Later that night, my father and I sat in our drawing room. My mother had retired to her room early due to feeling slightly indisposed, leaving both of us as each other's only company. Although it was something we did often, I was feeling particularly dreadful about it that evening. I was nervous about Dad bringing up in conversation what he had seen in the previous hours. I wished I could have just escaped to my room, but I feared doing so right after Mom would have seemed suspicious. I didn't want my father to think I had anything to hide to him. Therefore, I decided I would stay for a short time before I could retire with an excuse of my own.
But of course, things going my way would have been a little too perfect.
"Theo, I saw you talking with Philip Hamilton at the dinner," he said casually.
At least, he didn't seem particularly recriminatory. I tried to rely on that.
"I was. He said a quick hello," I replied as nonchalantly as I could.
"You know, when I saw him, it surprised me how much he reminded me of his father. More than the usual, I mean."
Oh, what a subject to bring up.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. It didn't take me long to realize why, though."
I looked attentively, encouraging him to continue.
"See, he's nineteen years old, like you are."
I nodded. "I guess so, yes."
"Well, that's how old his father was when I met him."
"Really?" I raised my eyebrows.
For a moment, he stopped looking at me. Instead, he directed his gaze to the thin air. He wore a nostalgic expression on his face. I wondered what moments he was reminiscing about, when suddenly, he commented softly:
"Time flies, doesn't it."
"Indeed," I murmured.
"It seems like it was only yesterday we ourselves were the kids, being reckless. Well, I was never too reckless, but Alexander. That is an entirely different story."
"You've always been a prudent person. I took that from you."
As I said that last bit, I wondered, objectively, how prudent my last actions could have been considered. I strongly rejected answering.
"I used to ask myself all the time if I should be more like him. A couple of times, he even told me so."
"That you should be more like him?"
"That I should stand for what I believed in more. Or that I should fight for what I wanted."
"But I don't understand, Dad. Didn't you?"
"Not always. Sometimes, I just waited."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with that, is there?" That was what most of my life had consisted of, and I didn't see the fault in it.
"To people like you and me, of our mindset, no. But to people like him, that can be considered one of the world's worst punishments."
I thought of Philip, and how he was always so restless. So insatiable.
"I see."
"That's why, when it came to the things him and I wanted, he fought for them, while I waited for them to come. That's also why he never understood my willingness to wait for your mother. He was very stubborn about how I should just 'go get her'." He air quoted the last bit.
"It's hard to think about you and Mr. Hamilton back in a time in which you weren't even married to Mom."
"Oh, but dear, there was such time."
I was glad the conversation had not gone at all where I feared it would. Instead, Dad was lost in his memories, nostalgically describing his days as a young man. I guessed seeing Philip last night really did unchain a series of thoughts within his mind.
Beyond that, it was nice to listen to my father's stories. They shed plenty of the light I needed.