Page 36 of His Cruel Exception

Mom calls me just as I'm stepping out of Professor Lynch's Advanced Macroeconomics class, which is a good thing because it gives me an excuse to postpone my daily ritual of freaking out about whatever Antonio has planned for me as punishment for lying to him.

It's been two weeks since he abruptly left my bedroom after I treated his injured hand, and I haven't seen him in person since. We've been texting regularly, and he even seems perfectly willing to indulge me whenever I have something to say, but the fact that he hasn't mentioned my little trip to Trenton again is making me increasingly nervous.

I might not have known the man for a full month, but I've spent enough time around him to know how he operates.

Antonio Scalera doesn't forgive easily.

I've already imagined several unpleasant scenarios, none of which have done my poor nerves any favors, and at this point, I'm beginning to think the anticipation might be a punishment in itself.

I fish my phone out of my pocket then swipe to answer before bringing the phone to my ear.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, walking away from the classroom door as more students begin spilling into the hallway. “How’re you?”

“I’m fine, Alex,” she says. “Did you tell your boyfriend I am looking for a job?”

I stop walking right there in the middle of the hallway, nearly causing the student behind me to walk straight into my back, and hurriedly move closer to the wall.

My boyfriend?

Oh, for God's sake. Antonio.

I spoke to Mom yesterday to make sure she was feeling okay and that she'd been taking her medications, and somewhere in the middle of our conversation, she casually mentioned that Antonio told her he’s my boyfriend when she asked. I nearly choked on the water I was drinking, but she seemed so genuinely pleased with him that I couldn't bring myself to tell her he lied, especially when she started telling me how polite and handsome he was.

I can’t even blame her for liking him. Antonio can be perfectly charming when he wants to be. But the boyfriend situation is the least of my concerns right now, because I never told Antonio that Mom was looking for a job. In fact, I haven't told him much about her at all.

“What happened?” I ask Mom.

“I got an envelope delivered just now with a job offer as a consultant somewhere called Reppirts. I checked online and it’s an upscale restaurant chain, it’s very new and they’re just setting up the workforce. And get this, it comes with health insurance.”

My ears begin to ring, and I press my free hand against the wall, trying to steady myself as the full meaning of what Mom has just told me sinks in.

Ever since she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis five years ago and Dad decided to take off, we haven't caught a single break. Things were difficult enough when we were still trying to come to terms with her diagnosis, but when her boss found out about her condition and fired her, she lost her health insurance along with her only source of income. I've spent the last five years working myself to exhaustion, and stretching every dollar as far as it would go, just to make sure Mom never had to go without her medications.

I know how much Mom has wanted to start working again, especially now that she's been feeling a little better, but finding a position that won't put too much strain on her health has been difficult. She's always been determined to contribute financially, no matter how many times I've reassured her that I can manage things, and I've lost count of how many conversations we've had about her needing to prioritize her health instead of worrying about money.

I close my eyes briefly, because at this point, I'm beginning to suspect Antonio Scalera has made it his personal mission to solve every financial problem I've ever had, whether I ask him to or not. I remove my hand and lean against the wall as an unfamiliar feeling begins to spread through my chest.

I've spent so long convincing myself that I was managing everything just fine that I never stopped to consider how much of my life has been consumed by worrying about money. Even when I was supposed to be enjoying myself, there was always something I needed to pay for or another expense I had to prepare for, and I can't remember the last time I allowed myself to think about the future without immediately wondering how I was going to afford it.

Now, for the first time in five years, it feels like some of that weight has finally begun to lift, and the relief is so overwhelming that my eyes start burning.

“Alex, are you there?”

Mom's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I blink rapidly, tilting my head toward the ceiling as I try to get rid of the tears gathering in my eyes. I swallow a few times, making absolutely certain that my voice won't betray me when I speak.

“Yes, Mom. He didn’t tell me about the job, but he likes surprises.”

“Hold on,” Mom says, and I hear the rustling of paper on the other end of the line. “I just saw there is a smaller envelope. Let me check it.”

I adjust my grip on the phone, my mind racing through several thoughts. Why would he go to such lengths for Mom when he barely knows her? Does this mean he's not mad at me?

“Alex, it’s a note from Antonio,” Mom says finally. “He says the job is real and once I fill the HR forms I’ll get a salary, but I don’t have to come in. Is that legal?”

“It is, but you don’t have to accept it if you’re not comfortable with the arrangement.”

I'm not entirely certain what the legal implications of her arrangement might be, but I don't want Mom to feel obligated to accept something simply because Antonio has offered it. Still, I would be lying if I said I wasn't desperately hoping she'll accept.

“I’ll think about it,” Mom says. “Take care, dear.”