Mama’s Kitchen Table

I ain’t seen my cousin Taye in years. Last time we spoke, the words got heavy, doors slammed, pride got in the way. Family sometimes hurt worse than strangers. But Mama? Mama always said, “Blood don’t make love automatic, baby. You gotta show it.”

So I walked up the street slow, hands in my pockets, nerves jumpin’. Kitchen smelled like baked yams and cinnamon. My chest tight, but I stepped in anyway. Taye was there, apron dusted with flour, lookin’ like nothin’ had changed—except the quiet between us.

“Lexi,” he said, voice low. No anger. Just recognition. I smiled, shruggin’ like I didn’t care, but my chest wanted to lift right outta me.

We hugged first. Long. Firm. Ain’t no kisses, ain’t no words. Just warmth. That hug said more than any argument ever could. Studies show hugging releases oxytocin, which reduces stress and strengthens bonds (Uvnas-Moberg et al.). I felt it. Right there, in the pit of my chest.

We sat at Mama’s old table, peeling yams together. Conversation came slow at first. Memories, jokes, the way the kitchen light hit the counters just right. Unity ain’t forced. It grow in moments like this, shared work, shared space, shared patience.

Taye laughed at somethin’ I said, and I laughed too, harder than I had in years. Acceptance hit me then: some family fall away, some come back, some you make yourself. Ain’t about the past. Ain’t about who wronged who. It’s about showin’ up when you can, even if it hurt last time.

Mama peeked in, smiled, shook her head. “Bout time y’all remembered how to love each other.” And she was right. Ain’t no grand gestures. Ain’t no magic. Just hands workin’ together, hearts learnin’ to trust again, and hugs that said, We still here.

By the time we finished, the kitchen smelled sweet, plates cleared, hearts lighter. That’s family. That’s unity. That’s love in its quietest, strongest form.

Works Cited (MLA)

Uvnas-Moberg, Kerstin, et al. “The Psychobiology of Oxytocin.” Frontiers in Neuroendocrinology, vol. 30, no. 4, 2009, pp. 352–378.