In Every Mirror She's Black

by Lolá Ákínmádé Åkerström

  Because she wanted to open up to him as well. To tell him about her brother, Aaden, who had loved football with an obsessive passion, and her mother, Caaliyah, who had gathered them immediately to run for their lives after her father, Mohammed, was killed. She wanted to tell him in painstaking detail how she had lost them all.

  But Ahmed didn’t want to grow roots, Muna was realizing. Not emotionally. Uprooting one’s life was always too hard and like torturously pulling out teeth; she sensed he’d been unwillingly yanked out too many times in life.

  So, she remained patient with him.

  “At least it is peaceful here. It is only a matter of time before we are free, but it is quiet and lovely living by the lake.” Her voice finally failed her because she realized she didn’t believe her own words.

  She watched his jaw clench. Ahmed turned to her.

  “My dear Muna,” he started. “I love your spirit. But I would rather go back home and die fighting for something than die here in paradise doing nothing and listening to birdsong.”

  Two

  KẸMI

  “Sweden?” Kehinde repeated over the phone. The cacophony behind her showed it was close to dinnertime, and Kemi’s twin sister, Kehinde, was trying to wrangle Kemi’s nieces and nephew. She should have known not to call now.

  “Yes, Sweden,” Kemi continued as she strolled down Pennsylvania Avenue, leaving work late as usual. After Ingrid’s call, she’d mulled over the notes she’d scribbled down.

  Ms. Johansson and Mr. von Lundin were flying to Washington, DC, to meet with her on Friday over lunch. Later that afternoon, Connor was planning to celebrate her achievements with cake at the office, since she was now the “hottest chick” on the market—­his words.

  Connor had anticipated competitors trying to poach her, oblivious to the fact that Jonny had already moved in. A&A was plankton compared to von Lundin, a shark.

  Kemi felt flattered. If only her dating prospects mirrored her work life. Then she could fully revel in the intoxicating power she currently wielded being chased by two powerful men.

  “What about Sweden again?” Kehinde’s lack of concentration cut in like bad phone reception before she yelled at someone in the background and dropped something metallic-­sounding.

  “One of the largest marketing companies in the world wants me to move to Sweden and be their director of global diversity!” Kemi half screamed into the receiver.

  “Congratulations! Take it and go. God knows you need to shake up your life in many ways.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes, just like that. Look, I’m burning my sauce. Come down to Virginia for the weekend, and we can talk more. The kids are asking about their cool auntie.” Kehinde hung up.

  Kemi put her phone away and continued trekking down Pennsylvania Avenue on that warm, spring evening, little petals of cherry blossoms floating around. Whenever she was in doubt or paralyzed by indecision, Kemi let her twin sister make decisions for her to help lift the load. Mostly because they seemed to work on a telepathic awareness and instinctively knew what was best for the other. Especially when the other fought against it.

  As was customary for all Yoruba twins, they were named Taiwo and Kehinde upon birth. Taiwo means “to taste the world first,” and Kehinde means “to come afterward.” But once she was old enough to decide, which meant after her father paid her last college tuition bill, Kemi chose to go with the shortened form of her middle name Oluwakemi—­“God takes care of me”—­mostly as a way of metaphorically cutting the umbilical cord from Kehinde so they could be their own people and not be defined by being identical twins.

  Still, their parents and everyone else within their extended family called her Taiwo, her choice be damned.

  At eighteen, the twins had moved from Lagos to the U.S. to start college at the University of Richmond. Kehinde had sunk into a parent-­pleasing computer science major while Kemi had dallied around studying marketing. With both parents in Nigeria, the twins became even closer, also getting advanced degrees together at Richmond, never daring to separate in America.

  Fifteen years after their arrival, Kemi had ventured to DC, while Kehinde was still living in Richmond suburbia.

  Kehinde told her to take the job. To “shake up” her life—­a loaded statement Kemi knew meant to stop swimming in the cesspool of desperation she was currently in.

  “You deserve an equal in every sense of the word.” Kehinde’s oft-­repeated words floated into her mind as a notification pinged on her iPhone. A potential suitor looking for a date.

  “You’ve worked so hard to reach where you are in your life and your career,” Kehinde’s voice droned on in her head. Kemi put her sister at the back of her mind as she read the notification. A young good-­looking African American electrician was interested in her.

  “Look, I know love has nothing to do with your background or career, but seriously, when a director of marketing starts considering dates from janitors, something is wrong.” An electrician who works out regularly, loves to read, and enjoys Thai food—­her favorite.

  “I mean, what would Daddy and Mommy say if you brought home someone unworthy of your stature?” She flipped through photos of the electrician in different stages of undress, showing off washboard abs that looked painted on.

  “Anyway, I know you are lonely and tired of searching, but God’s time is always the best. See how He brought Lanre into my life when I was least expecting a husband, ehn?” She wondered if she could bounce a quarter off those abs.

  And then she clicked “accept” to find out.

  * * *

  A few days later, Kemi stared at the nervous, blond pretty boy in front of her. She had noticed heads turn when Jonny strolled in behind Ingrid, some surely wondering if he was a model, others trying to place which movie they might have seen him in.

  Jonny was now twirling his butter knife, rapping manicured fingers on the table, and fidgeting with anything that wasn’t screwed into place. Ingrid seemed unfazed by his jitteriness and was leading the entire conversation as they dined on steaks too heavy for lunch. Jonny had insisted on taking them to the most expensive steakhouse in Washington, DC. He apparently wanted to show Kemi he could afford any demands she had.

  If Jonny thought his lunch choice would impress her, Kemi decided at that moment he was a rather blunt tool of a man.

  “Kemi, we would be honored if you’d seriously consider our proposal.” Ingrid beamed.

  “I hope my presence here doesn’t suggest otherwise,” Kemi replied before taking a bite of tender filet mignon that melted when it hit her tongue.

  “Of course. We don’t doubt that, and we appreciate your making time to meet us this lovely Friday,” Ingrid continued, forking a few leaves from her bowl of salad. Kemi became overly self-­conscious after a glance around the table revealed she was the only one tucking into her decadent meal.

  Jonny buttered and downed two freshly baked brioche buns but hadn’t touched his steak. His mind seemed to be roaming and fluttering, filled with thoughts Kemi wasn’t sure had to do with their recruitment efforts. To Kemi, his fidgeting seemed to spell out a man uncomfortable in his own skin. Eyes from other diners were still trained on their table, and Kemi wondered if he was tired of strangers’ stares coming in from every direction.

  Was this how utterly attractive people suffered? Kemi wondered. Locked up in a cage of their own as the world floated around them, parting like the Red Sea as they walked past, gawking at them, seemingly transfixed?

  The world wasn’t there yet. The world wasn’t ready to listen to gorgeous people decry their beauty as a disadvantage. They would get no sympathy from Kemi in that struggle. Instead, Jonny’s fidgeting was irritating Kemi to no end.

  “How much do you want?” Jonny jumped in again, his eyes settling on her, daring her to deny him one more time. This was the side of him that easily use
d his privilege to bully, Kemi thought. “Whatever it is, we will double it.”

  “You’re asking me to give up my life here. It’s not a decision I can make lightly between mouthfuls of food,” Kemi said, “no matter how nice the steak.” She held his gaze.

  “Of course not,” Jonny said. “But I will make that transition easy for you. Besides doubling your current pay, I will take care of everything else. Moving your stuff over, including your car. Getting you signed up for Swedish classes. I will make your move to Stockholm as painless as possible. I guarantee you, Kemi.”

  She stopped chewing and stared back at him. She could help him the way he needed to be helped. There he was, one of the most powerful men in marketing and advertising, offering his company up on a platter. A tiny part of her reveled in his desperation. All because he knew he had to “diversify” and didn’t understand how to take it from a buzzword into tangible actions beyond hiring brown faces. He was ready to throw as much money as he could at the problem he knew he had to fix in order to save his bottom line.

  “So, this new position,” Kemi started, “is it for show?” The possibility of being added simply to satisfy a diversity quota in a foreign country was more than she could emotionally bear. The last thing she needed was to become a prop in another man’s country. Her heart couldn’t take any more struggles.

  Her direct question caught him off guard.

  “For show?” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “Of course not. I would never disrespect you that way. I’m creating this new position of global diversity and inclusion director because we are lacking without it. I see that. We need to be more inclusive.”

  “What does inclusivity mean to von Lundin Marketing?” Kemi challenged him. “Because buzzwords are thrown around these days with no true intention behind them.”

  Jonny glared at Kemi while Ingrid stopped picking at leaves to look at Jonny, waiting for his answer.

  “Well…” Jonny began, piecing together a rebuttal. “Inclusion means—­”

  “Let me cut to the chase,” she cut him off. “How diverse is your top management?”

  That was when she saw his jaw tense, eyes blazing. He didn’t like to be interrupted. Her cutting in when he hadn’t finished had somehow physically derailed him because he started unfurling his fingers and furling them back into fists, continuing the motion as he stared her down. Kemi furrowed her brows, studying him. There were quirks about Jonny von Lundin she couldn’t quite work out. She wasn’t sure if he was used to getting his way every single time, if he was born with a nervous twitch, or if it was something else.

  Ingrid jumped in to prod their conversation along because Jonny seemed frozen.

  “As head of human resources, I assure you this is an issue Jonny and I are actively working on. Starting with hiring you, Kemi.”

  They—­rather, Kemi—­finished lunch, and Jonny escorted both women to the door, where the valet pulled his rented sedan over and opened the doors for Ingrid and Kemi.

  “Jonny likes to drive himself,” Ingrid said, as if reading Kemi’s thoughts. “Except in London. He uses a driver there.”

  Jonny drove her back to Andersen & Associates, where she knew that Connor, Rita, Nicole, and her other colleagues were waiting with cake and champagne. She felt like an adulteress slinking out of her lover’s bed and heading home without showering. She knew her skittish disposition was going to give her away.

  “It was a pleasure, Ingrid and Jonny,” she thanked them before stepping out of the car.

  “The pleasure is ours, Kemi,” Ingrid said.

  “You’ll have my decision next week. Safe travels back to Stockholm.” With a short wave, she walked back into her building.

  “There she is!” Connor’s voice met Kemi as she neared her office, two champagne flutes in hand. He strode up and gave her one. She smiled weakly and turned to look at the crowd of about twenty colleagues who had already started cutting into a square-­shaped cake, pulling out slices of crimson sponge. Red velvet, her favorite.

  Connor followed her gaze to the confection. “You seem like a red velvet kinda gal to me, so I had Rita pick one up.” His eyes swept back to her and over her chest. Kemi reached up to readjust the neckline of her blouse. He bit his lower lip suggestively.

  She accepted a piece of cake and took a sip of champagne, which turned into fire as it hit the back of her throat. Someone started clinking glasses, and soon, it was a cacophony of silverware hitting glass.

  “A toast to the amazing Ms. Adeyemi,” Nicole, her assistant, started. “I am so honored to call you my boss.”

  “Hear, hear!” Colleagues lifted half-­drunk glasses in salute. Someone else clinked for a toast.

  “Kemi, you are such an asset to this company. A&A would be lost without you,” Bill, a salesman from Nebraska, said.

  “Hear, hear!” More sipping of champagne.

  She stiffened when she felt Connor’s palm on the small of her back as he slid in close to say a few words.

  “You guys already know I think Kemi is a rock star.” He grinned boyishly. Light freckles over his nose and his ginger coloring made him seem years younger than his late forties. “Winning National Marketing Executive one year is amazing…”

  He turned to look at her, his hazel eyes locking hers in place, naked once more. Heat from Connor’s palm resting on the base of her spine shot up her back. The sensation mirrored burning her tongue on hot soup.

  “But two years in a row? That is fucking unbelievable, please excuse my French,” Connor finished before tapping Kemi’s flute with his. With that caress, Connor finally crossed the line and solidified her decision. She was moving to Sweden.

  Amid cheers from colleagues celebrating her award, Kemi leaned in close to Connor.

  “I need to talk to you,” she whispered. He nodded, chugging the last few sips from his glass before leading her toward his office, eyes of curious colleagues trailing them.

  “Is everything okay?” His brows creased in concern as he closed the door behind them. She gathered her breath.

  Truth be told, she enjoyed her work at A&A. Her career had blossomed as far as Connor would let it. But that was her crux. Connor was her ceiling. He said he trusted her work, yet he overrode her decisions to show his status too many times. It was Connor’s way of saying, Give me what I desire, and I’ll give you what you want. She was never going to be able to dethrone him.

  Meanwhile, Jonny was crafting her very own bespoke throne with full control. How could she refuse?

  Kemi was ready to leave. She hadn’t accepted von Lundin’s offer yet, but hanging around Connor for the foreseeable future was a much worse fate. She would take her chances.

  Connor inched closer, and she took a step back in response, which stopped him dead in his tracks.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’m leaving Andersen.”

  The news appeared to physically stun him. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and his strong freckled arms—­always exposed by sleeves rolled to his elbows—­flexed.

  “Leaving? Why?”

  “I got an offer from another company that I’d be a fool to refuse, Connor. It’s strictly business.”

  “Strictly business?”

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s not important. I had hoped you’d be happy for me.”

  “So, I never made you happy?”

  He was interrogating her like she was dumping him for one of his friends. His concern transformed into a quiet anger simmering beneath the surface.

  “Connor, I need this new job.”

  “Well…” He bit his lower lip. “What can I say except congratulations.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

  “It�
��s okay. We’ll figure it out.” She didn’t believe him, but they had to move on.

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  He chuckled, clearly pained. “It wasn’t my choice, but I hope whoever you’ve chosen over me, over us, is damn well worth it. I hope they groveled on their knees for you because you’re worth every penny.”

  She nodded in response. He walked up to her and gathered her into his strong arms for a hug. She felt his head turn toward her neck and take in a deep breath of her citrus scent, his hands on her back roaming a few inches and stopping before reaching an inappropriate place. She knew he’d never fully cross that line. He’d been tiptoeing along it for the last four years.

  “Give us one more month before you leave,” he demanded against her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

  She forcefully pushed him out of their embrace. She watched him compose himself, a smirk of embarrassment on his face. Then she took a deep, anchoring breath before offering a terse reply, frustrated that he was forcing her to nod in submission one last time.

  “I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  He nodded, acknowledging his consolation prize, before turning to go.

  “Connor,” she called out. He spun to face her again. “Please don’t tell them yet.”

  He pursed his lips, giving her another quick nod in quiet solidarity before striding out.

  BRITTANY-­RAE

  “Johan von Lundin.” Jamal’s words drawled over the business card he found on their bedside table. Lifting the card to his nostrils, he took a whiff. “Hmm…smells like White Savior. What is this? Cracker of the week?”

  “Stop!” Brittany scolded as she worked to refasten her bra. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, cozy within the town house they shared in Alexandria, Virginia, a ten-­minute drive from Washington, DC.

  “Here, let me help you.” Jamal let the sheets slip off his taut, naked body and inched over to help her. He undid her work instead and pulled her back down for a hungry kiss while she yelped in startled jest.