It happened. Today. After a lunch of generic soup and stale cinnamon rolls.
We fumbled through lunch. Laughed at simple jokes that no one else would laugh at. Munched quietly on our respective Goldfish and saltine crackers. Stared at the wall when there was nothing more to laugh at. Or talk about. We even made a quip about The Wedding. Hers, not mine.
Lunch ended, we packed up our thermal "grown-up" lunch boxes and left the break room in our dust. But as we approached the stairs leading back to the newsroom, and inevitably our work day, she said it:
"So, uh, you wanna be in my wedding?"
I paused. Cocked my head. Got wide-eyed. And squealed like a little girl.
It was a moment. We were having a girl moment. A moment made up solely of squeals, grins, jumping, arm-flailing and, well, more squeals. In my language, that means:
"Why, yes. I will gladly accept the invite to stand up for you in your wedding."
I'll admit, I did most of the squealing. And jumping. And arm-flailing. Quite honestly, she looked rather frightened at my display of enthusiasm. But all was understood in Girl World after lunch today.
Come October, I'll be the bridesmaid as my friend becomes the bride. But I won't forget today. The generic soup. The question. The squealing, jumping and arm-flailing.
It was a moment, after all.