I make my way into the dining room and hit a wave of aromas escaping from the kitchen. My mouth waters. All-natural beef tenderloin.

Thirty years ago, the Isolation Act was imposed, banning all foreign trade, mostly in an effort to keep American-grown food in American-born mouths. It still wasn’t enough. Today, ninety-five percent of our country survives on lab-grown meat and genetically modified crops. Real beef is especially scarce and extremely expensive. By hosting a dinner party with this rare cut of meat, Father is aiming to impress.

Expansive glass walls dominate the room, affording a perfect view of Dallas in the distance. Light pollution from the vast skyline handsomely illuminates our large dining table, set formally with five-piece place settings.

“Good evening, Miss Goodwin,” Gwen greets me, folding a cloth napkin into a fan.

“The table looks beautiful,” I say as I watch her place the intricate design carefully atop a small porcelain plate. I realize five places have been set for dinner. Not four.

“Why is there an extra—” I start to ask, but the sharp click of boots announces Father’s arrival, and Gwen stiffens as he enters, marvelous in his crisp uniform.

I, too, feel my body tighten. This is it.

If Ava and I were standing side by side, Father would be able to know the difference right away. But when we are separated, it’s much harder for him to identify who is who. Your eyes register what your brain expects to see. Father expects to see Ava, so I am Ava. The foundation of our success.

“Thank you for helping us tonight, Gwen,” Father says warmly, analyzing her work. Her tense demeanor melts away as she notes my father’s relaxed manner.

“I’m grateful for the work, Dr. Goodwin,” she says, still finding it difficult to look him in the eyes.

Gwen is from the inner city. When she was a student, she was chosen from thousands of applicants by my father’s Equal Future Scholarship Program to receive full financial aid to a top-ranked university. And look where her degree got her. Ten years of serving food and cleaning houses.

“Be sure to prepare a plate for yourself and your husband before you leave,” Father adds, thumbing through the countless urgent work messages on his tablet. Finally, he turns to me and gives me a quick once-over. He nods in approval.

I allow myself a small smile. He didn’t notice.

“Your favorite thing about today, Ava?” he asks, pocketing his tablet and devoting his full attention to me.

He asks this question every night at dinner. We usually eat down in the basement, the three of us crowded around a small card table sharing reheated food Gwen leaves for us in the fridge. Some days I think he asks as some sort of test, like there’s a particular answer he’s looking for.

“Dreaming about that chocolate cake,” I say lightheartedly, fishing for a laugh. He chuckles, watching Gwen move the dessert a safe distance away from my grasp.

The doorbell rings, and we both shake off our candid smiles, hardening ourselves for the present. With a well-rehearsed urgency, Gwen moves toward the front hall.

Confidence high, I position myself next to my father as Gwen opens the door to the formidable Governor Roth. He stands tall and dignified, just like on TV, his uniform practically sagging from the weight of his medals. Mrs. Roth, all big lips and big hair, holds a petite portable fan to her face. Special Agent Hayes follows behind.

The agent sweeps the premises with trained eyes, his mouth like a ventriloquist’s as he whispers into his mouthpiece, “All clear.”

I catch movement behind the courtly party, and my eyes land on their grandson, Halton. I push back the unhappy surprise of his presence by stretching my fake smile even bigger. He stands awkwardly dwarfed behind his grandparents, and for some reason the sweat on his shiny face annoys me.

“Governor Roth, it is an honor to have you in our home,” Father says as he steps forward, inviting them out of the heat. Gwen moves aside to enable the governor to pass, but he remains outside the entryway, glowering at the surrounding houses.

Offensively modest, I know he’s thinking. Governor Roth has never agreed with Father’s choice of neighborhood. He firmly believes it is too common and unfit for a man of Father’s position. Yet we live in one of the premier communities of the entire Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. I firmly believe the governor has lost touch with reality. We can’t all live in mansions.

“We will be needing refreshments directly,” he announces finally. “Mrs. Roth is feeling overheated.” Gwen rushes into the kitchen as if from the crack of a whip.

We proceed into the dining room, and Mrs. Roth greets me with a handshake. “Nice and strong. Good, good.”

She turns to her grandson, the strength of her grip still stinging my hand. “Halton, doesn’t Ava look stunning tonight?” she asks, admiring my necklace while Halton admires me.

“Captivating,” he answers, forcing me to give a polite smile in acknowledgment.

Gwen appears with a tray laden with glasses of ice water, saving us from further conversation. She hands a dripping glass to Mrs. Roth, who downs its contents in three loud gulps.

Our circular dining table allows no place for a head of the table, a fact that must be glaringly obvious to the governor. But Father courteously leads Roth to a chair to the right of his own, offering our honored guest a superior view of the city he rules.

“Oh, what lovely flowers, Darren!” says Mrs. Roth, positively lighting up when she spots the beautiful centerpiece of fresh yellow flowers.

Father pulls out her chair next to mine, inviting her to sit. “Yes, they’re black-eyed Susans from the neighborhood greenhouse. Ava tends to them devotedly.”

The governor shakes out his napkin as he watches his grandson disapprovingly. “Halton, it is very rude not to pull Miss Goodwin’s chair out for her. You are her guest.”

Halton’s embarrassment shows red on his face. It spreads in odd splotches as he approaches me, not daring to catch my eye. Mortified, I try to help him tuck in my chair, and after several fits and stops, the metal of my chair shrieking painfully against the oak wood, we finally achieve it. I whisper a soft thank-you, wondering what shade of scarlet my cheeks elected.

Gwen fills the wine glasses from a rare bottle of Napa Valley cabernet before serving the first course of cold cucumber soup.

“To the governor and his family,” Father toasts simply.

Before my lips touch my glass, Mrs. Roth begins her interrogation. “Darren tells me you are a very clever young woman, Ava. And what have you decided as your career path after university?”

I place my full wine glass back down on the table. Best to keep a clear mind. “Well, I really—” I begin to say before Father cuts me off.

“I am very pleased to say it is Ava’s wish to continue her medical school education at Strake University,” he answers for me. “She hopes to soon serve her great state under the Family Planning Division.”

That is not my wish. That is our future chosen by my father. I stare down at my napkin, letting my anger show for a fraction of a second.

“Just like her father,” Mrs. Roth says to me. I turn and match her beaming smile, tooth for tooth.

“Strake is the finest institution our country has ever built,” Governor Roth growls, half his wine already drained. His own grandmother founded Strake, naming the university after a part mounted on aircraft that improves aerodynamic stability. Meaning students are simply parts on a machine to make Texas soar. Not individuals or anything.