"I'm going to help my husbands clean up." Coco called over her shoulders, making her friends stop in their tracks.
"What?" Cleora perked up from her spot to the refrigerator and raised an eyebrow. "Go out there and start explaining! I can help them clean the table instead—"
"No way." Coco refused and cut her mother off. "Why don't you have a conversation with them while we finish cleaning up? You have already done enough anyway. Just relax and get to know my friends better."
Jonathan swallowed thickly, his eyes darting between Coco and Cleora.
Out of the three of them, he's the only one who doesn't feel that comfortable talking to Coco's mother like they're friends— well, it's not like Cleora is talking to them with the thought of befriending them, but still.
It's nerve-wracking. The scarred mediator thought, beads of sweat forming in his forehead.
