Unlike her husband, who hasn't changed out of his dress shirt and jeans combo, Victoria is wearing a deep purple dress.

She places a hand on his shoulder, whispers something in his ear, and takes her seat.

Those with preternatural hearing are aware that she whispered, "Don't give it away." 

"Alright. Who's ready to start?"

"I am," she grins, pretending for all the world she didn't hear that.

"There's not, I don't know, an alternative menu, is there? For people who don't want grilled chicken?"

"You're welcome to go somewhere else. I'm afraid none of us have the energy to cook anything else."

"Scott, why don't you tell us about yourself? Allison mentioned you were a rising star on that team of yours. Hockey?"

"Lacrosse, mam. And, uh, I'm not going to be playing. Ade is, though."

"This chicken is really nice, dad, what kind of glaze is it?" 

"Oh? Why not?"

Nomnom don't mention you're a werewolf to the werewolf hunters please.

"The chicken is really interesting, I mean, what flavor is that?"

"Allison, don't interrupt your father. Scott, we can talk about something else if you're uncomfortable." 

"No, it's actually just my asthma. I've been doing better lately, the doctor says it's okay to play sports if I'm careful, but games can get pretty intense. My mom was worried it would flare up. And Allison is right about the chicken, maybe you could share the recipe?"

"Family secret."

"What about you, Ade? How do you know Allison?" 

"Well, from school, it's where I met everyone else."

"We met through Stiles. They hit it off right away."

"And Stiles?"

"I don't really, through Scott? I'm his friend."

"Allison, I had hoped you'd be making friends of you own, instead of stealing this poor boy's."

At that she laughs. "Don't worry about that, I at least can share and be shared."

Does she mean friends? Who knows. Probably.

Mrs. Argent raises an eyebrow.

Mr. Argent speaks.

"I guess so. How are you liking the food, by the way?"

"It's good. Uh, moist. Fresh."

"Caught it myself," he quips.