When we heard the shouting begin from outside at the pool, my wife and I looked at each other, and I rolled my eyes. Things had been so peaceful and fun between our daughter and her friend up to then, but being girls, we knew the trouble from last summer could resurface quickly; girls, even girls who are friends, never forget when they've been wronged, and our daughter Rosie was no exception. When the raised voices started cursing and shrieking, and it was mostly Rosie, we headed outside to split the girls up and try to stop the ruckus. I took Rosie downstairs to the den, and Monica took Desiree up to the bedroom, as far apart as we could get them and still be inside the house.
It was late afternoon and the girls had been hanging out by the pool, trading stories of school and friends and getting along fine, as they had since Desiree had arrived on Wednesday. It was Saturday, and Monica and I had hoped that we'd have some peace and quiet for the weekend; maybe the girls would go out and leave us alone. In the back of my mind that hope still existed, but only faintly now, as the shrieking insults had warned, and my daughter's tears reinforced.
Rosie and Desiree had met in college their first year, and had been roommates for the last two years. They, along with one or two other girls, had been close friends, almost inseparable for those two years. Last summer three of them had arranged a six-week cross country trip, but it had fallen apart after only 4 weeks. The trouble started when the third girl had to go back home after 2 weeks on the road due to a family illness, leaving Desiree and Rosie to travel together alone for the next four. A week and a half later Rosie called the house in tears, begging my wife to fly her home, and she was home two days later.
She wouldn't tell me what happened, but she told some of the story to Monica, who told me. Desiree, it seems, had a slightly more liberal view towards sexual relations than our daughter did, and had managed to meet school friends, guy school friends, in almost every city they stopped in. This hadn't been an issue for the first two weeks while the other girl was still with them, because Rosie hung with the Sara while Desiree executed her 'hook-ups', as she called them.
But once Sara returned home the situation was impossible to overlook. Rosie was the third wheel, and Des didn't seem inclined to forfeit her boy hunts. Several times in the week and a half she had left Rosie alone in a club or bar to find her way home by herself. We had always warned Rosie never to leave her friends alone. The capper was the night she brought a boy back to her room, and wanted to have sex with him in front of Rosie!
Now, Monica and I have been around the block, but we've never heard of such a thing. We know that college kids can get up to some antics, and we had heard that some girls went a little wild in college, but when Monica related the story Rosie told her, we just looked at each other in astonishment. We'd met Desiree when we brought Rosie to school for her second year; she was a boisterous take-charge type, but not obnoxious about it. She expressed her thoughts without being overpowering, was attractive and had a kind of magnetism that drew others to her; a natural leader. Monica seemed quiet around her, but talked about her much of the way home, and we'd seen her several times since: Rosie had talked about her and Sara all the time, but we never heard anything like that! She seemed like a regular girl, just a fun-loving happy kid.
Rosie, to her credit, stood her ground, but there was a huge fight, and she came home. She stayed pissed off for weeks, but as the new school year approached things seemed to settle down. Knowing she would have to live with Desiree for the school year, and time apart, helped heal the wounds and close the rift, and they were talking again before the semester began. There were no repeat events during the school year, and as the year ended Rosie invited her to come visit us over the summer at or house.
But, as I said, girls are girls, and while I had no idea what had started this argument, it seemed to be as heated as the one that had brought Rosie home from her trip in tears. I settled her on the couch, grateful that Monica had taken Desiree, because I knew that if the subject matter was similar, Rosie would have a difficult time discussing it with me, but I certainly preferred that to having to listen to her friend tell me her side!
Rosie was still steaming, but not saying anything. I allowed her to try to calm down, without offering anything, until I saw she wasn't getting any less furious.
"Rosie," I began, "I know you're upset right now, but try to remember that Desiree is your friend." Rosie turned her face away from me, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sure that whatever happened seems terrible, but try and take a few deep breaths." I waited, but she didn't react. "I don't want to push," I began, "but maybe it would help if you tell me what happened."
She turned to face me, briefly, then looked past me, unable to hold my eyes. "No way, Dad," she said without hesitation, "No way. I can't."
"Rosie, is it like what happened when you were away? Your mother told me some of what happened-"
"Dad." She cut me off mid-sentence. "I can't tell you, okay? I can't. You don't understand. You don't know what she's like." Her words were stern, inviting no discussion.
"But she's your friend, honey," I tried to reason, "sometimes friends disagree."
She stood, now looking down at me, meeting my eyes. "You don't know," she said, "you can't understand, you don't know what she's like. Where is she? Is she with Mom?" She turned then, and began to pace. I watched her, waiting for more information, thinking the pacing might open her up. "Is she with Mom?" she asked again. "What are they doing?"
"I imagine they're talking, or trying to, like we are," I said. "Why don't you just sit, and tell me what happened?"
"Dad," she pleaded insistently, "I can't. I can't tell you. I- I'm so angry, I want to tell you, but I can't. She's- she's so." she stalled, then sat down heavily. "You don't know how she is." She looked around the room, eyes darting nervously, then looked at me. "Is she with Mom?"
"Yes, upstairs, I think. In the bedroom"
