Friendzoned in London

The Door to Narnia

"I don't get it," my buddy, Andrew Schoopstin, was trying to grasp the concept of Operation Braham while I explained through our video chat, "So, in order to get one hot girl off of your back, you're flirting with another hot girl who happens to be her best friend?" 

"Pretty much," I smirked at how bad of a ladies man that made me sound. Truthfully, I was never really great at wooing girls. My two best friends and I had our own approaches to getting girls. Pete was the smooth one, he knew every line in the book and could easily land a girl within five minutes of talking to her. Schoop was the funny one, he always cracks a joke when talking to girl, although it rarely works out in his favor. I, on the other hand, was the nice one. I befriended girls until they realized I actually had a crush on them the whole time. 

"I envy you," Schoop admitted, "So, how are you going to do it? What's your plan to get one girl to fall for you, while the other...fall out of you? That sounded weird," he shook his head, waiting to hear my techniques.

"I have absolutely no idea," I confessed to him. "Girls do it to us all the time, though. It can't be that hard can it?" 

Schoop just raised an eyebrow at me, "You're right," I responded to his eyebrows, "Maybe I should ask Pete for some advice..."

"You want some advice?" Schoop piped up, "Try using lines like, 'Hey girl, are you religious? Because you're the answer to all my prayers.'" 

"I'm not going to say that."

"Or how about, 'Do you know what this shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.'" Schoop made sure to speak with the douchiest tone to his voice as he delivered these lines. 

"Honestly, man, have any of those ever worked for you?" I questioned his methods. 

He glared at me taken aback, "We aren't talking about me, this is about you." 

I rolled my eyes at him, "I'll consider your cheesy pick-up lines." 

"Girls love a good sense of humor," he shrugged. 

I eventually ended the chat with Schoop after discussing more important matters such as hockey, video games, and something about stealing his neighbor's Netflix password. 

When I came down the stairs, I noticed that my dad and Sam had put the tree up. It wasn't the fullest, nor the greenest, but it was the only one in the entire Christmas tree farm that Nathalie agreed to bring into her house. 

"Oh Brenden, glad you're here," Sam enthused when she saw me walk in, "Do me a favor and grab the boxes of Christmas ornaments in the spare room. It's the one right across from yours." 

I had a flashback to the first day I arrived. Nathalie had warned me not to enter that room, so I was rather hesitant, "Are you sure you don't want Nathalie to get it for you?" 

"Nathalie and Bea have gone out to the shops for a moment," Sam explained, "It would be a great help if you could get those boxes for me." 

I gulped a little, but my dad egged me on, "Go on, Bren, be a good sport." 

I trudged my way up the staircase again. When I reached the door opposite to mine I froze. "Keep your distance," Nathalie's voice was all I could hear in my head. I wasn't sure what to expect once I turned the handle, for all I knew it could be another entrance to Narnia. 

I could feel my heart beating faster as I slowly pushed the door open. To my surprise, it was just a home office. A little cold, and rather dusty, but it was an average home office. There was a desk, an old computer monitor, a couple of boxes pushed off to the corner, and a stack of paperwork that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Why did Nathalie not want me to see the office? 

As I walked toward the boxes I couldn't help but notice a few picture frames scattered across the old wooden desk. I paused in my tracks to study them for a moment. I could tell right away that they were pictures of Nathalie. She was younger in them, but she was still recognizable by her dark curls and chocolaty eyes. She was much more smiley in her childhood; she had a great smile when she managed to show it. 

As I inspected the desk even further, I couldn't help but thumb through a couple of news clippings and other things that polluted the desk. There were a lot of manila envelops that appeared to be holding case files or some other type of important papers. Through all the clutter, there was one thing that really seemed to catch my eye. Underneath a homemade paperweight, which Natalie probably made all by herself in primary school, was an obituary. 

It read, "On the 25th of December, Johnathon Palmer passed peacefully at The Royal London Hospital. He is remembered by his loving wife, Samantha Palmer, and daughter, Nathalie Palmer. Service to be held at Wesley Methodist Church on Thursday December 31st at 2.15 pm, prior to burial at Sutton Road Cemetery, all welcome." 

Before I could process what I had just read, I heard footsteps coming from down the hall.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Nathalie stood in the doorway, upset and panicked to see me in the office, "Give me that!" she held out her hand for me to place the obituary into, "You aren't allowed to be here!" she exclaimed.

"Nathalie..." I attempted reasoning with her, but that got me no where. 

"This is precisely the reason I didn't want guests over the holidays. I knew you were going to be trouble!" Nathalie caught her breath for a moment, still red with anger. "What are you still doing in here!? GET OUT!" 

I maneuvered past her as tears swelled in her eyes, she slammed the door once I had exited the office and I stood there painfully. I knew I shouldn't have gone into that room, Nathalie seemed so upset, although now I knew why. She had lost her father on Christmas Day. 

I went back into my own room and shut the door behind me. I sat on my bed for a long while, thinking about Nathalie. That obituary was dated four years ago. She was only fourteen-years-old. I wished so badly that it would've been Narnia behind that door.