A Toast To Girl's Night

Photo by Mau Mia

I’m sitting at a table across from one of my closest friends, toasting icy margaritas and trying not to cry into my enchiladas. 

In just one week, I’ll be moving from Austin, Texas (where I’ve spent half my life) to Camarillo, California (where I’ve spent roughly 36 hours).

As we clink our drinks, I think of all the girl’s nights we’ve been accustomed to sharing, either one-on-one or with a gang of friends we’ve known for more than a decade. We’ve baked cookies while wearing tutus. Swapped secrets over bottles of wine. Christened new apartments with meals on bare floors. These friends have seen me at the awkward age of 15, stood by me at my wedding, ushered me into motherhood at the peak of a pandemic. These girl’s nights–and the person I am allowed to be during them–are sacred.

Of all the things I could worry about when it comes to moving, one fear stands out in my mind.

I won’t have anyone to go to dinner with, I tell her.

Of course, you will. You’ll make friends, she says.

It’s hard to make friends as an adult.

But you have made friends as an adult. What about those mom friends you’ve made?

Yeah, but that’s different. I don’t always feel like I can be myself. It’s one thing to have playdates, it’s another to have a Girl’s Night.

Trust me, you will.

She is strong and sure in that moment when I need her, but as we pay our bills and stand up to leave, she puts on her sunglasses (at 8pm, in the dark) to hide eyes full of tears. We don’t say goodbye that night. Decide we can’t. We just hug for a long time and then walk in different directions saying, “see you soon.”

---

When we arrive at our new house in California, I immediately come down with Covid. I spend the next several days locked in our new room, which is painted a very unfortunate pumpkiny-peach color. I feel suffocated by the unopened moving boxes piled up around me as I try to “rest” on a mattress on the floor. (Don’t get me started on the missing bed frame pieces. I still can’t talk about it.)

I obviously do not find this environment relaxing or restful, so instead, I spend a lot of time using Peanut, a dating app for moms.

Ok, it’s not really a dating app, but it might as well be. It’s essentially Tinder for Mom Friends. Log in and you’ll see a photo of a woman and a short bio. Swipe right to “wave” hello, or left if you want nothing to do with her. If you both wave at each other, you’ll get a happy notification saying so, and you can begin sending messages to one another.

As soon as I recover from Covid, I decide it is time to meet some of these online friendships IRL. Hesitantly, I make plans to meet at a local farm with two other moms. You never know how an online connection will translate in real life, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find that they are both bubbly, easy to talk to, relaxed, and laid-back.

We chat in short bursts as our children chase chickens and run toward goats. When we settle onto the tractor and ride out to the strawberry fields, I learn more about them and their histories. By the end of the day, we’re hugging and laughing and swapping admissions that we feel as though we’ve known each other for years. I’ll admit that friendship chemistry is a rare gem for me, yet I already feel a deep connection with these two. I drive away marveling at how lucky I was on my first try.

To this date, our friendship spans about 6 months. In that time, we’ve shared birthdays and baby showers. Afternoons at the farm, picnicking on homemade snacks. Mornings at the beach, sharing sand toys and splashing in waves. And yes, even girl’s nights, giggling arm in arm and clinking glasses. Cheers.

---

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Cheers!".