Family Happiness by Laurie Colwin Page A

Supreme.
    â€œIt’s hopeless,” Polly said. “I never get what I order here and I always order the same thing. I ask for Swiss Health and as a result I have had everything on the menu.”
    It didn’t much matter, because Polly was low on appetite. As they sat over their second cups of coffee, Lincoln held her hand under the table.
    â€œCome along now, Dottie,” he said. “Try to eat. You have to keep your strength up.”
    â€œI feel all broken down, Linky,” Polly said.
    â€œYou’re a fine figure of a woman,” said Lincoln.
    â€œThe funny thing is,” Polly said, “I’ve had such a charmed life, really. Now suddenly everything is out of kilter. I used to be so full of energy. Now I don’t look forward to anything. I used to be so positive. It isn’t right for a person like me to feel awful. I’m not supposed to. I tell myself over and over: My life is full of blessings. Including you.”
    â€œEverybody goes through this,” Lincoln said. “It’s part of growing up.”
    â€œNot in my family.”
    â€œYour family was put on earth to make everybody, including you, feel like hell.”
    â€œLinky, you don’t know them.”
    â€œI know one thing,” Lincoln said. “For all this gathering and family unity, you can’t go to them and they make you feel bad.”
    â€œFamily is just there to be family, Linky,” Polly said. “They’re my tribe. They don’t have to know the secrets of my innermost heart.”
    â€œYou’re the only member of your tribe who has an innermost heart,” Lincoln said. He looked up. “There’s a child over there waiting for a table who’s staring at you.”
    There in the doorway was Martha Nathan. The sight of her caused Polly to blush, but she motioned her over anyway.
    â€œIt’s Martha,” Polly said. “You’ve never met her.”
    â€œYou better get that blush off you before she gets here,” Lincoln said. “You look like the Woman Taken in Adultery.”
    â€œHi, Martha,” Polly said when Martha appeared. “Come sit down. There’s a free chair over there.”
    â€œOh, no,” Martha said. “I’ve just come to read this article and bolt my lunch.” It was perfectly clear that she had sized up the situation in one glance.
    â€œOh, sit,” Polly said. “Martha, this is my friend Lincoln Bennett. Lincoln, this is Martha Nathan.”
    â€œI’m starving,” said Martha, sitting down. “I guess no one will take my order. Is that girl a waitress or a customer? It’s so hard to tell in these places. Oh, miss!”
    An extremely sullen girl meandered over to the table.
    â€œI’d like to order,” Martha said. “What can I get fastest?”
    â€œOur salads are all handcrafted,” said the waitress.
    â€œBulgarian Eggplant Salad,” Martha said, “and a cup of coffee right away, unless the coffee is handcrafted, too.”
    â€œI didn’t get that,” the waitress said.
    â€œYes, you did,” said Martha. “Bulgarian Eggplant and a coffee. Just because you went to a progressive high school and studied modern dance at college doesn’t mean you can’t remember a simple order.”
    â€œHow did you know that?” the waitress asked.
    â€œA child could tell,” said Martha.
    â€œHow did you know that?” Polly said.
    â€œIt’s a snap. Modern dancers are a type. They all wear the same clothes. Everyone who went to progressive school holds a pencil funny. They don’t teach them how to write till they’re about twelve or thirteen. When they feel like learning.” She looked at Lincoln. “I bet you’re a painter.”
    â€œI am,” said Lincoln. “You can tell from the paint on my sweater, my large bag from the art-supply store, and my sensitive, soul-stricken look.”
    They