The only positive was that she did have a new job after Yagiz had fired her. Muna had walked over to the Lebanese restaurant where Khadiija once worked and had asked for Khadiija’s old dishwashing job. She had no reason to venture downtown, as her entire life was within a mile-and-a-half radius of her apartment: from her dishwashing job to the community center—which had become more somber since the riots—to Swedish class and to the local African and Middle Eastern shops for supplies.
Muna’s mind wandered to thoughts of Kemi, who always seemed so happy when she mentioned her boyfriend. She wondered if Kemi had a group of girlfriends who met for fancy cocktails, ate expensive dinners, and went clubbing. Friendships that would help Kemi crisscross town and enjoy everything Stockholm had to offer her.
That tall Black model also crossed her mind. Her beautiful clothes. How she had been standing by that expensive-looking car like a Barbie doll. How Jonny had grabbed and kissed her, and if they were also driving around Stockholm in that fancy car.
In comparison, Muna felt her life had retracted down to a small, postage-stamp-sized area, making her feel trapped and isolated.
Now, Muna sat in her apartment waiting for her friend Gunhild. Three raps on the door announced her arrival. She was carrying a small sponge cake and wearing a smile.
“Happy birthday, Muna!” she greeted, pulling her into a hug with her free hand. Muna accepted it and muttered a low thank-you.
The last time she had celebrated her birthday, it had been with Khadiija, Yasmiin, and Gunhild. Khadiija had roasted some chunks of lamb in the oven, and Yasmiin had dolled her up with makeup and blown out her natural curls for her. They had celebrated at home together, dancing to some Afrobeats Yasmiin had been blasting from her phone. Gunhild had also shown up with a green Prinsesstårta. The older woman had wowed the girls into a clapping frenzy when she started gyrating to the rhythmic drumming too.
Today was Muna’s birthday, and she had already lost the will to live another day.
“Thank you for remembering,” Muna managed to say.
“Of course. May I come in?”
Muna opened the door wider for Gunhild. The older woman kicked off her walking shoes and floated into the quiet apartment.
“I will prepare this for us and make some tea,” Muna said, taking the cake from Gunhild and walking into the kitchen to heat water and pull out dishes and cutlery for the cake.
She carefully carried everything into the living room, where Gunhild was sitting on the loveseat.
“Thank you,” she said.
Gunhild grabbed a mug and dunked a tea bag into it. She kept dunking, watching hot water slowly turn caramel brown. Muna sliced a piece of cake and handed it to her.
“Did you bake this?” Muna asked after a bite. Gunhild nodded proudly. “Then you must open your own bakery.”
Gunhild laughed, ending it with a pained cough. Muna looked concerned, which Gunhild waved off before turning back to her task. She was still dunking her tea bag, and Muna’s eyebrows arched as she studied the older woman, who seemed distracted. Something was wrong. It was written all over Gunhild’s face.
“Muna…” She started, still focused on her tea, which had now turned the color of weak coffee. “I have something to tell you.”
She looked up at Muna through turquoise eyes filling fast with tears, and Muna’s heart sank.
Nineteen
KẸMI
Jonny and Ragnar were already in the conference room when she arrived on time. Dammit, those punctual Swedes.
She was carrying her closed laptop, her Espresso House cup balancing on it. Both men sat at an empty table. Jonny was twiddling his thumbs nervously. Ragnar was leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. No laptops. No notebooks and pens. Kemi realized she was walking into a meeting they could have easily conducted in passing in the hallway.
“Hej!” she greeted into the air between them and made a show of setting down her coffee, settling her laptop, and flipping it open before sinking into her own chair.
“God morgon!” Jonny greeted her, adjusting in his seat. Ragnar’s “hej” was weak, but she heard it anyway.
“How was your weekend?” Jonny asked. She knew he didn’t have good news for her, because he was making small talk. He never made small talk.
“Good. Let’s jump right in. I’ve got a phone call with Bachmann at ten,” she announced.
“Of course.” He darted a quick look at Ragnar and his crossed arms. “You guys have already met.” It wasn’t a question, though Kemi and Ragnar used the opportunity to exchange loaded glances before she turned back to her boss.
“Ragnar is here to help us with the Bachmann account in Sweden. Ragnar has a strong local network of advertising and design agencies in the Nordics as creative director of his own company.” She listened to Jonny sell his friend, her whole person turned in Jonny’s direction.
She could feel Ragnar’s eyes warming her back.
“I’m sure we could use as many resources as possible on this,” Kemi said. “We only need to clarify Ragnar’s role since I’m both project manager and creative dir—” Ha, there it was. Ragnar hadn’t been bluffing about taking over as creative director when they’d briefly met in her office.
“I don’t want to be used in any more advertising.” Jonny’s voice turned stern. “What you said about me being different at Bachmann… I’m a very private man.”
“But the campaign was successful. What’s the problem now?” Kemi felt blindsided. Was he punishing her in hindsight for outing his quirks?
“You can still manage the project, but we’re thinking about bringing a Nordic style to creatively market more of Bachmann’s products.” Jonny laid out his plan. “The way you marketed B:GEM was successful because of your bold, American approach. We need something subtler and more nuanced for its new line of hiking shoes.”
“No one knows nature and the outdoors better than us,” Ragnar chimed in, uttering his first sentence of their meeting.
“Us?” She recoiled. He shrugged, arms still crossed defensively. That was when she noticed movement from down below. His trousers ruffling. He was tapping his right foot rapidly under the table. Was he nervous? She turned back to Jonny.
“If I don’t have any creative control, it doesn’t make sense for me to stay on this project.”
“I agree. You’re director of diversity and inclusion and you report to Ingrid, who is HR.” He was rewriting her fate again. “We need you to help us hire more diverse talent.”
She hadn’t expected Jonny to agree with her bold statement so quickly. She had been bluffing.
“I’m a marketing executive. That’s why you hired me. Frankly, I was surprised when I found out I would be reporting to Ingrid, but I let it slide because I thought I would have some creative direction when it came to bringing diversity into von Lundin Marketing’s work.” She took a deep breath after the words streamed out of her.
“Yes, and we will bring your expertise into projects when we need it.”
Kemi felt betrayed. After digging them out of the IKON disaster and placing them on a Bachmann pedestal, this was how she was being repaid? Rage began brewing within her. This was not what she signed up for.
“What exactly is my job, Jonny?”
Silence hung over their heads. Jonny had snatched Bachmann—her baby—out of her hands. Now he had to find a way to appease her without fully handing it over.
“Do you want to stay on as project manager?” A peace offering.
“Does that mean I have the final say?”
“It means Jonny has the final say,” Ragnar interrupted. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him.
“Very well.” She started packing up her unused laptop and undrunk coffee. “I want to stay on as project manager. I hate to admit it, but I’m emotionally invested in this account.”
Jonny’s phone rang, and he grabbed for it immediately, ignoring the fact he was in a meeting with two other people. He hummed and jaha-ed in response to the person on the other end.
Kemi sat, lips pursed, irritated that she had to wait this out. Ragnar swiveled his chair away from them, looking out the low windows, arms still crossed. She gave his back a quick look and saw it heaving beneath his shirt.
Jonny disconnected the call abruptly without a hejdå and turned back to Kemi and Ragnar. Other people must be used to him getting easily distracted, but it still grated on Kemi.
“While I have you both here,” he said, switching lanes, “I’m throwing a small dinner party for Brittany. She’s turning forty this weekend.” Ragnar was his best friend, so Kemi assumed Jonny was speaking to him. But Jonny turned to her instead.
“I would be so grateful if you can make it. Brittany doesn’t have a lot of friends here, and I think she would really appreciate having another…you know.”
“Black woman?”
“Yes, that. She feels alone sometimes, and I think having you there might lift her spirit. I’m flying her best friend, Tanesha, over to celebrate too,” he continued.
For all Kemi knew, Jonny’s wife was a myth. She’d never met the woman and had heard through office rumors that she was tall, a former model turned flight attendant, and was stunning. Now Jonny was soliciting her to entertain his wife simply because she was also Black.
“You can bring someone too, if you want. Will you consider it?”
“Of course.” Kemi nodded. Then she realized she was back to going along with whatever Jonny proposed.
“Good.” And with that, Jonny sprang to his feet and bolted out the door to his next quest, ending their meeting on an abrupt note. Kemi was left absorbing Jonny’s exit, Ragnar absorbing her from behind. She dared not turn around.
When she did, it was to his intense glare. He was giving her a glimpse into his battlefront. She got to her feet, grabbing her laptop en route.
“Kemi…”
She left before letting him finish. Once out of the conference room, Kemi leaned against the wall, eyes closed, letting air rush into her lungs. Her heart was racing, and she tried calming it down with deep breaths.
“Are you okay?” Ragnar’s bass vibrated through her, leaving the tiny hairs on her arms standing. Her eyelids flew open, only to peer right into his as he hovered close. Heat rushed to her cheeks. He had left the room and come after her.
“Yes…yes.” Kemi was flustered. “I probably need coffee, that’s all.” She took an exaggerated gulp from the cup.
“So, are we good?” He studied her intently.
“Good on what?” She pushed off the wall, standing tall.
“Me helping out with the account?”
“What do you want me to say? It’s out of my hands.” Kemi watched him shrug. “You call the creative shots now.”
“Well.” Ragnar stretched out his hand toward her. “I’m looking forward to working on this with you.” He waited for her hand. Kemi hesitated then adjusted her laptop and coffee before slipping her hand into his firm grip.
Rather than shaking it, Ragnar simply held her hand in his, his eyes hooking hers intensely, and Kemi knew she never should have let him touch her.
* * *
Those tiny, green leaves of doubt were now sprouting into large, dark fronds she wanted to rip out of her soul as savagely as she could. Years of struggling to be enough and she’d finally found a man—Tobias—who wanted nothing from her beyond basking in her presence. She thought she knew what she wanted, yet those roots were extending into her brain and grabbing deep into her psyche, trying to convince her that Tobias was unworthy. That he, a mere security guard, didn’t deserve her.
“How does this look?” Tobias asked, adjusting a silver silk tie over a gray dress shirt, while Kemi sat on her bed—more like their bed, since he’d essentially moved in months ago. She wore a burgundy wrap dress that followed her curves while dipping into a deep V at her bust and silver drop earrings that framed her face. She left her hair falling in curls around her shoulders.
“Perfect” was all she muttered as she fastened her jewelry before getting to her feet. Tobias turned toward her then swallowed up the gap between them.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hands moving to her hips. “What time do we have to be there again?” He gave her that squinty-eyed, gap-toothed grin that always melted her. This time, she resisted it, unsure of why but knowing it was tied to those green buds growing in her brain. She tentatively received his kiss but pushed him back once he tried to deepen it, telling him they had to leave for Brittany’s birthday party and she didn’t want him smudging her makeup.
Jonny’s house wasn’t easy to get to. Kemi still hadn’t bought a car because her social life orbited around downtown Stockholm and Malcolm’s jazz gigs. She usually flitted around town using the subway, trying to feel like a true Stockholmer, but that night, she ordered a taxi because they were also carrying an oversize bouquet of red tulips.
As their taxi sped toward the island of Lidingö, their driver—a Nigerian man in his forties with a phone to his ear—kept speaking loudly into the device at a decibel that drowned out the car’s engine. He kept stealing glances at Kemi through his rearview mirror as he spoke in Yoruba, her native tongue.
Hearing those familiar intonations was enough to excite Kemi and conjure up memories of her own family. She eavesdropped, soaking up the cultural source that was her lifeline. A space where she could exist without explanation. She didn’t have to strain to hear, because his words floated right back to her in a boisterous ring.
“E kpele, Mommy.” I’m sorry, Mommy.
“Ehn…ehn… e ma bi nu… Mo gba gbe ni.” Ehn… Ehn… Please don’t be angry… I forgot.
His free hand would occasionally leave the steering wheel and motion shapes to the woman on the phone, who clearly couldn’t see what he was doing. Then his eyes traveled back to Kemi once more. The look was one of awareness. He had recognized her as one of his sisters, dressed in a way that suggested money, alongside a brother, albeit one who looked like he had blood from this country. Kemi tried averting her eyes, unsure of how to read his look. Whether it was one of pride, disappointment, or simply a brazen willingness to take Tobias’s spot by her side.
“Herregud,” Tobias muttered under his breath, flashing her animated Yoruba brother a look of irritation. She turned to look at him. He stared back at her. “Does he need to speak that loudly? I mean, seriously?”
Tobias didn’t drop it. “Seriously, why all the theatrics?” Tobias’s judgment didn’t sit properly with her.
“He’s just speaking to his mother. It’s urgent,” she said in a low voice in the man’s defense. Was Tobias embarrassed by his darker counterparts who spoke too loudly? She hadn’t noticed Tobias for weeks because he had been a wallflower at Espresso House before he approached her. She wished Tobias also spoke as loudly as this man who—damn it!—was still occasionally leering at her through the rearview mirror.
“Yes, but he has to be considerate. A little more lagom.” Tobias seemed exasperated. “He’s going to get us killed!”
Kemi studied Tobias, eyebrows bunching. While he did have a point, she needed reasons to keep that cerebral weed growing. She added this exchange with Tobias to her sparse list of reasons.
When they got to Jonny’s house forty-five minutes later, it was exactly what Kemi envisioned it would be. A minimalist waterfront abode with sharp architectural lines and a view reserved for Stockholm’s elite. Jonny answered the door with Merlot in hand and received the couple with a nod, before leading them into a room framed by high ceilings and glass walls on three sides.
It was an intimate party. She counted ten guests including herself and Tobias. There was Jonny, Brittany, Ingrid and her husband, Oskar,
Espen and his Cape Verdean wife, Rosa, and Ragnar with a strong arm around the narrow waist of his fair-haired wife, Pia. Suddenly, Kemi felt self-conscious, the fabric of her burgundy dress now constricting her like a snake.
Tanesha, Brittany’s best friend, had been delayed and was overnighting in Jonny’s London pad before heading to Stockholm the next morning.
“So great to finally meet you.” Brittany bent low to give Kemi a hug, before stretching back to her full height to give Tobias one too. Kemi handed her the bouquet of red tulips, so large she had to carry them with both hands. Brittany thanked them for their thoughtfulness. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress that Kemi was sure had Armani or Dolce & Gabbana sewn into its tag. She wore her hair straight and parted down the middle like a statuesque Nia Long.
“Likewise! You actually exist,” Kemi joked. Brittany laughed, and both women were left wondering why they hadn’t connected sooner. Maybe they could have been friends all this time.
They took their seats around a large dining table that had been decorated with white linens, brass napkin holders, polished silverware, and small bouquets of white daisies horizontally cutting through the rectangular table. Dinner was a five-course extravaganza of scallops, salmon tartare, pork belly, braised lamb, and a blackberry pavlova birthday dessert. The catering staff of three ran in and out of the kitchen all night.
Over the clicking and clacking of expensive cutlery, they learned more about the various significant others. Everyone was clearly putting their best feet forward. Espen’s wife, Rosa, had been a dentist in Cape Verde and was now going through the motions of recertification here in Stockholm. Ingrid’s husband, Oskar, was into the burgeoning startup scene here in town. His gaming company had recently secured another thirty-eight million kronor in funding.
Everyone toasted his success with “Skål!” The group broke intermittently to salute the birthday girl, who looked every bit the queen sitting at one end of the table, her king at the other. Only ten people at her fortieth birthday. It felt like an injustice to Kemi. Such a milestone party would shut down a street in Lagos, Nigeria, or fill up a hall in the U.S. within her own circles.
In Every Mirror She's Black Page 27
