“I can’t marry him,” Brittany said over the speaker. She was sitting at her dining table, sorting through a few bills, unsure of any aspect of her life. A small part of her wished she’d gotten rid of the baby. Now she was sitting in limbo between two worlds. On one end, her job as a flight attendant, her rental town house, her life here in the States, and her parents in Atlanta—who thought she was still with Jamal.
On the other end was an unknown life in Sweden, living in style among its upper class. She’d be wrapped up in some precarious bubble made to float in their midst. This end also held a new life with a man who loved her and involved packing up her whole life, learning his language, trying to decipher social codes, and attempting to integrate herself in a country she wasn’t sure wanted her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for all that in addition to bringing their brown baby into a world hell-bent on making it a second-class citizen upon birth. Her baby deserved so much more.
As she kept sorting through bills, the singular factor making Sweden more attractive was privilege. Jonny’s wealth and access would give her whatever resources she needed to make her move as smooth as possible. That thought made her feel like a gold digger. After all, he was already paying her rent here in Alexandria. But she wasn’t after his money. She was lured in by his promise to take care of her and their baby.
“Brittany? Brittany?” Tanesha called her back from her musings. She’d forgotten her friend on the line and apologized.
“I mean, how did he propose?”
“In bed.”
Tanesha puffed, not wanting to hear those details. “How was the meeting with his family?”
Brittany told her about the breakdown he had in front of his parents, the crayfish party where she’d met his sisters and best friend, Ragnar, and his assistant Louise, who whizzed around her like a pesky bee. Both sisters had looked at her like they’d seen her before. She wasn’t sure how she felt about all of them yet.
Except for his mother. Brittany had decided she hated that woman. Now Jonny wanted her to be Astrid’s daughter-in-law.
“I swear to you, Tee,” she continued. “The only reason I’m considering this is because he loves me so much and I want our baby to be safe and taken care of. He’s so excited about the baby.”
“Can’t he take care of you and the baby without tying you down into marriage?”
Brittany had been thinking the same thoughts.
“I don’t know, Tee. I think marriage means a lot more, you know? Considering his family, they probably wouldn’t think twice about cutting our child out of the picture. God, his mother was such a bitch!”
“And you want to marry into that?” Tanesha was helping her see reason. Brittany quieted down and reflected on her friend’s words. Yes, she wanted security for her baby, and she knew Jonny would take care of them. But the thought of his parents as her in-laws was too much to bear.
“Why is he rushing into marriage anyway? That mentality feels so outdated.”
“Marriage means legitimizing our child,” Brittany said.
Legitimizing their child within the von Lundin dynasty. They wouldn’t be expediting their relationship if the stakes were lower, but somehow, he was trying to make a statement, and Brittany feared she was a pawn in his plans. The child she was carrying took priority though.
“Hmm.” Tanesha finally seemed to understand. This marriage was a strategic positioning.
“You know, Tee, I was waiting for Jamal to propose. I wanted that ring,” Brittany said. “Four years, and he never once tried. All he talked about was building a family and how he wanted children.”
Brittany shifted uncomfortably at her own half-truth. Jamal had treated her like a queen. Of course, he had wanted to marry her. Jamal was rich. He could take care of her the way she wanted. But that wasn’t enough. It could never be enough because he didn’t have access to the type of privilege Jonny had. One that said as long as she had him spellbound, no one on earth would ever touch her again against her will.
“Seriously, Brit. What took him so long?”
“He kept saying he was waiting for me to make up my damn mind. But he never said the words.” Now Brittany felt she was parsing Jamal’s actions to justify the fact that she was seriously considering marrying Jonny after knowing him for less than six months. Brittany wondered how long she would keep obfuscating to avoid the truth of what she’d chosen.
A fresh line of tears bubbled out, and Tanesha spent the next fifteen minutes consoling her. Once Brittany stopped sobbing enough to receive information, Tanesha suggested she bring Jonny down to Atlanta. She needed to meet this man herself. Brittany’s parents needed to know as well.
Especially if Brittany, their only child, was considering leaving the country.
* * *
“Tell Eva to route you to Atlanta instead. I’ll meet you there,” Brittany told Jonny over the phone while chopping carrots later that night. It was all she could stomach these days. She decided not to bid for a cabin crew schedule the following month. She needed time to digest her current trajectory.
“Why?”
“Some important people you need to meet live there.”
“Who?”
“Are you kidding me?” she laughed. When he remained silent on the line, she continued, “My best friend, Tanesha, and my parents.”
He went quiet again. Brittany began to worry. Was he nervous about meeting her people, or did he not want to meet them? Maybe meeting her extended network meant their relationship was actually being lived in the real world and not in their cozy bubble lined with bedsheets? Did he fully understand the weight the words “Marry me” carried?
As if reading her thoughts, he came back from his momentary hiatus.
“Have you considered it?” he asked. It was Brittany’s turn to stay silent. “I want to marry you.”
“Why?” she barked, startling even herself.
“Because I love you.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes, I do.”
“We’ve only known each other for a few months.”
“Does it matter?”
“It does, Jonny. It does. You can’t know a person in just a couple of months. Their lives, their struggles, their pain.” Memories of Beaufount floated into her consciousness. “You can’t know everything about them to decide you want to marry them so quickly.”
“I don’t care.”
“But you have to care. You have to care about my past.”
“Why?”
Brittany felt at a loss for words. Why did he seriously need to care about her past? That didn’t define her. He wanted her now, just as she was. She remained quiet, lost in thought.
“I only care about our future together,” he continued. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you and our baby. I’ve even picked a name if it’s a girl.”
She sighed, exasperated. He’s already picked out a name!
“Please marry me. I swear I will take care of you with everything I have.”
This option couldn’t be that bad, could it? A life wrapped in luxury beyond what she’d ever dreamed for herself. This was far from a foolish card to play.
“So, tell me, what name have you picked for our child?” she asked, derailing their conversation. Normally, Jonny would be agitated that his thoughts had been interrupted and their chat left unfinished, but she heard him giggle in excitement on the other end.
“Maya,” he said. “I want it to be a girl…”
“Maya? Why Maya?” Brittany asked. She was met with silence from his end. “Jonny?”
“It’s the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard.” His voice came back stronger.
Brittany wasn’t sure she liked that name. She had no emotional reaction to it. Not even an awww. She had been pondering Whitney if their baby was a girl or Whitfield for a boy. Then again, the
ir baby was half Swedish. Maybe “Whitney von Lundin” wouldn’t work as well in Sweden? Jonny chimed back in.
“Maya works in both English and Swedish. Please.” His tone was pleading. “I think it’s perfect for our baby.”
Brittany told him she’d think about it.
* * *
Two weeks later, when Brittany picked Jonny up at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson Airport on a Saturday morning, he launched into her arms and pulled her into a scorching kiss before she could utter his name.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed, resting his forehead on hers. “You…” He tore away to kiss her stomach. “And you…Lilla Maya.” Little Maya. Brittany laughed at his dramatic display of affection.
She decided they would spend the week in Atlanta, getting to know her parents, meeting her best friend, Tanesha, and giving each other one last chance to mull over their decision. Brittany was staying in her childhood room at her parents’ place, but Eva had booked them at the Four Seasons so they could steal away to Jonny’s hotel room during the week.
“Welcome to the ATL!” Brittany announced as they drove north along I-85 toward downtown Atlanta. She’d borrowed her mother’s modest Hyundai for the airport pickup.
“I can’t wait till you meet my parents. Hopefully they don’t make me cry.”
She stole a glance at him, just in time to see him lightly turn up his mouth before it turned into a serious line again. His own parents were sore spots for him—this she knew. This was her last-ditch effort at trying to jolt him back to reality to reassess their relationship.
She turned back to the road, thinking about the night before when she had prepped her parents for Jonny’s arrival.
“What?” her mother had exclaimed with hands on cheeks and tear-filled eyes. “What are you saying, Brit?”
“Jamal and I are over.”
“We love that boy!” her father had protested. “He had already asked our permission for your hand a year ago.”
“But he never proposed to me.”
“You were so busy, Brit,” her mother had cried. “Jamal was finding the right time to ask you. He’d promised us.”
Once the news of her breakup with Jamal had slowly sunk in, she told them she’d met someone else and was bringing him home to meet them…because it was serious.
“How serious?” Her father narrowed his eyes. “What is so serious you’ve thrown away four solid years with Jamal?”
“Please. Just keep an open mind when you meet him, okay?”
* * *
When Brittany and Jonny arrived at her parents’ modest bungalow, it was to strong smells of curry wafting through the air. Brittany grabbed Jonny’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze before pulling him along to the front door.
If Tyrone and Beatrice Johnson had been shocked by Brittany’s breakup with Jamal, seeing Jonny at their table digging into their curried goat devastated them.
Jonny kept smiling at her parents after every bite. Beatrice watched him eat, a hand lying flat across her chest. Brittany knew what her mother was thinking. What on earth had her baby girl dragged home?
“So, Yonny… Yonny, right?” Her father attempted conversation.
“Yes,” Brittany jumped in. “It’s actually spelled J-O-N-N-Y but pronounced ‘Yonny’ in Swedish.” Her father peered at her, accepting her explanation with a slow nod.
“How long have you known my daughter?” her father asked. Brittany rolled her eyes at this line of questioning reserved for teenage boys. Jonny turned to look at her, making love through his gaze, and her father cleared his throat to regain Jonny’s attention.
“Since April. The second I saw her, I knew.” He turned back to her.
“April?” Tyrone cut in. “And you want to marry her already?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Tyrone.”
“Mr. Johnson,” her father made a show of correcting him.
Jonny pinned her father with his glare typically reserved for business negotiations.
“Mr. Johnson… I love your daughter. I can’t bear to be away from her.”
Her father listened with a clenched jaw, taking in this foreigner. Then he turned to his daughter. There really was nothing he could do. She was nearing forty years old. She was no longer his “little” girl.
“Brit?”
She bit her lower lip and turned to her father. “Yes, Dad?”
“Do you want to marry him?”
She turned to look at Jonny, and for a split second, her parents’ dining room turned into a quiet desert where only she and Jonny existed, and the howling wind churning through the sand was the sound of their beating hearts.
“I do.”
MUNA
Malice was exhausting.
It hung in their apartment for months like an unrelenting Harmattan sun. Yasmiin became reclusive, retreating from the other girls, often staying out late. They knew she was probably hanging with Yagiz and hiding out in whatever cove they screamed together in. Soon enough, they rarely saw Yasmiin at all, and her room remained perpetually shut for days.
But Yagiz hadn’t fired Muna. He had kept her on. He had let her keep her job as janitor at the Birger Jarlsgatan address where that pretty sister with the nice clothes worked. Just like Mr. Björn at Migrationsverket had told her, she had to be a good girl if she was ever going to get that book. Belonging and acceptance were curious siblings indeed, Muna often thought. These feelings made men grovel. One could try to belong for decades without ever fully being accepted.
Muna loved watching the sister with the important job. She always had an Espresso House coffee on her desk. Maybe one day, Muna would buy her a cup so they could fika—have coffee—together. Muna was slinking around as usual when the woman, who had introduced herself as Kemi, stopped her in the kitchen area.
“Muna, right?” She was trying out her Swedish. Muna nodded.
“You might be able to help me.” Her Swedish seemed to be improving.
“Okay.” Muna stopped wiping down the counter.
“I’m having a hard time finding an African store,” Kemi said, piecing words together in passable Swedish. “Do you know any?”
“What are you looking for?” Muna asked, bunching the damp cloth in her hands.
Finding everything Kemi wanted in a single store was the holy grail of being an African in Stockholm. Their dietary needs were peripheral to salmon and potatoes. Kemi spewed frustration in the form of a list of food items she was currently craving, and Muna shared intel. Two good stores in Rinkeby. One she liked in Tensta. A grocery store and salon in one somewhere in Skärholmen. Muna helped her map out every African store within a ten-kilometer radius.
“Now I can add ‘African food’ as number two on my list. I already found a hairdresser,” Kemi joked, switching to English. “Number three, finding good makeup for brown skin.”
Kemi thanked her and left, leaving Muna staring after her, confused. Her English was weak, so she hadn’t fully grasped the woman’s meaning. Maybe getting her a coffee from Espresso House and trying to be friends was indeed a stretch. They could barely communicate as it was.
* * *
After waving goodbye to her cleaning crew, Muna zipped up her jacket over her black uniform and burst out of the office in darkness. The street was currently being dusted with flecks of snow, and it was already pitch-dark by four p.m. This had been the most difficult part of her two years at Solsidan—being locked up with nothing to do as inky darkness enveloped them. It filled some people with anxiety, while others turned to eating two or three extra plates at each meal. Ahmed had been the former.
Now free of Solsidan’s walls, she could at least roam streets in the cold and dark. She could see other semblances of life milling around. Cozy-looking shops and cafés, stores decorated in twinkling light
s for the season. Spending winter in the city and at Solsidan were very different experiences. One killed the soul quicker than the other.
She strolled toward T-Centralen in the biting cold, but instead of hopping on the blue line toward Tensta, she detoured to Hötorget and down into the basement where Yagiz’s food stall was.
When he saw her, Yagiz froze his task of shearing thin slices of kebab meat.
Muna stood at the counter, regarding him.
He turned to a colleague and muttered Turkish at breakneck speed. Then he pulled out a cigarette and cocked his head to one side quickly, signaling to Muna to follow him. As soon as they reached the surface, Yagiz made a slow show of lighting his cigarette, taking a few puffs, and watching smoke condense in frigid air before turning to her.
“Muna Saheed.” He half chuckled. “Is something wrong at work?”
“Where is Yasmiin?”
He fully laughed and took a few more drags of his cigarette. “You seem so interested in our relationship,” he said. “Why so curious, Muna? Uhnn? You want to join us?”
“We haven’t seen her in two weeks now,” Muna replied, ignoring his insult. “We’re worried about her. What have you done to her?”
He guffawed at her remark. “What a lovely way to talk to your boss, huhn?”
“Where is Yasmiin? Is she okay?”
She sensed she was provoking him, and her mind raced to the night when she and Khadiija had dragged him out of their apartment and left him naked in their hallway.
“Get out of my sight… NOW!” he yelled.
KẸMI
Before their Bachmann pitch team left for Germany, Kemi swung by Espresso House on her way home to grab a cinnamon bun, her nightly ritual.
No sign of Tobias though. Since he’d introduced himself, he’d vanished into thin air. She prayed he’d only taken several weeks of vacation as was common here, but she couldn’t shake that deep sinking feeling that he was truly gone.
The rest of the week was spent preparing for their presentation in Germany amid a group of lethargic colleagues. No one else besides Jonny was on board with her idea. Even Björn Fältström, who led business development and was a member of the pitch team, walked around with the carriage of a man being forced into hard labor.
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