Major League Trouble ; Cody Bellinger

Four: Netflix and Chill

"You look fine, Jenna," Kaitlyn tells me as I looked in the mirror for the hundredth time, mentally criticizing myself. "My mother will find even the most insignificant wrong detail," I explain. "Then let her," Kaitlyn shrugs. "I'm tired of it though, I just wish she'd be proud of me every once in a while," I sigh. "I'm sure she's proud of you. She just has a weird way of showing it," Kaitlyn tries to be optimistic. "Whatever, if she can't see what I've done as an accomplishment, then that's her choice," I say trying to be confident. "There you go," Kaitlyn applauds me. "Who am I kidding? This is gonna be my birthday dinner all over again," I collapse on my bed, stressing out. "C'mon, Jenna. We have no time for negativity," Kaitlyn forces me up. "Let's just get this over with," I sigh.

Kaitlyn stayed behind to finish my packing for the trip to Phoenix. Instead of Smith driving me, I had someone else escort me to the Palm. The ride was short so I didn't have that much time to prepare myself. It was 6:03 so I figured I'd be fine on time.

"Jenna! So nice to see you. Fashionably late, as always," my mother greets me. "Mom!" I copy her tone. "You're looking... rather toned," she forces a smile. She was never the type to encourage physical strength on me, just cardio. "Thanks. I worked out with the guys earlier," I reply trying to annoy her. "Wonderful," she says even more uncomfortable. She was being rather nice, for some odd reason. Usually she was straight forward with insults. "Yea, we're all getting pretty close. I went out for drinks with them last night," I add knowing she wouldn't approve. "Oh, I saw," she had a disgusted smile. "I was drunk so one of the players let me stay the night at their place," I say knowing she was about to tip.

"May I get you ladies any drinks?" The waitress comes by.

"Yes, I'll take Scotch," my mom says immediately. "Just a water," I say satisfied with my attempt to push my mothers buttons. "Coming right up," the waitress leaves, feeling our tension.

"So how are you and Bill?" My mother was now fighting back. "We're separated, mom. I've already told you this," I take a deep breath. "He was so good for you Jenna," she fake pouts. "Yea, because trying to stop me from becoming the first female manager of a major league baseball team is good for me," I reply with sarcasm. "Let's be real, Jenna. You're just the assistant manager," she says. I try my hardest to not show my anger. "Assistant manager versus office assistant," I compare our jobs. "I could have a better job if I needed one, but Jeremy takes care of me," she refers to her boyfriend only ten years older than me. I roll my eyes.

Finally, the waitress is back with my mothers Scotch and my water. My mother orders soup and salad and I order a steak. Of course my mother would find a way to criticize my dinner selection.

An hour and a half into dinner, I was zoning out of my mother's nonstop complaining. I was pretty sure she was tipsy because she had no filter and wouldn't lower her voice no matter how many times I asked her too.

"Oh, Jeremy's here to pick me up. Want to meet him?" My mother checks her phone. "No thanks," I force a smile. I was still happy about the fact that I didn't have to sit through anymore of her bickering and hidden insults. "It was nice seeing you. We'll schedule lunch sometime soon. You can meet Jeremy then," my mom gathers her things. "Yay, I can't wait," I say sarcastically. "You can take care of the check right? Now that you have an actual paying job," my mom refers back to my internship. "Sure," I force a smile that let's her know she can leave. "Love you," she kisses my cheek before leaving. "Love you too," I say but only I could hear since she rushed off.

I lean back in my seat and sigh. Thank God I actually got through that without screaming. The check was $165 so I place $200 on the table before leaving also. It was only 7:30 but I had to wake up early for my flight so I decide to head back to my hotel. On the way, I receive a text from an unknown number.