Her only family.
KẸMI
Kemi twiddled her thumbs, waiting for Tobias to arrive.
After she’d gotten his note, she had dug out her phone, dropping it in excitement. She picked it up, straightened her skirt, and resumed the task of eloquently crafting what she wanted to say to him.
The only words her fingers could type had been “Why did you disappear?” His response had been a smiley face emoji, followed by the words “I was fired.”
They had arranged to meet over the weekend for a quick fika date, which had then morphed into a lunch date.
Kemi craned her neck to see if he was strolling up to the café she’d chosen close to Kungsträdgården, the most popular park in town. December had brought fluffy, white snow, twinkling Christmas lights, and a festiveness that enveloped Stockholmers in denial that true winter was around the corner.
She had missed spending Christmas with her sister in Richmond. Over the phone, she had told Kehinde everything was like a fairy tale. That she was living in a Nordic snow globe. That she had exciting Christmas plans. All Kehinde had done was let out an “Umphf!” sound before telling Kemi she loved her and disconnecting. In truth, she had spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve alone and was too embarrassed to tell her sister she was failing at reinventing herself in Sweden.
January came with a vengeance, bearing deep darkness and miserable slush instead of powdery-white snow.
Kemi wondered why her heart was beating so hard. She’d met Tobias once, and they barely exchanged words besides introductions and him sharing that he had noticed her for weeks. She couldn’t have scripted a more romantic approach than when he’d handed her that tall cup of coffee. She scratched that scene out, mentally editing her script as she spotted Tobias walking up to her now, bearing a small bouquet of wildflowers.
“Don’t tell me you foraged for these yourself,” she joked, getting to her feet, her dimples showing themselves. “Thank you!” Then she realized it was winter and not wildflower-foraging season, but her joke had washed over him. Something else distracted him.
“My God,” Tobias said after hugging her and pulling out of their embrace. “You’ve got the cutest dimples.” He grinned, showing that small sliver between his top front teeth, his brown eyes shining. She blushed at his flattery, her eyes wandering over him. He was wearing a brown aviator jacket with faux fur lining its collar. Once he pulled it off, underneath was a black long-sleeve sweater, which was stretched over his swimmer’s chest. The fitted top disappeared into a narrow-waisted pair of dark jeans.
“You must have done something really bad to have been fired,” Kemi started, once they’d settled in. “No one gets fired in Sweden.” He chuckled.
“Well, nothing bad. Just indifference, I guess,” he said, pulling the menu closer for a look.
“Indifference?”
“Yeah, I hated my job.” He scanned the menu for something to order. “I’ve found something else anyway.” He decided on the shrimp sandwich, dropped the menu, and turned his attention back to her. The thick sweater she was wearing had a plunging neckline, but his eyes didn’t roam. They settled on her face, confusing her.
“So, Kemi. What brings you to Sweden?” He rested his cheek on his hand, readying himself for the full story. She giggled at his expression.
“Well, contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t a man.” She pulled the menu back from him. “Well…technically, it was a man, but he’s my boss.”
“You’re having an affair with your boss?”
“God, no!” She shuddered at the idea of tossing in bed with Jonny. “No, he flew all the way to the States to recruit me.”
“All the way, huh? You must have been worth flying over for.” He let his words linger.
A waitress approached to take their order. After stepping on the scale recently and realizing she had gained fifteen pounds since moving to Sweden, Kemi had exorcised cinnamon buns from her life and sprinkled her apartment with fruit, as if it were holy water. So today, she opted for a salad. They chatted until their food arrived.
“I hope you’re not one of those girls,” Tobias said, before grabbing a fork and knife to start cutting into his open-faced sandwich.
“What?”
“You know, girls who must live by leaves alone; no bread.” He took a big bite. She loved the way his mouth worked the food.
“Does my body suggest that?” she quipped. His eyes made an appreciative show of fully taking her in.
“I hadn’t noticed before.” He smirked before another bite. She slapped his forearm playfully.
Over lunch, she learned all about Tobias or, rather, all he was willing to dole out on a first date. He was Gambian-Swedish, but joint ethnic labels weren’t really a thing here. He was expected to be one or the other, he told her. His mother had migrated from Banjul, Gambia, as an exchange student at Stockholm University. Within a year, she’d had an affair with one of her professors—a much older married man with children of his own. After Tobias was born, his mother went on to bear one more child for the man before he died of a stroke.
“So, you’ve got older siblings too?” Kemi chimed in, spearing a few leaves of romaine lettuce.
“Technically, yes.” He chugged his water. “But we’ve never met.”
“Don’t you want to meet them?”
“Nah,” Tobias said. “He was a good man, even though I didn’t really know him. He took care of my mom in his will, which was a big deal. You don’t incorporate mistresses into your will while still married. Especially if you’re Swedish and your mistress is the blackest African woman you can find,” Tobias explained.
Kemi couldn’t wait to meet his mother.
Their conversation shifted to Kemi and how she had been caught by Jonny von Lundin and brought to Sweden.
“Yeah, I know him,” Tobias casually threw out. “Who doesn’t in Sweden? His family is this tight with the royal family.” He crossed his fingers to demonstrate.
“Pretty reclusive guy though.”
Kemi told him about her past life in the U.S. He impressed her with “Ba wo ni?” How are you? when she told him she was Yoruba. He just kept getting more perfect by the second. She then started dishing on her dating woes in Sweden, but Tobias quickly interjected.
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Tobias locked eyes with hers, taking on a jovial tone. “We’re closing that chapter right now!” She laughed loudly. He joined her, his eyes twinkling as he did.
“So, Tobias,” Kemi asked him three hours later, “do you like jazz?”
BRITTANY-RAE
“I do.”
Brittany repeated those words three months later on a frigid winter day at Stockholm’s City Hall. White snow coated the sleepy city and its islands like icing on a cake. Ragnar stood stone-faced beside an elated Jonny, while Tanesha linked arms with Brittany, trying to contain floods of tears. Both their best friends signed their names as the only witnesses to their love.
Once the deed was done, the officiant must have leaked their secret wedding to various gossip outlets, because the next day, photos of Jonny and Brittany wearing her plum-colored summer dress as they roamed around Stockholm were plastered on several magazine covers. Antonia, Svea, and their parents read about the union for the first time on the front page of one such tabloid.
Sweden collectively mourned the loss of one of its golden sons.
* * *
Mrs. von Lundin.
That cape of a title took a while to fully settle perfectly around her shoulders. When they’d gotten married, Brittany hadn’t expected a public unveiling of her life from the media vultures swarming around their relationship. Jonny had never engaged with the press. But they dug into her past anyway, interviewing former colleagues at the airline she worked for, and wondering if the model turned flight attendant was in fact a
gold digger.
They even reached out to Jamal looking for commentary. He had called her to let her know he was being hounded, promising to protect her on his end. Then he asked her if she was truly happy, and if she was, then he wished her nothing but bliss with the man who had captured her heart.
But the backlash she received from Jonny’s family had been much stronger, in the form of silence. A deep, laconic denial. She wasn’t sure if they felt betrayed that they had had to read about their wedding on the front page of the tabloids instead of hearing it directly from Jonny’s lips. His parents, Wilhelm and Astrid, had retreated to one of their cottages in the sleepy seaside village of Smögen in West Sweden. They needed time to fully digest the fact that the large society wedding they’d anticipated for their golden child once he found the “right girl,” filled with glitter and guests, including members of the monarchy, was never going to happen.
His sister Svea had sent the newlyweds a bouquet of two dozen blush-pink roses along with her congratulations, saying she wished she’d been there to celebrate with them, but…you know…her invite must have gotten lost in the mail. She promised to throw a cocktail reception in their honor once she got back from the multiday book launch of a bestselling Swedish crime author she was currently promoting.
The only person who decided to physically reach out was Antonia. Scary Antonia, according to Jonny. Before Brittany and Tanesha returned to the States after the wedding so Brittany could continue her Swedish residency application process, Antonia invited the new couple over to her mansion in Elfvik for a lavish dinner and reception with a tightly knit group of friends including Ragnar and his wife, Pia.
Louise had booked a room at the vibrant boutique Hotel Rival on Södermalm for Tanesha, while the newlyweds had stolen away to Jonny’s hobbit cottage. Now both ladies were in Tanesha’s room, getting ready for Antonia’s party. Tanesha was sitting on the edge of the lush hotel bed as Brittany got ready in the bathroom when someone knocked.
Brittany heard Tanesha push off the bed to open it.
“Jonny. Come on in.” Tanesha closed the door behind him.
“Calm down, she hasn’t run away. She’s doing her makeup,” she heard Tanesha say.
Brittany was applying mascara, her mouth open, when through the mirror she saw Jonny leaning against the door, watching her.
“You know, you don’t have to creep around me anymore. You’ve put a ring on it.” Brittany laughed as she caught him in the mirror. He didn’t laugh though. When she turned to take him in, he stepped forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her. She could feel him shake as his mouth moved over hers. He was nervous about something, and she pulled out of his embrace.
“Are you having second thoughts?” she whispered. His eyes pinned her. Then he shook his head.
“You’re shaking, Jonny.” She ran her hands down his sleeves toward his hands and fingers, which had started dancing.
“This is so new,” he said.
“You didn’t prepare yourself,” she added.
“What do you mean?”
“Dating a Black woman for fun is one thing. Marrying her and fully owning your choice is another,” she explained. “You weren’t ready.”
“I’m ready. I want to take care of you. I want to protect my child.” He was getting agitated.
“From what?”
Her question hung between them like a knife trying to pry open his oyster of privilege so he would verbally admit it. What did Jonny think his child needed to be protected from by marrying her?
Jonny looked at her, wordlessly begging her to stop questioning him. She didn’t want to stop, though. She loved her husband’s most significant quirk: the fact that he couldn’t lie and she could read everything so openly on his face. He was an aquarium with feelings swimming in clear view.
“I love you.”
“I know you do, but that doesn’t answer my question.” He continued his intense stare until he was forced to piece a few words together.
“My name,” Jonny dropped. “My name will protect our child. Brown kids have it harder here.”
Of course they did. Brittany turned back to applying her mascara. They had to get ready for Antonia’s reception.
“And what about Black women?” she asked as she moved on to her lipstick.
Jonny stood there…silent.
* * *
Still in the depths of winter, they arrived at Antonia’s for dinner. She seemed in jolly spirits as she swept them into the vaulted lobby of her contemporary digs. There were already a handful of people warmly dressed in all forms of cashmere and Merino wool sweaters, stems of red wine in hand. They dropped off their coats and swapped their shoes for indoor slippers reserved for guests. Antonia then led the couple and their plus one, Tanesha, to a large living room where the rest of the guests, about twelve in total, were milling around and murmuring in low voices.
Once Jonny stepped in, his hand tensed up while holding Brittany’s. The group stared at the couple for about two seconds in absolute quiet, ogling the now five-month bulge that Brittany could no longer hide. Jonny had gotten her pregnant and clearly married her in haste.
Someone, Ragnar, started tapping at his glass with a fork. His tapping was joined by more until it turned into a chorus.
“Skål för brudparet!” Ragnar led the group, who answered him with “Skål!” and finished it off with applause. Jonny’s grip on her relaxed. People started stepping up to introduce themselves to both Brittany and Tanesha. She recognized many of them from the crayfish party in August when she’d barely been showing, her pregnancy still a secret. Jonny fetched her a glass of cranberry juice and a stem of Merlot for Tanesha, before disappearing into the midst of family and friends.
Ragnar walked up to them, assessing Brittany’s bulge on approach. Jonny had told him about the baby before begging him to be his best man at their court wedding, so he’d already been privy to the news.
Ragnar reached for Brittany and gave her a kiss on each check before turning to Tanesha with an outstretched hand for a shake.
“Nice to see you again, Tanis.”
“Tanesha,” she corrected.
“I’m sorry. It’s a difficult name for me to pronounce.” He attempted humor, which didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m struggling with Ragn, Raggie, Raggedy, as well,” she clapped back, which drew a small laugh out of him.
His wife, Pia, materialized from behind his broad frame with a wide smile on her lips. Pia was petite with straight blond hair and blue eyes. She was the physical manifestation of Swedish nostalgia.
“Congratulations, Brittany.” She stood on her toes to hug the taller woman. “Wow, you finally got the bachelor to settle down. How did you do it?”
Brittany laughed at her comment, only to realize Pia was indeed waiting for an actual response to her question. How did you do it? Brittany peered down at Pia in disbelief. What?
“You know what they say in America,” Tanesha offered. “Once you go Black…” She finished off with a sip of wine.
Ragnar bellowed. Both Brittany and Tanesha hadn’t expected that deep, vibrating sound out of him. Pia’s brows knitted uncomfortably as she looked from Tanesha to her laughing husband, trying to understand the joke. His chuckle died into a serious line before he turned to leave. Pia gave Brittany a weak smile and quick kiss before dashing off after her husband.
“Asshole,” Tanesha muttered under her breath but still loud enough to elicit a snigger from Brittany.
Fourteen
MUNA
Muna watched Kemi, Johan, and another woman from behind the wall where she was hiding. It was a rare sight. She was witnessing signs of life in that corner office.
Kemi was talking to Johan in an animated fashion. He was sitting on the edge of his sparse desk, his arms folded across his chest, fully listening to what Kemi w
as saying. His eyes would occasionally follow Kemi’s flailing arms as she described something, but then they would return to her face.
There was another woman—a petite brunette scribbling feverishly in a notepad.
Since her awkward run-in with Johan, Muna had felt guilty. She needed him to understand she was truly sorry for invading his space. He had probably bought those tulips for that Black model she’d seen him with.
As if propelled by a mysterious force, Muna slowly inched her way toward his office. By the time she got to his door, she changed her mind and spun around, but Kemi had already spotted her.
“Muna!” Kemi called out. Muna turned back and gave her a weak smile. The man and the brunette glanced toward her. Then he started speaking in Swedish to the brunette, who continued taking notes.
“Hur mår du?” Kemi asked as she walked out of the office. Muna simply nodded back in response to Kemi’s question. Yes, she was doing well.
Then Muna gathered up the courage to face him.
“Johan,” Muna called out softly. She wasn’t sure how she powered her voice. He was clearly the owner of the company—von Lundin Marketing. He turned to Muna sharply as if the mere mention of “Johan” had burned his ears.
“Jonny,” he corrected sternly. She swallowed nervously and then apologized once more for touching his tulips. “Ingen fara,” he accepted her remorse. No worries.
Muna wasn’t done. “Solsidan…” She dropped the name of the center, hoping it jogged his memory. He stared at her blankly. “Är det du?” she asked. Is it you?
Was he the one whose generosity had fed her and Ahmed and hundreds of others who had passed through Solsidan’s doors over the years? Was he the one who had created that oasis out in the countryside for them? Was he the one who had fanned their hope at the center through Mattias? Who never missed a monthly donation? Who kept their rooms warm during the winter, food on their plates, security guards patrolling the place for their safety? The one who deserved their gratitude for as long as they called Sweden home?
“Vad pratar du om?” Jonny asked. He sounded frustrated that he was being interrupted. What are you talking about? Then he turned to the brunette for guidance. “Louise, vad handlar det här om?” Louise, what is this about?
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