Seven Years Of Votes And Always One Short Chapter 04

The time for the Fourth of July banquet arrived in no time.

Grandma’s face stayed cold. She rapped her cane.

“Enough of this. The guests will be here any minute. What would people think, seeing a display like that?”

The Shermans murmured their agreement.

When I walked into the great hall, the head table was already set with place cards.

I read them, one by one.

Grandma. Dad. Mom. Aunt.

Miles. Pearl. Giggles.

Giggles’s seat even came with her own little dish of kibble.

But there was no card with my name anywhere.

Grandma shot me a scornful glance and snorted.

“You haven’t passed the vote after all. You’re not a Sherman. You may help serve drinks and water during the banquet.”

“I won’t.”I refused on the spot.

It wasn’t a loud word. It still dropped the whole room into silence.

Miles stared at me, startled, then his face curdled with disgust.

“Grandma letting you attend at all is a mercy, and you dare talk back to her?”

Dad’s brow creased too. “Jojo, this is a chance we’re handing you. Don’t be ungrateful.”

Pearl bit her lip, her voice thickening toward tears. “Jo, are you upset with me?”

“I know you’ve never liked me. But today, of all days, you shouldn’t make a scene…”

Miles snorted. “If you can’t stand being under this roof, you can walk out right now.”

I watched their well-rehearsed chorus, let a cold laugh pass through me, and turned to go.

“Jojo…” Mom called after me, frantic.

But I did not want to look back.

I returned to the storage room, grabbed my things and headed straight out.

As I passed the garden, I stumbled straight into their talking, Mom, Dad and my brother.

Mom sounded anxious.”Could Jojo really leave?”

“She won’t.” Miles said it like a settled fact. “She wants into this family more than anything. You think she’d quit over one dinner? It’s a performance, staged for our benefit.”

Dad pressed his fingers to his forehead, exhaustion all over his face.

“Enough. Jojo is your sister too. Next year, we let her come home.”

Miles’s face darkened. “All she’d ever bring this family is embarrassment. I watched Pearl grow up. She is my sister.”

Mom was quiet for a moment. “And if she fixed everything? Every last thing?”

“She won’t.”

Miles’s certainty was absolute, and beneath it ran a thread of smugness he barely troubled himself to hide.

“Grandma said so herself. Rules are living things. There’s always one that will catch her.”

“This year the hair, next year the hands, the year after that her posture. There will always be a reason.”

I stood behind the folding screen, gripping my luggage tight.

I should have known all along.

It was never that I was not good enough.

From the very start, they had never planned to welcome me home.

When I stepped out through the Sherman gates, night had fallen.

Sherman family members greeted guests at the entrance, wearing polished, practiced smiles.

Not one of them noticed me.

I ordered an Uber to the airport.

At seven that evening, the flight to France lifted off right on schedule.

The plane broke through the clouds, and moonlight poured in.

My life had turned a page. From this moment onward, I would write my own story.

…

Meanwhile, the Shermans livestreamed their Fourth of July banquet.

With full ceremony, Dad brought out the family Bible and began reading out the names, one by one.

When he reached Giggles Sherman, the whole room burst out laughing.

Guests showered praise on the Shermans for how they doted on Pearl. Even her dog had made the family Bible.

Grandma laughed until her eyes narrowed to slits. “Pearl’s little dog has real sense. Half a Sherman, at the very least.”

A guest who knew the story asked, “Didn’t your birth daughter come back? How is it she isn’t in the Bible?”

Grandma’s smile dimmed. “She still falls short of the rules. She isn’t fit to be put on display.”

“Writing her in would ruin the reputation of our century-old household.”

Just then, one of the reporters spoke up, puzzled. “Ma’am, are you saying the youngest Fermat Prize laureate in history doesn’t deserve a place in your family Bible?”

Dad froze. “What Fermat Prize?”

The reporter held up his phone, a fresh headline glowing on the screen.

[This year’s Fermat Prize goes to Jo Linley, the youngest laureate in its history and the first American woman ever to win it.]

[France’s most prestigious university has already granted her tenure.]

On camera, the Shermans’ smiles froze, one inch at a time.