What Comes After by Paige Gardner

"She looked for him everywhere, so that she’d never be caught off guard again. And yet she found him, here, in the one place she never expected."

People always pointed out how lucky Georgia was that she never had kids with him. As if that would be what tied them together for life. As if without kids, the thirteen years they shared together somehow weren’t as meaningful, as real.

These were well-intentioned people, mind you, like her mother when she heard the news. At times when sorrow permeated every pore, her mother would wrap her arms around her daughter, her one and only, and tell her to forget him. What kind of man catches another woman’s eye with a ring snug on his left hand? Because kids weren’t involved, perhaps it could be like a switch. Flip that switch, Georgia! Turn off that old life and turn on the new!

The switch was flipped, the light off. Now two years without him, Georgia was certain he could no longer hurt her. Fury and humiliation had turned his betrayal into a dull ache that occupied the quiet parts of her life, so she filled it with as much noise as possible. She climbed her way up to Senior Project Manager at work, and filled her nights with pottery making, salsa dancing, book clubs, and wine nights. The new Georgia had no time to slow down and be still—just the way she liked it.

One rainy Tuesday morning in spring, Georgia opened her apartment door to head out for her post-divorce daily run and spotted the newspaper sitting atop her welcome mat. She paused. She never got papers delivered, let alone to her actual doorstep on the ninth floor of the apartment building. Eyebrows furrowed, she finished tying back her long auburn hair and bent down to pick up the newspaper. It laid with the obituaries staring at her.

Him. He was staring at her.

It had been over two years since she last saw that face, a face she had once known as well as her own. Georgia had deleted her social media accounts when they split, part of her “flip the switch” method. She had moved in with her mother across town that first year, before she finally felt steady. She found a new place, and slowly began to build up a new set of familiars: a new grocery store, new gym, new go-to bar, new hiking trails, new restaurants. New, new, new. Only Georgia knew the lengths she went to avoid the west side of town. She looked for him everywhere, so that she’d never be caught off guard again.

And yet she found him, here, in the one place she never expected: “Gabriel Edward West, 33, passed away on Tuesday, May 3, 2022.”

The rest of the paragraph grew blurry as Georgia’s heart hitched in her throat. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” she muttered, frantically patting down her body in search of which pocket held her cell phone. With a shaky hand, she called her mother.

“Did you know about this?” Georgia demanded. She moved back to the wall, steadying herself against the cold surface, and slid all the way down.

“Oh, honey.” She heard her mom exhale on the other side. “I’m so sorry. You know how quickly this kind of news spreads…”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Georgia closed her eyes, massaged her temple. “Of course I’d find out.”

“Of course you’d find out—”

“But you’d just rather I found out like this.” Georgia felt her chest tighten and untighten, sobs threatening to erupt. “Alone.”

“I just…” There was some rustling on the other side, the sound of an alarm beeping and being shut off, and Georgia’s eyes flickered to her Fitbit. 6:15 am. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do about the funeral.”

It was Georgia’s throat that tightened this time. “Funeral?” Gabe’s funeral. An impossible image.

And yet.

“It was wishful thinking, but I thought maybe you wouldn’t hear of the news by then and you wouldn’t feel any pressure to go.” A few seconds passed in silence. Her mom’s voice was barely a whisper when she asked, “I mean, do you think you’d actually go?”

“Mom, we were together for 13 years,” Georgia said through clenched teeth. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t go?”

⧫⧫⧫

By the next week, Georgia had decided she was completely fine with being the kind of person who didn’t go to her ex-husband’s funeral. No way could she stand to be in the same room as her dead ex-husband, his mistress-turned-wife, and their sickeningly cute one-year-old daughter. Georgia could just imagine all the people swarming the family, placing hands to their hearts, lamenting to his perfect wife and his perfect baby how horrible it was that perfect Gabe would never get to hear the coos of “Dada,”or teach his child how to ride a bike. What a tragedy, what a loss.

At least with this ending, his wife gets the comfort of hundreds of strangers and the illusion that her husband is a good man. Georgia could not say the same.

Still, the day of the funeral brought a strange stillness to her morning. She went for her morning run, her mind numb. She took a too-hot shower, her body numb. Throwing on an old pair of jeans and flannel shirt, she shopped at the Farmer’s Market, something she never did with Gabe. She prepared an extravagant brunch for herself consisting of fried eggs, a bowl of colorful fruit, and blueberry lavender jam spread on a fresh baguette.

But when everything was plated and sitting in front of her, she couldn’t pick up the fork.

There was a knock at the door. Georgia took a deep breath. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since the morning she found out about Gabe’s death, and she had purposefully ignored every text and call since. It made sense that her mom would make her way over to the apartment eventually.

Georgia pushed herself up from the kitchen chair. She pressed her forehead to her front door and looked down at her feet, her hand hovering over the handle. “Sorry, I just don’t feel like talking right now, Mom.”

“Georgia?” An unfamiliar voice answered.

Curiosity won and Georgia opened the door, finding a stranger in the hallway. The woman was tall and slender, her skin the lush color of rain-drenched earth with eyes warm and twinkling. Georgia had the absurd thought that this woman could not possibly exist in the same sphere as her, no. This woman’s beauty deserved to be captured with paints and oils, behind glass on a wall, away from all harm and the tainting of humans. Her hair was long and intricately braided; each black strand ending in a soft tassel that hung to her waist and moved when she tossed her head back. She wore a plain white dress, the light fabric a perfect complement to her dark skin, with an off-shoulder neckline that showed off defined collarbones. She smiled easily, her teeth holding the same brightness as her eyes, and when she spoke again, Georgia moved aside to let the woman into her home.

“I am sorry to bother you when you do not feel like talking,” the woman said, brushing past her, her eyes doing one sweep of the apartment before landing back on Georgia. “But today is an important day. I wanted to check on you.”

Georgia blinked a few times, wondering if this was really happening. She had never had a visitor before, outside of her mother.

“I’m sorry, you must be looking for someone else,” Georgia said. Not quite wanting the woman to leave, she asked, “What is today?”

Again, the woman smiled. “Well, I am certain you know.”

Heat began to creep up Georgia’s chest, neck, cheeks. “I am certain I don’t?”

“Gabe West’s funeral is today,” the woman said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Did you not see the paper?”

Georgia swallowed, her face very hot now. “You’re the one who left the paper at my door?”

“I am,” the woman said with a nod. “I am surprised you are not ready.”

Taking a very deep breath, Georgia turned around and hurried back down to the kitchen table. She sat and willed her eyes away from the woman, focusing instead on her plate. She wondered if her eggs had grown cold. “I am not ready because I am not going. Thanks for stopping by.”

The woman took a seat across from her, and Georgia tensed. She did not look up.

“I think you should go,” the woman said softly.

“Well, you don’t know anything about me, so what you think doesn’t actually matter, does it?” In one scoop, Georgia stuffed one of the fried eggs into her mouth. Yep, cold.

“I know more than you think,” the woman said, and when Georgia finally looked at her, she found that the woman’s eyes were still, somehow, twinkling. Irises that rival the Milky Way.

“Who are you…” Georgia said slowly, with mouth full of egg.

“Be still, child,” the woman said, reaching out a hand and grabbing hold of Georgia’s forearm. Her skin was soft, her touch gentle. “I am Love.” As she spoke, the walls of the kitchen grew hazy, the colors softening, the hard becoming soft, up becoming down, the light becoming dark.

⧫⧫⧫

It happened as fast as a blink. One moment, Georgia was sitting in the kitchen with this strange woman in front of her, the room melting around her, and the next, a warm breeze tickled her nose as she stood atop the hill of a cemetery. The woman — Love? — was no longer beside her.

Georgia lifted a hand to shield her face from the blazing sun. Her heartbeat raced in her chest as the rest of her body tingled. None of this was possible. She was still in her apartment. Maybe she was dreaming? She pinched herself to wake her up but winced at the sharp pain. Squatting down to the grass, Georgia felt the blades between her fingers. Strange, how real it all felt. Prickly yet soft.

Squinting into the distance, she noticed groups of people dressed in black filtering into the small white church in the middle of the cemetery. The sight was like a cold breath on the back of her neck.

Gabe’s parents, his siblings. Those who had been her family. Those whose weddings and baby showers she attended with armloads of gifts. Those with whom she had traveled, laughed, and dreamt of the future together. All they had to do was turn their heads left and they’d see her. Oh God, oh God.

Spinning around, Georgia spotted a large oak tree with a bench in the shade below. As quick as she could without running, she made her way to the bench. It looked discolored and she was sure the wood was rotten, all forgotten and lonely on this cemetery hill, but she didn’t care. She sat, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands. At least this bench was far enough she could no longer recognize the faces that streamed into the church.

The church that held Gabe’s body.

She had spent years trying to get as far away from him as she could, and it took one stranger to bring her to the exact place where he’d spend eternity.

No, she told herself, no. This is a dream, remember?

Still, she realized this was the closest she had been to her husband’s body in two years. A bubble of air got caught in her throat. She put a hand to stop it, but it still came. Impossibly, Georgia let out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” came a calm voice beside her, and she jumped. She straightened up and noticed a man was sitting to her right at the other end of the bench — was he there before? — but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the church.

His arms stretched out so that his elbows hung off the back of the bench, as if he were lounging on his sofa at home and not a public bench in a cemetery. Like every man within view, he was dressed in a black suit. His undershirt was black too. But the man himself was whiter than snow — blinding, even in the shade — with hair that matched, despite being young. No older than her, Georgia decided. His hair was slicked back so that she could clearly see the white hairs of his brows and lashes. When he turned to look at her, she refrained from gasping. His eyes were such a light blue that they almost appeared not to be any color at all. She got the eerie feeling that he could see right through her. “What’s so funny?” he asked again.

“I — uh — I was thinking about how I spent the last two years putting as much distance between myself and my ex-husband,” she paused. “And… I guess I wasn’t very successful.”

The man huffed some air out of his nose. A laugh too?

“It’s not very funny,” Georgia said after a moment, wondering if this strange man was here for Gabe’s funeral. She shifted, debating if she should make a run for it.

“Oh, but it is,” he said calmly. “Sorry Love had to get involved in all of this.”

Georgia’s face snapped to the man. “You know Love?”

“We all know Love,” he said, a cheeky grin appearing on his face.

Georgia shook her head, suppressing her own smile. She tried to look away from the man but found she didn’t want to.

“We should also all know Death, too.” He stuck out a hand in greeting.

She couldn’t speak for a moment. “You?”

“Me.” His hand hovered in the air, but she didn’t budge.

“Sorry. I… I feel like I shouldn’t shake Death’s hand.” She gestured to the cemetery with a frown. “You know?”

Death did not challenge her. He merely slung his arm back over the back of the bench, relaxed. A few moments passed. “Why aren’t you in there? Love brought you here for a reason.”

Georgia shook her head, still trying to comprehend that Death was sitting behind her, watching her with those misty eyes. This dream was growing more and more ridiculous. She crossed her arms. “Love forced me here,” she said. “I didn’t want to come.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s my ex-husband. I don’t know if I want to hear a highlight reel of his life. Or watch his new wife cry for an hour.” She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know if I could stand to see the faces of his family again. It’s too much.”

“What if they didn’t know it was you?”

Georgia turned to him, trying and failing to read his expressionless face. “What do you mean?”

Death snapped his finger, and Georgia felt heavier. She glanced down, her eyes meeting a body she did not recognize. A black dress hugged large curves; her long legs crossed with thigh-high leather boots. Her view was partially covered by a combination of blonde curls that framed her face, a snug round hat that shielded her from the sun, and large sunglasses that sat at the edge of her little nose. Georgia took the glasses off and raised a finely shaped eyebrow at Death.

“Ummmm… this mysterious woman attending his funeral is bound to start rumors… Let’s not.”

Death’s lips quirked. “No? You are a much better person than I.”

He snapped his fingers again, and Georgia once again felt strange. Her limbs were lighter, but her neck hung lower toward her chest. When she looked down this time, she found wrinkled hands dotted with age spots. A long black skirt fell to her ankles, her feet adorned with modest flats. She patted her head, feeling thin hair pulled back into a bun. The skin of her face was papery thin.

“Did I just make a deal with you? Am I stuck like this forever?”

“I’m Death, not the Devil,” he said with a cluck of his tongue. “You can go to the funeral disguised as an old woman, and no one will know you. When you return to me, the illusion will be reversed. You’ll be yourself again.”

Georgia’s heart hammered in her chest. Just that morning, there was no part of her that wanted to attend Gabe’s funeral.

And yet, and yet.

“Thank you,” she managed, pushing herself up from the bench. Death gave me a small nod, and she could feel his pale eyes on her as she began the slow descent down the hill.

⧫⧫⧫

“Do you need help?” someone asked as she entered the church, and Georgia realized immediately it was Dillon, Gabe’s brother. He was five years younger than Gabe, but the resemblance was always striking. Even now, meeting his hazel eyes and dimpled chin, that face transported Georgia back in time, back to when things were so much simpler.

“Yes,” she practically gasped, and Dillon held out his bent arm for her to grab. Georgia let her mind float to the summer nights when she and Dillon would drive to the movie theater together, windows down so they could listen to the crickets chirping and cicadas buzzing. Unlike Gabe, Dillon was a movie-fanatic like her. They’d decide what to watch based on the box office worker’s recommendation. They always bought the biggest popcorn to share and would sit outside the theater on the hood of her car, discussing the movie until the workers locked up and kindly told them they had to leave. To Georgia, Dillon was the smell of hot butter and the sound of summer nights.

He gently escorted her towards a pew in the back. “Here you are,” he said. She noticed, looking at him now, that his eyes were red.

She patted his arm. “Thank you, Dillon.”

He nodded, and a flicker of confusion flashed in his eyes. Only for a moment. “Of course,” he said, before returning to the door to assist others.

Georgia found herself immediately looking to the front row, searching for the new wife. She’d seen the wife in pictures, late at night when she couldn’t sleep and would comb the web, but never in person. When Georgia’s eyes landed on the woman in the front row, she made two immediate observations. One: Someone must’ve done her hair, for the curls cascaded down her back like a luscious waterfall, tied nicely with a big, black bow. Two: She was younger and skinnier than Georgia, qualities that instantly made her less likable. Georgia grew angry with herself for even noticing.

She gritted her teeth. Coming here was a mistake.

But each time Georgia built up the courage to push herself up out of her seat and leave, more people would be coming down the aisle, and she couldn’t. She locked eyes with his grandmother — an avid reader who shared books generously with Georgia. His grandmother always underlined her favorite parts and jotted down reactions in the margins, asking Georgia to do the same so they could hold secret conversations with each other through ink. The old woman smiled at her, a total stranger.

And there was Gabe’s sister, Rebecca, bouncing his baby, her niece, on her knees. Georgia’s heart clutched at the strength it must take to smile for a baby who was now fatherless. Rebecca worked at a daycare and dreamed of starting a family of her own one day. Georgia wondered vaguely if she was dating anyone yet.

Everything started soon after. A whirl of music, familiar faces. She recognized all of the pallbearers. Georgia felt as if she was floating outside of herself, floating to the top of the church, watching it all from a different point of view. She couldn’t seem to come back down.

That is, until the wife stood up for the eulogy. Down, down, down Georgia crashed. Every eye in that church was on Gabe’s widow. Her face was swollen and red and beautiful. Her breathing came in quick bursts, one hand clutching tissues and the other a piece of paper. Dillon appeared at her side, guiding her to the pulpit, and Georgia’s blood grew cold. She imagined, then, the trips to the movies those two might have taken. The talks on summer nights. And suddenly every memory Georgia held with Gabe and his family morphed, starring his new wife instead of Georgia.

She inhaled sharply and held it, waiting for his wife’s words.

When she spoke, her voice was deeper than Georgia expected. She thought she’d sound younger, more naive. But she cleared her throat and began. She referenced lyrics to Gabe’s favorite songs, songs Georgia didn’t know. She talked about how Gabe had reacted when he found out he was going to be a father, what books he kept on his bedside table, how he left work before her yet always made sure to brew a pot of coffee for her before heading out. The trips they had taken, the concerts they had seen. Places and artists Georgia never heard before. She talked about what their last conversation had been about. And when his wife described Gabe, she used words that Georgia never would have associated with him — humble, radiant, contagiously optimistic.

It wasn’t until his wife finished and returned to her seat in the front pew that Georgia realized tears had been streaming down her own face.

⧫⧫⧫

When Georgia returned to the bench on the top of the hill, Love was sitting beside Death.

“Hello, Love,” said Georgia.

Love smiled. “Do you hate me?”

Georgia took a seat in between the two of them. A shiver ran through her as she returned to her normal form. She fiddled with the bottom of her flannel shirt, her eyes lingering on the church. “No, I can’t say I do.”

“But you’re wondering why we brought you here?”

“We?” Georgia said, turning to look at Death. “You were working together in all this?”

He shrugged, a sly smirk forming. “We’re a pair. You can’t have one without the other.”

“In death, you’ll find love,” Love said, returning Georgia’s attention back to her. “All of these strangers were brought together in this church today simply because they crossed paths with Gabe in their lifetime. Now, they’ll spend time in the basement of that church, sharing memories over potluck meals, crossing paths with one another for the next few hours. Love is always present in death.”

“And death is always present in love,” Death was quick to add. Love laughed and reached over to slap his knee, rolling her Milky Way eyes.

“Well, obviously,” Georgia said. “All love has to die, right?”

Death hesitated, his mouth twisting to the side. “There are many deaths with love, but they’re not always bad. There’s the death of expectations; necessary for any thriving love. There’s the death of pride, of selfishness, of envy.” His eyes met hers and softened. “There’s the death of who you thought you were going to be.”

She took a deep breath. When she fell in love with Gabe in high school, who was she? Who was he? The Gabe she fell in love with was the Gabe she sat beside in senior year English class, who stayed up until the early hours sending her goofy jokes on instant messenger and whose hands shook when he put her corsage on at prom. The one who followed her to college, who felt unfulfilled in every job he tried, who grew angrier each time he failed while Georgia succeeded. Over the years, Georgia had to shrink and contort and fold herself to fit inside Gabe’s heart. By making herself smaller, she made herself ‘not enough’ for him.

No, she was not the person she was when she fell in love with Gabe. By letting that love go, she transformed into so much more.

Listening to his widow’s speech, Georgia realized the same happened to Gabe. A calmness washed over Georgia. “It’s true. The person I was with Gabe left when he did. Is that a bad thing?”

“It is not good or bad. It just is,” Love said, placing a soft hand on Georgia’s forearm. Goosebumps traveled up and down her body as Love leaned over and whispered, “Go easy on your mother, Georgia. She was just trying to protect you.”

Georgia nodded. “Another form of love.”

The three of them sat together on that bench, their faces illuminated by the vibrant streaks of orange and pink that painted the sky, the sun disappearing below the horizon. It wasn’t long after that Death and Love stood up from their spots, their hands intertwined. Georgia watched them stroll down the hill, watched for as long as she could before their figures disappeared into the distance.

Soon, the church and trees transformed into shadowy silhouettes against the darkening sky. The leaves and grass and gravestones were washed in a dusky haze. Love’s words echoed in Georgia’s mind. It’s not good or bad. It just is.

With newfound lightness, Georgia rose up from the bench, no longer afraid, no longer hiding. She felt finally ready to embrace the promise of what comes next.

---

Paige Gardner is a lover of all things fiction. She enjoys writing novels, short stories, and flash fiction. Paige grew up in a small town outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and currently lives in Europe with her husband. When Paige is not writing, she loves teaching English to adults, exploring and traveling through her new home in Europe, enjoying a drink with close friends, and laughing. Her work is published in Dandelion Revolution Press’s anthologies, Not Quite As You Were Told, The Secrets We Keep and Every Breath Alight. She’s not sure how you came across her story, but she’s glad you did. You can find more of her writing on Substack or at paigegardnerwrites.com.

Photo by Silvia Corradin.