[ It's Alice he slinks up to. The usual tension in her shoulders is turned up to eleven, which makes her posture perfect, and thus makes her look like she belongs— except for the way her half smile is clearly forced and she looks like she's not breathing altogether well.

What be says is so out of character for the place that she knows right away he's like her. He doesn't belong. Alice turns to him, keeping the smile on because appearances. ]

Better here than when they have you alone with a group of them. My neighbors had a cook-off for this in the house next door. All these perfect housewives, and— me.

[ Alice is not housewife material, thanks. ]

So, um— don't have the macaroni salad by the grill.

[ She made that one. Trust her. ]