The mashed potatoes were the same indeterminate color as Marlies’s underwear. The peas lay in a snot-colored puddle. The ham was shiny and covered with spots that looked like badly healed vaccination marks.

Martin and I simultaneously stuffed a forkful into our mouths and looked at each other. Martin chewed. “Get it over with as fast as you can,” he said, and shoveled it all quickly into his mouth.

The peas in my mouth didn’t get smaller, they swelled. I glanced at Marlies, who was watching Selma’s show, and I spit the peas and mashed potatoes back onto my plate. “I  an’t eat it, Martin,” I whispered.

Martin’s plate was soon empty. He grabbed a bottle of water and washed down the peas and potatoes. Then he looked at my full plate. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s no way I can get that down, too. It would make me throw up.”

He burped and, looking panicky, he put his hand over his mouth. Marlies turned toward him.

“Taste good?”

“Yes, thanks,” Martin said.

“You’ve hardly touched yours. Eat up before it gets cold,” she said to me, as if the food had ever been warm, and then turned back to the television. On the screen were Matthew and Melissa, whose destinies Selma was following feverishly. They were standing in the middle of a field, and Matthew said, “I love you, Melissa, but you know our love doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Stand up for a second,” Martin whispered. I got up quietly so that Marlies wouldn’t look around, but she was watching Melissa say, “I love you, too.”

Martin scooped my peas and mashed potatoes onto one slice of ham and covered it with the other. Then he slipped the badly packed mush into the front pocket of his shorts. Martin wore light red Bermuda shorts with deep pockets.

On the television, Melissa said, “But, Matthew, we belong together,” and the theme music started playing. Marlies turned off the television and faced us.

“Seconds?”

“Thanks, but no,” Martin said.

“Why are you standing there?” Marlies asked. I was standing because I didn’t want to smoosh the pea-and-potato mush into Martin’s shorts.

“Because there’s no chair,” I said.

“Sit back down on your friend’s lap,” Marlies said, “you’re making me nervous standing there.”

I thought of the optician, who often couldn’t sit because of his back trouble. “I’ve got a problem with my disks because of my primarily sedentary occupation.”

“So young, and already falling apart.” Marlies sighed.