It was a lovely evening. The attendees were the usual ones, those one could expect considering the kind of people my father knew in the city. There were very well renowned families, members of the high society and of course, many of my father's fellow politicians.
I had already been assisting to social events with my family for a couple of years, so I had a relative idea of what to expect. I knew which families I could always count on seeing, I knew how I was supposed to say hello, I knew what to ask them about, and how to keep the conversation short and cordial.
I had also learned which of my father's work mates he had a higher liking of, and which he had… history with. Of course, this did not change the way Mom or I would treat them at social gatherings. Rather the contrary, Mom always seemed to be able to look past those silly disagreements.
That's why, when we saw the Hamiltons across the room, we knew exactly what to do.
Of all the labor relations of my father, the one that has suffered the most instability is that with Mr. Hamilton. It is truly impossible to keep up with the amount of times they have bickered, only for them to probably reconcile afterwards. Their relationship oscillates from being a vague annoyance to each other to disagreeing strongly on a way they would approach a certain subject to finding enough in common that they consider themselves friends. The terms they might be in whenever we coincide in one of these balls are a true lottery.
Anyway, whichever the circumstance, Mom always knew how to navigate it. It helps that Mrs. Hamilton seems to see their bickering the same way we do, and as a result, Mom and Mrs. Hamilton would usually end up laughing at their husbands' latest fit, when necessary.
We approached the table where the Hamiltons were seated. Mom and I said a quick hello to Mr. Hamilton and soon after, Dad and him wandered off talking about work, themselves, or both. We stayed with Mrs. Hamilton looking at the pair.
"Well, look at them getting along. Quite a sight," said Mom.
"Could it be that they're finally growing up?" said Mrs. Hamilton, with a light chuckle.
"I sure hope so," replied Mom. "Sometimes I think he gives me more work than Theodosia."
"Tell me about it. I know for a fact mine gives me more work than our seven children."
I looked behind Mrs. Hamilton, towards the table her family was sitting at, and realized, of the ones that were old enough to attend, all but one of her children were there.
"Who by the way, Eliza, must be so grown up! How old is James already?"
I soon lost track of the conversation Mom was having with Mrs. Hamilton in favor of the one that I was having with my own self in my mind.
Philip, the oldest of the Hamilton children, was the exact same age as me. We had known each other since our early childhoods, from the many times we would coincide at our father's offices downtown. I don't remember exactly when we met or how many times we had seen one another, but I do remember considering him an acquaintance.
Once we became old enough to attend balls, dinners, and social gatherings it was usual to find him in them, although our encounters never exceeded from a polite greeting. Could he be here tonight? When was the last time I had seen him?
"… And I wish I could show you how tall Philip is, more than his father at this point."
The mention of his name pulled me out of my daydream. I listened to Mrs. Hamilton as she continued:
"He must be here somewhere. We lost him a while ago among the crowd, but I'm sure you'll see him soon. Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "Theodosia, you look beautiful tonight. I can't believe the young women you've become. It seems like only yesterday your mother would carry you in her arms around the offices downtown," Mrs. Hamilton said sweetly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. Time does fly indeed." I could feel my mother gush with pride next to me.