What He Left Behind

5. Cody

Ezra had gone quiet after pulling out boxes from Clarence's room. I couldn't blame him; all these boxes brought up old memories and I was certain he was going through it too. Except those memories were still fresh that it most likely cut deeper. My memories of Clarence when we were kids, were a bit hazy, the details muddled over the years we spent apart.

While it seemed like a lifetime ago that we had been living together, every item Ezra touched was a memory that felt like yesterday for him. I couldn't imagine the pain he was in on the inside.

Clarence would've vouched for me; I was shit at consoling people. I hated simple forms of affection like a hug or a hand on my shoulder. Words like "I'm so sorry" and "Are you okay?" were phrases that made my skin crawl—something most Asian Americans felt. It always felt so fake; that uncomfortable feeling only intensified after our parents died.

And yet, watching Ezra's hands shake when his eyes lingered on something for too long made me want to console him, even if it sounded as futile as a dead battery.

"It must've been tough," I said finally, cringing at how brusque my words came off. "Caring for him for this long. I probably mentioned it at the funeral, but thank you. For everything."

Ezra nodded slowly. "You don't have to thank me."

It was futile to argue. Part of me wondered if he held any semblance of anger or frustration for me. He said Clarence didn't hate me, but that didn't mean Ezra didn't either. They were close, maybe even closer than Ezra let on, but it wasn't fair of me to walk away from Clarence's life. There must've been some hostility, even if it was subdued over the years.

But there was something else that lingered on my mind. "Why did you stay?"

Ezra's face pinched as if I had slapped him.

I looked toward the photo on the dresser—the one with their old roommate. "You could've saved yourself the hurt and walk away. Jayna did, right? She couldn't bear the thought, didn't even attend the funeral. But you stayed."

Ezra gulped, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Clary meant a lot to me—to many of us."

"But you knew and stayed anyway," I said, unsure why I was demanding so much from him. But deep down, I knew it was my anger and resentment toward myself for the inability to make amends for leaving him behind.

He knew and stayed. I left for far less.

"We—" he bit his lip. There was something he wasn't saying and the idea of being withheld so much pieces of information was upsetting. I already didn't know much about Clarence, and everywhere I looked and turned were a hundred more unanswered questions. "I wanted to be there for him."

"But why?"

He tilted his chin up, cheeks pinked, likely from me practically interrogating him unfairly. "Clarence and I....We—"

"I'm sorry," I interrupted, squeezing my eyes shut, wishing I could've just done the normal thing and hugged him instead of playing twenty questions. "I'm being unreasonable and rude."

"It's fine," he said dejectedly. "I get it."

"It's getting late," I said, backpedaling. "I should probably head back to the motel."

"Wait, Cody." I stopped a third of the way to the door. My shoulders relaxed as I looked at him, hoping to keep it together long enough to make it to my rental car.

He held up a hand, a silent plea to stay in place as he glanced around the room. He walked to the nightstand, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a dark brown book. "What is it?"