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?”

“This is for you,” he said, pushing the notebook towards me. It looked older, weathered on the edges, with a folded paper wedged between them. The stickers on top, colorful wiggly lines, and drawings told me everything I needed to know. This had been Clarence’s, likely another journal he’d like to write and draw in. 

I flipped it over. “His diary?”

Ezra tilted his head. “I didn’t dare read it. He insisted this was for you. He wrote a lot here over the past few years. I think you should take this with you.”

It felt wrong to open it, even to look at it; this was his personal writings, things he hadn’t shared with Ezra. I blinked. “I’ll be here tomorrow; I’m not leaving yet.”

“I know. But it might be nice to look at.  I think, if anything, this will have answers to the questions I can’t answer about him. The photos and books he owned aren’t much, but Clary spent most nights in this book.”

“Thanks. I should let you get some sleep; it’s pretty late.”

“Sure,” he said, glancing at the wall that indicated it was half past one in the morning. “See you tomorrow?”

Though faint, an almost hopeful look spread across his face.

It took everything in me to nod and stumble out the door before the thought of Clarence wearing that same expression as he waited for me to visit resurfaced. 

—

Once in the vehicle, I took a deep breath and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. It was silent, aside from the steady sound of nocturnal insects outside. I used to enjoy quiet nights in my car, enjoying the comfort silence brought. But now? I felt too alone. It seemed even the insects had someone by their side. Ever since I walked out of Clarence and Ezra’s apartment, I couldn’t bear the thought of opening the diary, even in the private confines of the car. Ezra wouldn’t have been able to see me cry or scream over my brother’s writings, but it still felt wrong. It would leave me ruined and raw and I don’t think I’d ever be prepared for it. 

As my heart calmed, I set my bag on the book. Out of sight, out of mind, I told myself. I’d deal with it back at the motel. 

The drive there was a blur, the street lights and headlights of passing cars whizzing past like everything was normal in the world. To them, it was. For me, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been normal for a long time now. I swallowed the envy and made it to the motel door without incident, lugging my backpack and Clarence’s diary in my hand. The Christmas photo had been tucked into the first few pages. Its edges peeking through the weathered pages like a sharp reminder. 

It wasn’t a fancy motel, something cheap and close to Clarence’s home that I managed to snag at the last minute. My brain had been so scatterbrained that I hadn’t even thought of sleeping arrangements till the night before my plane. 

The backpack slid off my shoulders, dropping like a ton of bricks on the floor as I slid down the front door. It wasn’t unusual for me to let the heavy emotions of grief settle behind closed doors like this—it was often the only time I allowed myself to feel those thoughts, but tonight was different. The gravity of knowing what losing Clarence meant—losing the last close family member was a different kind of grief. 

Alone, I could wallow in that grief. Drown in it. I would have if it hadn’t been for the notebook Ezra handed me. The curiosity, the promise of convoluted answers were right there, just waiting to be discovered. 

The earlier hesitation on opening such a personal belonging was slipping the longer I stared at it. Slowly, I pulled back the cover of Clarence’s diary, flipping to a random page roughly in the beginning half. They were dated entries, some longer than others. I couldn’t stomach reading them chronologically, but my mind wondered if the earlier entries would be easier. When I turned a few pages over, settling on one, my breath hitched at the sight of my name.

March 11

I thought of Cody today. I do every day, but today was different. I miss him. 

Ezra had asked about him again. He said we should go up North. He hates driving but will drive the ten hours to meet him. I told him no. 

Ezra doesn’t understand. 

Sometimes, I don’t understand either. 

Why stay away from someone when you miss them so much? 

I told him it was complicated. 

I sometimes ask myself that question too. 

Does he miss me as much as I miss him?

My breath shook as I flipped to another page.

June 22

Ezra and I fought. He’s scared to lose me and scared enough for both of us. He doesn’t want me to face this alone, and while I refuse to agree, he’s right. I don’t want to be alone. I hate being alone. But I can’t do that to him. I feel like a burden and refuse to burden him more than I already have.

He told me he loves me. It seems I’ve already burdened him. I’m scared for him, arguably more scared for him as scared as he is for me. I don’t want him to lose a loved one—he doesn’t deserve to know that pain. 

Which is silly. He’d probably tell me it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. It’s a cheesy quote from a cheesy person.

God, he loves me, seriously loves me.

I wish it weren’t true.

I wish it were true.

Maybe I shouldn’t be wishing for silly, cheesy things.

Maybe I should.

Scared to read any further, I flipped to the back, wondering what the folded paper was in the back. A folded map was decorated with dinosaur stickers, with creases from folding it differently as the stickers covered multiple spots of the city map.  I couldn’t help but chuckle at the varying stickers, some more cartoonish than others. The only non-dinosaur sticker was a heart sticker, located exactly where their home was. 

But it wasn’t the map that intrigued me. 

The writing in the back of the diary was a letter, not an entry—a letter addressed to me. 

Dear Cody,

If Ezra has given you this, then I’m sure you know what that means. 

I want to think that I know you wouldn’t blame me, but it’s only fair that you’d hold some resentment for keeping my heart condition a secret. I never wanted you to feel like you needed to put your life on hold for me. We were too young to deal with the aftermath of our parents and grandpa, and you are still too young to deal with another death on your hand. Luckily, I had years to prepare, and I wanted more than anything to make this less stressful for you. I couldn’t imagine you having to deal with this on your own. 

Don’t blame him; he was the very one to insist I reach out to you. He’s too kind to admit and boast, but he was right. I should have connected with you once Papa died. I was too scared. Pathetic, even. But writing this out for you was the least I could do. Attached is a map of all my favorite places. You’ll find pieces of me there—buried hidden treasures like the chicken bones in our backyard. 

Most importantly, don’t blame yourself. Life threw us obstacle after obstacle and you took it all in stride. This wasn’t what anyone expected of you but you held your grown for us—for me. I couldn’t be more grateful to have you as a brother. I know you’ll have moments of regret—wishing you had been here but know this was my choice. I took the short stick life gave me and stood tall as you had shown me. I chose to wield it high and shoulder it on my own so you could live freely and happily. 

I hope you understand and live a life filled with all you desire. The one regret I have is not saying this to your face. I’m proud of you. Thank you for everything. I love you. 

I may not have discovered the latest fossil, but I discovered someone even more priceless. You’ve already met him. I hope you find that someone, Cody. If anyone deserves it, you do. 

Ren. 

Or as you’ve heard from Ez: Clary.

p.s. Tell him that I love him.

Below his letter was a paper crane clipped to the bottom of the page.

My heart clenched as my hands trailed the dry ink from the page, noting the differences in his handwriting from before. It had changed over the years into something more refined, even more, script-like than I could imagine. As my fingers traced the contour of the crane, I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face. 

And for the first time, since our parents passed, I allowed myself to weep.