“Oh, that is controversial,” BamBam said, a sly smile working its way across her face as she added, “I believe it’s a do. The only rule for fashion should be wearing what feels like you.”
“That’s so funny! Buzzy said don’t, unless you are putting together a baby’s nursery,” the fan said, laughing as if catching Buzzy and BamBam on the opposite sides of an argument was novel. I squinted and hoped BamBam wouldn’t take the bait.
“Like I said, if you have the confidence and creativity, you can pull just about anything off. But let me not say anything bad about Buzzy,” BamBam drawled, delivering her most Southern insult, aka not outright talking bad about someone while obviously implying bad things about them.
I felt my blood pressure tick up. The last thing BamBam needed was to be on camera taking shots at Buzzy…again. Still smiling, she added, “Pink and baby blue for a nursery feels like a tired design choice. I think there are more inspiring color palettes. But again, only if you’re an original.”
“I don’t think I’m tired, but you might be with those same tired insults.” Buzzy’s voice cut through the knot of people who’d formed around my grandma. Of course she’d managed to wander over here at the precise moment my grandma was talking trash. She’d dressed effortlessly in a chic black linen suit with gold buttons and a little scarf tied around her neck that managed to match the buttons on her jacket without being a gold-lamé nightmare. Behind her, I could see Ethan grimacing, his hair still wet from the shower as he tried to weave past the growing circle of people who’d stopped to watch our grandmothers bicker.
“Are you sure about that?” The corner of the right side of BamBam’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “ ’Cause that outfit is about as tired as your recommendations. You are either sleep-deprived or losing your touch.”
“Better tired than tacky.” Buzzy sputtered, an angry flush creeping up the side of her neck, darkening her cheeks. “I mean, hot pink, really?”
“Oh, I know you didn’t just say that.” BamBam shook her head, taking a small step forward like she was getting ready to read her for filth. “In your boring black suit, with your dull little scarf tied like you’re going to a board meeting at an investment bank. News flash, Buzzy. No one’s buying stocks here.”
“At least I’m not a walking billboard for what happens when bright colors go bad. You look like children’s chewing gum. And I’ll bet you can’t even go to the bathroom in that thing.”
I held my breath and felt my brain start to break while three things happened simultaneously. (1) Everyone around us wentdead silent and took out their phones, ready for part two of #GrannieGate. (2) I became very grateful I hadn’t had breakfast, otherwise I might have thrown it up. (3) The color drained from Ethan’s face as both of us processed the same threat.
Unlike the argument at the panel, this had the potential to be much worse, because there was no table or other panelists between them to prevent an actual altercation. Nor was my dad here to break things up like in Florida. Plus, I wasn’t as strong as BamBam, so if things went south this was all Ethan. And I didn’t doubt for a second that either grandma would take a swing at or bite him for trying to end a fight.
In short, this was bad.
BamBam ran the thumb of her left hand over her knuckles as if checking to see which rings she was wearing in case she needed to throw a punch. The gesture was subtle, but it had the same effect on my brain as her waving a giant red flag in front of my face.
I had to do something. Fast.
My mind seemed to reassemble itself in an instant as I stepped forward. “Mini, you are going to be late for that special table at drag brunch with Gregory if we don’t get going.” BamBam’s head swiveled toward me as if she were possessed, and for a fraction of a second, I worried that I had gotten myself pulled into whatever whooping Buzzy was about to get. Taking possibly my last deep breath, I added, “No sense missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime event over a color combination.”
BamBam blinked at me, as if she was waking up from a rage trance. Letting her eyes rove around the room at the sea ofcameras facing her and Buzzy, she cleared her throat and said, “Right. Brunch. Hottest ticket in town.” Shrugging one shoulder at Buzzy as if she’d almost forgotten she was there, BamBam added, “Sorry, Buzzy, we’ll have to continue this another time. You know how it is.”
“Well, it isn’t as if—”
“And remember, you’re going to The Kitchen to meet Chef Dang. So you two have equally good brunch plans that you don’t want to miss,” Ethan added, a slight edge to his voice as if anticipating his grandmother’s petulant retort.
I risked a glance in his general direction, our eyes meeting for a moment. A flicker of amusement crossed his face, and I felt my lips twitch up, then immediately redirected my attention back to BamBam. Unless we wanted to risk reigniting this blood feud, Ethan and I could not be seen as colluding on this, or anything else.
Giving her head a little shake, Buzzy pulled herself up straighter. Then, moving her cane from one hand to the other in an oddly menacing way, she said, “Oh, you are right, darling. How lucky we are to have grandkids who remember our plans.”
“My memory is excellent, so I don’t need Jamie for that.” Not to be one-upped in the gracious-recovery battle, BamBam forced a tight smile onto her face. “But we are lucky to have such thoughtful young people in our lives.” Taking a quick step back, ostensibly to go but also, I suspected, to get out of reach of Buzzy’s cane, BamBam turned toward me and added under her breath, “If only yours was as cute as mine. Come on, baby, let’s get out of here.”
BamBam wrapped her arm around me and started steeringus toward the exit as Buzzy sputtered, unable to get the last dig in as we headed for the door.
The muscles in my neck and shoulders didn’t relax until we’d cleared the big exhibit hall and made it to the elevator bank. After throwing a quick glance over each of my shoulders to check for eavesdropping fans, I looked up at my grandma, who was grinning as if she were already a mimosa deep at brunch.
“BamBam, that was bad.”
“For Buzzy, maybe. I got her pretty good.” Shrugging one shoulder, she added, “Sometimes you gotta stir the pot. Give the people what they want. Besides, you were there to step in before anything serious popped off.”
My jaw dropped as I put together what BamBam had done. Unlike me, she’d done her reconnaissance, noticed Buzzy in the room, and decided it was worth the risk to keep people talking if she could win the fight. This round of #GrannieGate had absolutely gone to her, and my grandma had officially reached evil-genius status.
The elevator dinged, and BamBam got in. Holding the door open for me, she said, “Hurry up. I’ve got to get my purse and get to brunch. The only thing better than Chef Dang is a whole gang of drag queens, and you better believe your grandma will be taking pictures with every single one.”
BamBam winked at me as I got into the elevator. Sure, she’d almost gotten us beaten by a cane, but I couldn’t argue with her there. She was about to have a great time. I, on the other hand, might spend the rest of my morning trying to get my nerves under control before I could even think about food.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With BamBam safely at brunch,I decided to begin sorting and editing all the footage Ethan and I had collected so far. The editing software had just started to load on my computer when my phone dinged, and Dad’s name floated across the screen in the family group text. The muscles in my neck tensed.
