West Virginia. The 35th state is Virginia's little brother who behaves the complete opposite of her. Preferring the isolated mountains of his home, he had always found Virginia to be invasive and oppressive. Never taken seriously, he eventually made his split from her during the Civil War. Considered illegal and unconstitutional by some, especially Virginia, West Virginia nevertheless became a state.

Years later since his statehood, West Virginia has lived on his own in peace, making a living off coal and mineral resources as his source of income. He hadn't spoken to Virginia since their split, still bitter over past disagreements. But one day, he had a change in heart and decided to pay her a visit for the first time since leaving her.

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The springtime air was warmer than usual today. Back on the mountain, it was usually much cooler, not as humid as the deep forest by the remains of a swamp. Sigh... I miss home already.

I tugged the wrinkled collar of my white, ironed, buttoned shirt, wiping away sweat at the back of my neck. I then wiped my hand on the inside of my brown, tweed jacket. Subconsciously I sniffed my hand, smelling a hint of hair wax with my sweat. I rolled my eyes, wanting to find a mirror to see whether my caramel brown was messed up from the humidity. I should've wore my leather cap. Wouldn't have to bother with such a dumb problem. I peered down on myself again, double-checking to see whether my brown suspenders were on correctly. Staring down at my shoes, I noticed an oily smudge at the tip of the left shoe. I licked my hand before attempting to try and wipe the smudge away. Somehow it worked. But now my hands are dirty... Fuck!

Wait, what the heck am I doing? Why am I here,standing on the white, front porch, three steps from knocking on the screen door of someone I can't stand the most? I shouldn't be forced to dress all nice like a sleazy car salesman. I should be at home, hunting and hanging out with grizzly, mountain men. This whole thing is a big mistake. There's no way she'll take me seriously, and in no way was I going to make myself look like an idiot. 

I stomped back down the first step of the porch before stopping there. In my left hand was a bouquet made up of a dozen white carnations. I originally planned on sending her a greeting card, but I wasn't good with words and my handwriting wasn't exactly as fancy as hers. Instead, I paid a good chunk of my salary on some fancy flowers, hoping she prefer them than a half-ass letter. Not a beige petal or a speck of dirt was present. Its fragrance was a pure aroma, a charitable memory full of truth and prayer. The woman who suggested these flowers informed me when they die, the petals won't fall off. Instead, the petals would "hug" toward the center of the flower, like a mother's love toward her children.

Why I chose white carnations was because of a woman in my home who suggested the plain-looking flower to be the epitome of motherly love. In fact, she was the same woman who forced me into doing this stupid idea. I kept telling her she isn't my mother, but she insisted I do this out of kindness and gratitude.

"Mother or not, it's important you show just how much you appreciate her hard work for taking good care of your well-being," she insisted.

"Heck no! She's the absolute worse. Never once did she listen to me. She always forces me into doing chores, and tells me off on every little thing I do. "Don't come inside with your muddy boots. You're going to dirty the clean floor. Hold your knife and fork properly. Please don't burp at the table. Clean yourself up properly. You smell like a lumberjack's armpit." If there's one thing I'm grateful for is the fact I don't have to live with her anymore." I pouted.

"You shouldn't say such things." 

"You don't know her. She's selfish and tyrannical. When I suggested I leave her, she refused to let me go."

"She probably said that because she was worried about you."

"Worried about me?"

She nodded. "It's hard to let someone go after taking care of them for so long. Even if you're grumpy over some of the things she did, she's still family. She must've loved you if she took good care of you after all these years."

"... I guess...you're kinda right about that..."

"You should do something nice for her."

"No way!"

"Why not? You need to show her how grateful you are for all the work she did to raise you. Don't tell me you're embarassed?"

"O-Of course not! It's just...we haven't spoken in years. She probably still holds a grudge against me for leaving her."

"I doubt it. If anything, I think she'll be enthusiastic to talk to you again."

"Do you expect me to head on over to her home, knock on her door, and greet her with a gushy hug or something?"

"Yep! That's a great idea. You should also give her something nice to show just how much you love her."

"Pfft! Hahahahaha!"

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing... Tell me what I should get her then?"

"You can give her flowers. White carnations in particular."

"White carnations?"

"Absolutely. They are the purest kind of love to give to a mother. Fragrant and lovely, they're the absolute symbol of motherhood. When they die, not a single petal falls. Instead, the wilting petals hug the center like a mother's protective arms around her children. They are simply perfect."

"... Couldn't I just give her a mug instead?"

"What's wrong with flowers?"

"Never mind..."

"When you do pay her a visit, I want you to dress nicely for the occasion."

"Dress? Nicely? What's wrong with wearing normal clothes?"

"Wrinkled shirts and coal smudged pants aren't normal. Before you meet your sister, I'll personally make sure you're spick-and-span with clothes appropriate for the occasion."

"... I still think this is a bad idea."

"Well, I think it's a wonderful idea. There are mothers all across the world who aren't appreciated enough for their hard work. I hope and pray that someone, sometime, will found a memorial mothers day commemorating her for the matchless service she renders to humanity in every field of life. She is entitled to it," she said before leaving me that day.

After pestering me constantly with letters, I finally decided to fulfill her wish and create a Mother's Day. At first, I didn't find the day to be a big deal. Yet, everyone else around me began to copy me and make Mother's Day an official holiday as well. And now, Mother's Day is officially a national holiday. Upon receiving Ms. Jarvis's thankful letter did I decide to finally visit and talk to my sister after all these years.

Taking a deep breath, I went back up the front porch. Without a second to hesitate, I knocked on the door three times.

I waited.

I heard footsteps and the floorboards creaking behind the door. The sound of a lock clicked. Then the door opened.

I murkily caught my sister standing behind the gray screen door, looking at me with a stupefied face. She had on a magenta, Victorian dress with long, velvet sleeves and a thin, ruffled skirt that stopped below the ankle. I was expecting to see her long, chestnut brown hair to fall below the hip, so I was quite surprised to see her got a haircut that made the length come up to the shoulder instead. I wonder why she decided to cut it, especially considering she wasn't too keen on short hair. Other than that minor difference, she looked to be the same person before I left her.

Her silver rimmed, reading glasses fell a centimeter down her nose as she peered with widened eyes for a second at me before relaxing her composure. "Elijah. It's nice to see you paying a visit," she greeted in a calm manner.

Compared to the meetings I've seen her over the years, she was looking warmer today. She was curious. Like a house cat seeing a mouse for the first time. The only thing I was afraid of is dying of embarrassment which I'm already am with her unfathomable stare.

"G-Greetings, E-Eliza," I stuttered, my voice cracking when I said her name. I brought up the bouquet I hid behind my back, clumsily handing her the white carnations. "F-For you!" I turned my face away to the side, my cheeks burning up from the late spring heat.

My stone gray eyes glanced back at her, seeing her take up the flowers in her hands. The woman looked baffled, staring down at the bouquet as though she was doubting its authenticity. Her dove gray eyes then turned to me. A devilish smirk appeared on her fair face.

"Did someone put you up to this?" she asked with a tiny giggle.

My face must've looked like a tomato because her normally composed amusement grew louder every time I blinked. I stubbornly shook my head. "S-Shut up! I only did it because it was Mother's Day, so be grateful for the gift!"

She continued to laugh to my irritation. "Well, thank you for the gift. Although, I doubt your reason for giving me this is because it's Mother's Day."

"Isn't the gift good enough?"

Her smile disappeared into a scowl. "As your sister, we may have our differences, but I still consider you as family. And as my brother, do you consider me in the same way?"

There was a moment of silence that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

'Why couldn't you just say thank you and be done with it?' my thoughts grumbled.

I muttered a few curses under my breath. "I still hate you for a lot of things," I said with hesitance. "Waking me up early in the morning. Taking me to school every weekday. Forcing me to dress up for church. Telling me to do chores around the house. I especially hated you whenever you told me off. I swear I could go on forever, but you already get the point."

I scratched the back of my slightly sun-burned neck, looking down on my feet.

"Still, I'm... I'm grateful for some of the things you've done for me. Giving me a home to rest...food to fill my belly. I guess... I guess having you for company isn't that bad excluding the bad days." I paused. "I guess...you were okay for a sister. I still hate you for denying my statehood, but you...you treated me well for the most part. And... I'm very grateful for that."

Slowly peering back at her, I saw her face looking indifferently at me. There wasn't a sign of anger or joy in her blank stare. Her eyebrows didn't arch nor were her lips curved. I couldn't tell if she was thinking over what I said, or whether or not she was thinking over what to say to me. Whatever the case is, I'm finally relieved from this burden.

I was about turn around and head back home when she spoke, "Considering your confession," I turned around to meet her gaze, "I guess I did overreact during that time. Maybe if I had been more considerate toward your feelings, the events that happened may have happened differently." She sighed. "Doesn't matter now. It happened and I've accepted it. This is a late message, but if you may, please accept my apology for not supporting you back there."

Her tone wasn't exactly sympathetic. 'She could be lying,' I originally thought. But then again, if this is her best attempt in making an apology, I'll take it. Better than her pointing out my smudgy hand by the end of the day.

"Sure, I guess..." I replied, awkwardly inching my feet back down the steps, ready to leave. "Alright. I guess I'll be going now." 

I took a step back, turning my head and the rest of my body, almost making it off the porch when I heard the screen door creak open. "Wait!" I heard her rushed call. I turned my eyes back to see her reaching out for me. "I'm about to have some dinner. If you want, do you want to have some dinner before you leave?"

I was about to deny her offer. But then a warm gush of air from inside the house carried the savory aroma of roast beef and rolls to my nose, watering mouth with fresh saliva, distracting my head to say something different entirely.

"S-Sure! I would like that." I rushed back up the steps, heading back to the entrance of her home.

"Come in." She gestured with her head, asking me to follow her inside.

For the first time since fifty years ago, I was back inside the house I once lived in. And for once, I tolerated my sister's presence throughout that evening, even after she pointed out my dirtied hands. Life wouldn't be the same ever again.

~ Bonus Scene ~

"What the-"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Every surface of her parlor was filled with fifty vases of a thousand white carnations in total. Three on the glass coffee table. Two on top of each ornate, side table. Four were symmetrically aligned by the fireplace. And the rest were covering most of the room's wooden flooring. The fragrant aroma I once tolerated from a dozen became overwhelming for my head. So much white in one place, I thought I whited out for a second if it weren't for Eliza's presence. She was placing my insignificant bouquet of white carnations into a curved, glass vase, carrying them in her hands as she attempted to find a free spot to set them down on.

"Did everyone sent you flowers?!" I exclaimed.

She looked up at me with a smile. "Oh no. These all came from one person."

One person?!

"What rich nut in right mind sends you a shop's worth of flowers?"

She blinked twice. "America."

"... I should've known..."

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+ Fun fact: West Virginia was the birth state of Mother's Day for the United States. The woman who campaigned for Mother's Day to be a national holiday was Anna Jarvis, the woman West Virginia was referring to in the flashback. Her mother, Ann Jarvis, was an inspiration for the movement in the hopes of bringing attention to all mothers deserving a day of their own.

+ Ironically, Anna Jarvis would later petition against the holiday due to businesses commercializing the holiday in what she saw as lazy and offensive. In her words, "A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world. And candy! You take a box to Mother—and then eat most of it yourself. A pretty sentiment." When asked for her opinion on the holiday she created, she "...wished she would have never started the day because it became so out of control ...".

- In some respects, I don't blame her for reacting that way. Mother's Day continues to be one of the most exploited holidays considering many businesses cater to the holiday for their own profit. Despite today's consumer-heavy culture, please remember to be grateful and loving towards all mothers for everything they had done.

~

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