Because the family is falling apart, Ian. Completely falling apart."
"That sounds like a Robert and Elise problem," I said smoothly.
"Carson’s family cancelled the wedding contract that night," Richard said softly. "The vineyard sued your dad for the unpaid balance because Carson’s father pulled his funding. Elise had to move back home. She’s... she’s a mess, Ian. She lost half her friends. Nobody in their social circle talks to them anymore. Your mom hasn't left the house in two months."
I listened, waiting for the pang of guilt to hit my chest. I waited for that old familiar twist in my stomach that used to tell me I was responsible for everyone else's emotions.
Nothing came. Just a cool, vacant silence.
"That’s unfortunate for them," I said.
Richard leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Ian, your dad’s blood pressure is through the roof. He won't admit it, but he’s drowning. He lost a major client last month because word got out about how he treated you at the venue. People talk in our town. They saw that video. They saw the way he talked to you. It made him look like a monster."
"He didn't look like a monster, Richard," I corrected him gently. "He just looked like himself. The video didn't use special effects."
Richard swallowed hard, unable to meet my eyes. "Look... your mom wants you to come home for Thanksgiving. She wants to talk. She wants to... fix this."
May you like
I smiled. It was the same quiet smile I had worn while sitting at Table 19.
"She doesn't want to fix me, Richard," I said, leaning back in my chair. "She wants to fix their reputation. There’s a difference."
