After we’re all seated, the waiter comes over, and Kiernan orders a couple bottles of wine for the table. I sit quietly, determined not to make a face this time when I take a sip. Fancy people like this drink wine; I’m sure I can get used to it. “Do you have sweet tea?” Barrett asks. “You don’t have—” I start to tell him quietly, but he cuts me off with a look that has my mouth snapping shut. “Sweet tea?” the waiter repeats as if Barrett’s speaking another language. “Yes,” he says calmly, when the waiter continues to look confused, he changes tactics. “How about regular tea?” The waiter nods.
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