Page 76 of Strictly the Worst

“No.” Zoe shakes her head vehemently. “You’re not wearing that. We’re going to a rock concert not a corporate event.”

I look down at my outfit. A pair of black pants and a white top. “What’s wrong with this?” I ask her. She huffs, grabbing my hand and dragging me back into my bedroom, being careful to avoid the holes in the floor. I think we could avoid them with our eyes closed. I imagine that even when it’s all repaired we’ll be jumping over where they used to be.

“Sit,” she says, pointing at my bed. “You need to start dressing your age.”

“I do dress my age,” I protest. I think I have good style. “I just don’t go to concerts very often.”

She rifles through my closet and pulls out a pair of black jeans. They’re old. Like super old.

“Vintage,” she murmurs, and I wince, feeling ancient.

“I thought you wanted me to dress young?” I say, frowning.

“I want you to dress cool,” she tells me. “And boot cuts are back in. Put them on.” She throws the jeans at me then turns back around, muttering to herself as she goes through my tops.

“This might work,” she says, tipping her head to the side. “No, too mom like.”

“I am a mom,” I remind her. And tonight I’m a mom to three over excited teenage girls. I’m not looking forward to it.

“You’re never gonna get a guy if you don’t make an effort,” she says. “Here we go. Perfect.” She pulls out a sequined top, though it looks more like a handkerchief. It’s stretchy and cropped and I think I wore it before I even met Jared.

“I didn’t know I had that anymore,” I say, shaking my head.

“Put it on,” Zoe says again. I roll my eyes at her but I do as I’m told. The jeans are cut low at the waist, so the buttons hit just above my hipbones. And the top doesn’t start until above my navel.

“Zo, I’m not wearing this out,” I tell her. “I haven’t bared my stomach in years.”

“But you have a tan,” she points out. “You look fabulous.”

“Let me change the top, okay?” I say, looking to compromise. “I’ll keep the jeans.” To be honest, I’m surprised they even fit me. The divorce diet did it’s thing, I guess. I lost over ten pounds after Jared left me. And with the renovating keeping me fit, it’s stayed off.

“Okay you can change the top,” Zoe concedes. “But I’ll choose it. And you have to let me do your hair.

An hour later we arrive at Madison Square Garden, where Zoe’s friends are waiting with their parents. Thank god I changed my top, they’d probably have dragged their daughters back home if they’d caught sight of how I looked earlier.

But right now, I have to admit, I feel good. Zoe did a great job with my hair, curling it using some kind of YouTube tutorial so it tumbles over my shoulders. And after a fierce debate I put on some natural looking makeup. I’m wearing a cute bustier style top that I bought eight years ago and only wore once, because Jared hated it. And a jacket with rolled up sleeves, because when I’m out here I feel better covered up.

Slutty chic, Angela called it when I sent her a photo. It made me laugh. Something I haven’t done in more than a week. I needed it.

I arrange to meet the girls’ parents at the parking lot at the end of the show, and then we head to the crew entrance, where we’re scheduled to meet Sondra, the band’s PA. I give our names to the security guard, who radios through, and within a minute Sondra’s at the door, ushering us inside.

There are people everywhere. Crew rushing around, security guards looking serious as they talk to each other through their radios, and then we hit a line of people, talking excitedly. Sondra ushers us past them. “That’s the line for the meet and greet,” she tells us.

“Do we need to join it?” I ask. “At the back?”

She shakes her head. “Backstage pass means you go straight into the room.

Zoe grabs my hand and squeezes it. I look at her and I can see how tight her facial muscles are. She’s vibrating with nervous excitement.

“You’re going to be fine,” I tell her.

“But this is the Linebackers.” She looks at her friends. They all look as panicked as she does.

“Just imagine they’re all naked,” I say, then immediately regret it. “No scrap that. And don’t tell your parents I said that.”

The room is bigger than I expected. And fuller, too. The five band members are standing in front of a banner, having their photographs taken with fans. Sondra waves at one of them who waves back, as she ushers us into another, smaller room at the side.

“Help yourself to food and drinks,” she says, then glances at Zoe and her friends. “The non-alcoholic stuff.”

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