The Bucketlist

47|TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

What do you do when you realize you are falling for a man and he turns out to be your husband? I don't know either. All the secrets kept from me hurt me, but would I even believe if he told me the truth? Certainly not. I hoped this was a joke because if it isn't, it's too good to be true.

When I woke up from the coma, I had no ring on, no memory of us getting married, and painfully obvious, I had no memory of falling in love with him. The strong pull I have felt for him, my angst for his stupidity, and the way my heart fluttered when we were too close. My body knew if my mind didn't.

I walked up to the kitchen and smelled maple syrup. I sat on the kitchen counter, Will's modern, granite kitchen counter. Precisely. I watched Will dock the pans, turning on the burner, and the oil simmered as he put in the batter. He rolled his sleeves up as he flipped the pancakes with the spatula in one hand, and the other rested on the side of his waist as he hummed a song. I could get used to this. It's a rare sight as much as a rare event. Will Turner was making pancakes.

My heart was uneasy. I was disappointed in myself, my memory, and my existence. Some things are just not meant to be. Will and I, are polar opposites. Look at his place! It's lavish, luxurious, and expensive. Even the bone china dishes in his drawers look like they are gold. We are not a perfect match!

He turned around to grab a plate when he noticed me.

"How long were you planning on enjoying the show?" He asked and broke into a smile as he tossed a few more pancakes in the pan.

"Till it got a little boring. I don't remember the last time I saw someone singing Sam Smith to pre-made pancakes." I said, my eyes smiling with my lips.

"Well, now you know why you were the only one sucking at karaoke!" He chuckled.

"I wasn't! I had a rough time with a surprise element!" I defended myself, and he served the pancakes on the plate.

"Go freshen up. You reek of alcohol!" Will complained as he sat beside me and took a bite from the plate.

"Only you, Will Turner, will tell a woman that she smells of alcohol!" I mocked.

"If you are done role playing Louisa Clarke, go get a shower." He said.

Is there any joke that this man doesn't get? 

"Okay, I am going." I scoffed and walked out of the living room.

"The bathroom is on the right from the third room on the left!" He said.

"Your place is a labyrinth. You should try putting up signboards!" I yelled when I got lost between the fleet of rooms.

Where was the bathroom again? The third room on the right of the left turn? Why did I suck with directions?

My head hurt from the night before. I remember doing a few shots with Will in the living room as we skimmed through our wedding album. Without alcohol, it would be impossible to see those pictures where Will and I are kissing, hugging, and looking like we are so in love. I woke up on the couch, wearing a flimsy night suit that Will had brought me. The lilac fabric clung to my body and reached my knees.

I turned the door open. It was a bedroom with walls painted black and white and a king-size bed in the middle. The curtains were white, and the room had little decor. On the wall, there was a portrait of Will and me. In the picture, I wore a hot pink bikini, and surprisingly my boobs don't seem too asymmetrical, and Will was in navy blue swim-shorts. His lips locked on mine, and we looked like we were having a great time together. I was too lost to notice that someone might have entered the room.