Ezra

Despite the millions of things I could have said at that moment, I didn’t think I could tell Clarence’s story that easily, and certainly not with his portrait a couple of feet away from us. Instead, I offered to have him follow me back to the apartment. I gave him the address just in case, but he mostly stayed behind me the entire way there. He pulled his small grey rental car beside me, resting his head against the steering wheel before stepping out. 

Before we reached the three steps that led up to the front door, I turned and asked, “You alright? We don’t need to head in right now.”

He shook his head, saying something like he needed to do this, even if the last thing he probably wanted to do was walk through those doors. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to either. I avoided coming home more than I cared to admit, often spending nights in my car or at a nearby motel when the memories overwhelmed me. When I came home, I was beelining to my room and disassociating whenever the slightest thing reminded me of Clarence. 

Which was all the damn time.

But I was the one who insisted on calling Cody all those years, begging Clarence to let him in. Now, it seemed like some posthumous joke—one that Clarence wasn’t here to witness, an “I told you so” that fell on deaf—or dead—ears. I pulled out the keys, the familiar grooves slipping through my fingers as I stuck it through the keyhole, only for the dread to come rushing back like before. I wondered if coming home would ever feel the same anymore.

Maybe it had been too long since I came home, for Clarence’s scent seemed to waft from the moment I pushed the door back. Emotions and memories swirled in my mind as I took in the mess I had left behind. Old dishes, papers, and overturned pillows from the couch’s loveseats were still in the same spot as before—all from the night Clarence’s heart had given out. 

It was one of the things Clarence and I had agreed upon when he passed. Clarence did not give up; he never did. It was his heart that could not handle Clarence, and that was what we decided to be the truth. 

The truth of the matter was that no matter who gave up, the pain of losing Clarence was far too great for anyone to bear. 

“Sorry,” I told Cody, realizing how long it’s been since I’ve been bothered to clean anything. “I haven’t thought to or had the time to clean.”

“It’s fine,” he breathed as I set the keys on the hook and slipped my shoes off. He did the same, putting his worn sneakers on a rack beside Clarence’s running shoes. I didn’t point it out, hoping he just assumed it was mine as I headed for the kitchen.

“Want something to drink?” Cody was still by the front entrance, his eyes darting around the room before looking up at me. “We’ve got juice, tea, a couple of canned coffees.”

He blinked. “Water’s fine.”

As I’m pouring a glass, I spot a few of Clarence’s mugs on the counter, and it’s dawned on me that I have used that word again. We. Such a simple word, a simple mistake, and yet it didn’t ease the pain of knowing it held no truth. There was no we anymore. 

With a heavy breath in and out like the nurses had taught me after a scare Clarence had years ago, I compartmentalized that moment and walked back over to Cody. He’s found a seat on the couch Clarence and I thrifted when we first got this place. The couch is lopsided and awkward but it was Clarence’s favorite.

“What would you like to know?” I said as neutrally as possible.

Cody greedily swallowed the water before wiping his mouth against the back of his long-sleeved button-up. The suit jacket was likely discarded in his rental car. “How did you two meet?”

 I assumed I had told him over the phone, but I didn’t blame Cody for forgetting. I was honestly surprised he was willing to talk so soon. “College. We were roommates freshman year. Realized sharing a communal bathroom with an entire floor was gross and more expensive than getting an apartment.”

That got a half-smile out of him. “That’s fair.”

“Been friends ever since.”

He nodded. “And he’s told you about it.”

“About?”

Cody gulped, staring down at the empty glass. “His condition.”

“Clary’s known about his condition for years,” I admitted. “I knew about it too, knew that whatever time those doctors were giving him was best case scenario. Tried to make the best out of it.”

Cody bit his lip, almost on the verge of screaming or crying; I couldn’t tell. But instead, he muttered, “You called him Clary.”

It was the nickname I gave him within a few weeks of meeting him. He insisted it was silly, but it felt right—felt so much like him that I couldn’t help myself.  “Clarence always sounded so formal to me. Clary stuck.”

Cody appeared lost in thought. “We used to call him Ren when we were kids. He hated it.”

“He told me about that one,” I said before thinking. “Still hated it.”

“And he was fine with Clary?”

“I would hope so. I’ve hardly called him by his full name.”

Cody seemed to disappear for a second but cleared his throat before I could say anything, even to offer more water, when he aimlessly picked it up to realize it was empty.

“His condition,” Cody muttered finally, setting the glass down. “I know you mentioned it, but…his heart?”

“A type of tachycardia,” I said slowly, pulling out my phone to show him. He clutched the phone with two hands, but they still trembled. His eyes widened as he read the long name. Catecholaminergic Polymorphic Ventricular Tachycardia was always a mouthful to say. “CPVT for short. It’s rare and—”

“Genetic.”

I nodded, knowing exactly what the Google searches look like. I had it practically memorized over the years of educating myself and desperately searching for any cure that would give Clarence a better chance. And like Cody, Clarence has always been hung up on that one piece of information. “Genetic, but rare,” I reassured. “You’d likely would have known long before Clarence did if you carried it.”

An expletive slipped from his mouth. “He always was so healthy.”

With a hum, I added, “He never did go without a smoothie in the morning. Did more exercise than me most days.”

Until he couldn’t, I didn’t add. While his symptoms were mostly self-controlled, there were a lot of times he could hardly move about the apartment without experiencing chest pain or a fainting spell. Not that Cody needed to hear about this now. 

“How…how long did he know?” Cody’s voice sounds so vulnerable that I almost don’t want to tell him, fearing if I did, he’d really break down. His voice reminded me of Clarence in those final days when his body was weak and frail, and a surge of heartache returned, knowing that I could do nothing to stop the inevitable. Days where I’d bundle him up in the blanket we knitted together because moving felt like a chore to him, and I’d promised I’d stick by his side till the end. It was still here, tossed somewhere after that night because I couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore, knowing it was likely the last bit of warmth he felt. A source of comfort that I couldn’t provide in his last moments and comfort that I found hard to give to his grieving brother.

“Ezra?”

When I looked up, it wasn’t Clarence, and I breathed a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It’s Cody, and I’ve nearly forgotten the question. “Seven,” I said sheepishly, unable to look at him. “Seven years ago.”

Silence followed, and by the time my eyes met his face, he’s gone pale. He doesn’t say anything at first, but it’s clear from his expression that he’s hurt by the betrayal. It’s one thing to be told your brother died from cardiac arrest; it was another to be kept in the dark about a condition. As petty as it was, this was why I insisted Clarence tell him. Saying “I told you so” felt wrong when you were right.

He sucked in a breath before asking, “Bathroom?”

He’s already up and moving by the time I can point down the hall. I stood and followed him, hearing the retching before I reached the bathroom door. I gave him some privacy before stepping in, kneeling beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, gripping the toilet like a lifeline. As I lifted a hand to his shoulder, I couldn’t help but think this was all too familiar. How many times have I had to console Clarence over a toilet bowl? Be it from the nerves or the medicine doctors had tried to give him. “I’m so sorry.”

Whether it was directed to me or his brother, I couldn’t tell. I assumed the latter.

All I know is that I sucked at giving any comforting words. When I pat his shoulder and he chokes back a sob, I realize I haven’t changed. Talking about feelings and comforting people was always Clarence’s thing.

Though it sounds forced, I said, “You’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry, but….” Cody faltered, resting his head against his arms draped over the toilet. “How are you so fucking calm about this?”

I blinked. “Calm?”

“It’s just….” Cody gulped, his eyes blinking back tears. “You lived here with him. I can’t imagine how much this hurts and—oh God, you probably….”

I pursed my lips tightly. Found him. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone realized that was possible—that it was what happened. 

“If I’m being frank, I wasn’t calm.” I remembered the frustration, the anger, the fear, all of it. Of seeing him like that and realizing what came next. “For years, I was not calm about the prognosis—far from it. Nor when he passed. Even now, there are moments where I am most certainly not calm. I’m not sure you could call this calm now.”

He made a noise that sounded almost like a scoff. “You’re not dry-heaving over a toilet. You sound way too calm.”

“I get it,” I said. “Feeling angry, lost, confused—all of it. I was like that for years, Cody. And it’s completely valid. I’ve just had more time to process it—to accept that this, sadly, was a possibility. It’s a lot, and I know it is a shock to you, but trust me when I say it’s okay to feel like this. And as much as the saying hurts and doesn’t feel true, it will take time. I’ve had seven years and it doesn’t nearly feel enough. You’ve only had a couple of weeks.”

He gulped, grimacing at the taste of what I hoped was just regurgitated water before whispering, “I’m such a shit brother.”

As much as I wanted to argue and shake my head, my words held no meaning to him. He didn’t know what I knew—or what Clarence had told me about him. 

“I think I should show you something,” I said, extending my hand to him. “That is if you feel like you can manage.”

He stared at it for a while, and I wondered if he’d rather remain on the bathroom floor. And when I realized that he may never be ready to face the week and handle his brother’s things, I retracted my hand, only for him to take it, curiosity swirling in eyes that does nothing but remind me of Clarence. 

It hurt like hell, but I think I needed this as much as he does.