SNOWED-IN WITH MY EX-CRUSH

Dahlia's POV I hate my name. Dahlia. It was my mother's favourite flower. She told me my father used to bring her a bouquet of dahlias all the tie when they were dating, which made me hate the flowers the more, and the name that came with it, because I hated my father. I hated that I was the gift that my father gave my mother, her one and only Dahlia. Standing in the cold Montana snow, with a number of people, looking at the bouquet of dahlias on my mother's grave, my hatred for my name and for my father, should be the last thing on my mind. My mind should be swirling with grief, and I should feel more than a slight ache in my chest. My mother was gone. Dead. Just like that she was closed in the earth and I would never see her again, but all I could think about was the fact that I hated my name, that I hated a flower, that my mother seemed to love more than she loved me. "How did they even get a Dahlia in this cold?" I muttered to myself. I was pretty sure who placed those flowers on her grave. Rachel Stewards ever loving neighbour, and my ex crush, Chase Mitchell. He was standing opposite me, looking more bereft than I did, and I was the one who lost a mother. I tried my best to ignore him and listen as the priest went on with the funeral sermon. The ache in my chest seemed to multiply when I looked at Chase. I didn't know exactly why, but I figured it might be because when our eyes did finally meet, Chase looked at me with so much anger and hate in his eyes. I broke his heart once upon a time. Refusing to dwell on that, I looked on at the preacher and steeled my heart. What is wrong with you, Dahlia? You should be grieving your mother. I listened to the preacher go on and on about how Rachel Stewards was a wonderful woman, nice, sweet, loved by all, and how it was a great tragedy that the accident claimed her life. It was all true. My mother was a good woman, she spoke softly and sweetly, she never raised her voice, she smiled so easily, even when she didn't feel like it. She was an angel if I ever knew one. It was really such a shame that the brakes of her car had failed at such a time when she was finally free. Just three years after the death of my father, my mother was gone. It was unfair. I felt tears prick at my eyes then. They burnt pretty badly because I hadn't cried in so long, and it felt like my eyes were dry. I blinked back the tears as much as I could, but they fell anyway. It was a good thing. I was crying at my mother's funeral. It hit me finally that my mother wasn't able to enjoy her freedom, not even for a little while. I hadn't seen her in six years, not since I left Montana for good, at least that was what I thought. I had no idea whether she was happy or not. I didn't know if she was simply smiling for the crowd just like she always had, and if she was just hoping that someone would see that fake smile and help her. "Mommy, are you okay?" Lottie was tugging on my arm. I felt like crying all over again. They were times that I would cry, but it would seem like Lottie didn't understand that tears came from pain, or that I would laugh and she would just stare at my blankly, and then they were days like this, that my five year old would surprise me and say something so sweet that I would feel like crying again. "I am sad, Lottie. I won't see my Mommy anymore." It was always better to her my daughter the truth, rather than just brush it over and try to change the subject like other parents would do with their five year old, but Lottie was quite intuitive and nothing was going past her. "That's alright Mommy, it gets better with time." It wasn't the first time that my daughter said something that did not really belong in the mind of a five year old, but I still felt surprised and stifled the urge to look down at her in shock. "You are right, Charlotte. It does get better with time." Times like this, the adult name that I chose for her as a baby, fit her very well, the regal Queen Charlotte. Her blonde hair, splattering of freckles and her dimpled smile were all inherited from me, she looked exactly like I did as a child, but I could tell that she didn't inherit her mind from me. I would definitely remember if I were so smart as a child. I can definitely remember being a tomboy and trying to climb all the walls and every stump I could find. I remember my mother being so exasperated and always begging me to slow down. I smiled then, through the tears that had dried. Those were the good times. "Rachel Stewards was a mother." I turned then to see Chase standing at the makeshift pulpit where the priest previously stood. He was giving her eulogy. There was no way I could avoid eye contact with him right now. He was talking about my mother. "After the death of my mother, she took that role and treated it with utmost care. She made sure to make me her special cinnamon pie whenever I was back for break, and she would always call me when I was back in medical school. A year ago, when I came back for residency, I felt so happy that I would spend more time with her. It just so happened that the time would be cut short and so fast." I couldn't hold my tears anymore. They came back hard and fast, I couldn't look at Chase. The demons from before were back, and they were haunting me. I remembered how heartbroken he was when he lost his mother six years ago, I felt how heartbroken he was right now that he lost another mother. Even as grief and pain shook me, I remembered the love I once felt for Chase. Right now, it didn't even seem like it was past tense. I felt the strong urge to go home and hug him very tight, just so that he knew that someone was there for him, someone would always be there for him. Chase left the podium, and he walked down. Before I could do anything, I saw a beautiful long-legged brunette walk to him and hug him hard. The intensity of jealousy that gripped me was shocking. The evil green feeling wasn't really expected. The last time I saw Chase was six years ago, when I was just eighteen. We were never really a couple. We were barely even friends, just neighbours. I had no hold on him, I never had one, and it was very possible that I would never have a hold on him. He didn't need someone like me anyway. I would just come into his life and bring in all the dark aura that I have carried all my life. All I did manage to teach him while we were young was how to smoke pot and get drunk. Those were the things I was good at. I didn't have the capacity to do anything more. It didn't matter that his smile seemed to light up the room, and his hazel eyes were the most beautiful ones I have ever seen. It didn't matter that I had the strong urge to run my finger down the strong line of his jaw and to feel the hard muscles of his pecs. It didn't matter at all that my nails longed to scrape down his back, while he did wonderful things to my body. "Mommy, can we go now." I blinked rapidly, took my gloved hands from my daughter's, covered my face, and groaned. Thank God children could not read minds. I was standing in my mother's funeral with my daughter, and all that I could think of was having a rough night with my sexy neighbour. I was such a terrible daughter. But then again, that has always been common knowledge. The funeral was over, and most people were leaving. Some people gave me sympathetic glances from afar. Just a few came and actually said hi. A number of people didn't actually know I was Rachel's daughter. I guess I had changed in the past six years. I liked to think that motherhood changed me. I have always felt that I needed to be a better mother than the one I had, so I made life changing decisions when I found out that I was pregnant, I was now living for two. "I guess we can go now," I said to Lottie. I looked around for Chase, but it seemed like he was gone. That was probably for the best. It was time to go back to my parents' house, clear out the place, and then make our way back to California. I hadn't been to the house. I came in from California yesterday, booked a hotel overnight, and came from the burial this morning. I have been in touch with my parents' lawyer after my mother died a month ago, Zeke had been the middle man between Chase and I. I literally left the planning of the funeral to Chase, and I felt the need to apologise for that. Mom and Dad had left enough money for their funerals, and thankfully, I never had to come down to town for my father's funeral. "Are we going to spend Christmas here in Willowbrook?" Lottie asked as I drove us down to my parents' home. I was feeling very emotional. I couldn't really pinpoint the emotions that were hitting me. They were just coming at high speeds, and I was trying not to let them drown me. I couldn't tell if it was anger, or fear, or panic, or anxiety, or even if it were a combination of all of them. "No, sweetie, we will be long gone before then." I just got to Willowbrook and I already felt so conflicted, so unlike the woman I have become in the past few years. There was no way I was staying for the next week. Even if I had to leave on Christmas eve, I would leave Willowbrook. "Why is it so called here?" Lottie asked again. "Because it's Montana honey, that's the weather here." I was usually more prepared for her questions and said something more educative, but I felt my anxiety build up and my stomach twist like a million threads were tangling as I eased into the driveway. "I think I like the cold," Lottie said and I tried to nod. "Maybe we will come visit sometime." I did not have any intent of visiting at all. When I came down, I was so focused on trying to slay my demons and enter into the house that I equated to hell for at least ten years of my life that I didn't notice the anxiety of my daughter. "Come on Lottie, let's do this," I said walking us both to the daughter. At least that's what I tried to do, Lottie would not budge. I turned to my daughter, my own fears dissolving almost immediately. "Lottie," I said pleadingly, but my daughter shook her head. She was not having it. "Let's go in please," I begged. "I don't want to go in, I don't like it here." There was the unspoken, you don't like it here. My own fears had shown, and rubbed off on my daughter. Of course, she didn't want to do what her own mother was scared of. "It will be alright. Mommy isn't scared." Lottie gave me a look that showed that she did not in anyway believe me. I sighed, figuring that was probably not the best way to go. I had to flex my authority. "Charlotte Stewards. We are going into the house this very minute!" The second I raised my voice, I knew it was the wrong move because the eyes of my five-year-old watered and she screamed.