Mr Jefferson is Coming Home (Jamilton)

Chapter 8

"The doctor said you shouldn't walk for a week or two, remember?" James sighed from the couch, looking at Thomas, who was dragging himself around the house, leaning heavily on his walking stick at every step.

"Yeah, I don't actually care," Thomas panted lightly while walking towards the kitchen stove, adding a couple of logs to stoke the fire. "I don't have the slightest intention of being bed ridden for the next two weeks. I'm simply going to ignore the pain in my leg as well as I can."

James shook his head lightly, following Thomas in the kitchen, and sat at the dining table, waiting for his friend to cook some of the bizarre dishes he discovered in France or Italy.

"What's on the menu today?" he teased.

"Macaroni and cheese, do you want to join me for lunch?" Thomas asked while searching for his precious reserve of olive oil.

"Err, no, thank you," James said quickly, already heading to the exit. "I think I have a visit just after lunch anyway –

Thomas nodded, too focused on his task to notice James's evasiveness. He tended to ignore – partly for his own choice, partly because people didn't want to tell him – that he was probably the only person in NYC who liked macaroni and cheese. He didn't just like it, he was sort of obsessed, and refused to believe that others may not have the same enthusiasm. His cookbook was full of foreign recipes, which he loved to cook by himself and taste together with his best wines.

He was about to enjoy one of this perfect moments of culinary bliss, when he heard a lot of noise coming from the entrance. He immediately tried to stand up on his good leg, and then –

"JEFFERSON!" Hamilton voice preceded him in the kitchen. The little man marched inside the room with a straight face, the maid panting her apologies right after him – apparently he hadn't given her the time to introduce him, and had quickly slipped into the house when she had opened the door.

"Mr Hamilton," Thomas greeted him, falling down on his chair again.

"How's – how's your leg?" Hamilton hesitated before letting Thomas notice his worried look, that instantly scanned the bandages wrapped around his thigh, as if to evaluate the seriousness of the wound through the gauze.

"Oh." Thomas was genuinely surprised by Hamilton's manners – yeah, he had irrupted into his house without being invited, but was preoccupied with his health. "Well, the doctor says it's nothing too serious, it's a clean wound and it won't get infected."

"Oh, good," he said happily, sitting at the kitchen table without waiting for any invitation.

Thomas rolled his eyes and waved the maid to leave them alone. Just some days before, Hamilton had entered his library with his worst attitude, while now he seemed friendly – almost...nice. Was it a trick?

"Do you want to join me?" he pointed at his lunch. "There's more in the pot on the stove, the one over there –

Hamilton was already by the stove, serving himself with macaroni and cheese. He looked suspiciously at the food, then at Thomas, then at the food again.

"Did you cook it?" he asked.

"Indeed. It's an Italian dish, una prelibatezza! Une gourmandise!" Thomas bragged.

Eventually, Hamilton sat again, much slower than before, and ate a forkful of them. He chewed cautiously and then looked at Thomas with a funny face.

"Well, this sucks!" He declared, smiling widely at Thomas's offended countenance.

"I should have expected such lack of taste from you"

"What are you insinuating? I've excellent tastes and they are clearly better than yours, especially in politics!"