In Every Mirror She's Black

by Lolá Ákínmádé Åkerström

  As Ragnar’s wife talked about her job in PR promoting Nordic luxury brands and her dedication to working out and yoga, Kemi couldn’t help but notice Ragnar’s muscled arm possessively resting on the back of his wife’s chair. Ragnar drank often, assessing the party between sips of wine but never saying a word. Kemi wondered if his usual snark seemed to have been snuffed out by Tobias’s presence.

  The only words Ragnar exchanged with Tobias were to ask him if he was a Swede and which part of town he lived in. All Tobias told the group was that he was half Gambian and worked in security. Tobias didn’t give any more details, leaving them wondering if it was stock securities or IT security.

  As person of the hour, Brittany went last. She skipped the part about being a flight attendant and dove right into her past as a model and how she was slowly looking to crack into Stockholm’s fashion scene as a budding designer.

  “How’s your Swedish?” Ragnar’s question was directed at Brittany, cutting through the buoyant chatter. Brittany peered at him before laughing.

  “I can’t even say hello properly,” she joked. “I find it so hard. I mean, when I go to stores, some attendants are rather rude when I use my sorry Swedish until I switch to my American accent. I figure, why learn Swedish if everyone speaks English anyway and customer service improves tenfold?” She laughed again before lifting a glass of Cabernet to her cherry-­red lips.

  “If I had all that time doing nothing, my Swedish would be a whole lot better by now,” Kemi casually said before reaching for her third glass of red wine. She turned to look around when the table fell into a hush.

  It was at that moment Kemi knew that warm feeling of sisterhood she had felt with Brittany earlier died an instant death.

  “Being a mother is the hardest job in the world.” Brittany’s tone was stern. “I don’t count that as doing nothing.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to discredit you. I mean, I know you do have help. I mean, just that, if you wanted to learn, you could find time.” Kemi was digging herself into a deeper hole. Tobias placed a hand on her thigh underneath the table to stop her. Brittany was clearly upset.

  “How is your Swedish?” Brittany clapped back, and Kemi had to apologize, saying it wasn’t her intent to upset and disparage her. It was unfortunately too late. It seemed Brittany wasn’t one to forgive easily.

  The rest of dinner was filled with an underlying tension. Kemi reached for her phone to bring up a taxi app and request a ride. A notification beeped indicating her taxi was ten minutes away. In the meantime, she exchanged hugs with the birthday crew then found herself in front of Brittany, tail between her legs.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kemi apologized wholeheartedly. Brittany nodded, but her goodbye hug felt cold. The noncommittal grasp Kemi sensed in that embrace said everything. They would remain cordial, nothing more.

  While she waited for Tobias, who had gone off in search of a toilet, Ragnar sauntered over to where she was standing by the front door, his eyes reaching her first, a wine glass in hand. She’d lost count of how many he’d downed.

  “It was good to see you outside of work.” His words were hushed, a little slurred from the wine. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” She held Ragnar’s gaze, watching his pupils dilate under the low light, his eyes getting darker. They roamed over her dress and back to her face. “That is your color,” he remarked, his blues locking hers in place. She bit her lower lip.

  “Klar, älskling?” Tobias cut through Ragnar’s flirting, sliding his arm around Kemi’s waist, ready to leave. She turned to Tobias, and he planted a possessive kiss on her lips. Ragnar didn’t backtrack or turn to go. She caught him watching them, his oceans churning. Ragnar stood rooted in place, sipping from his glass and drinking them in as they kissed.

  As the taxi ferreted them across the Lidingö bridge toward Stockholm proper, way past midnight, Tobias finally spoke words into the void.

  “Is that your kind of crowd?”

  “What do you mean?” Kemi asked, her head lying drowsily on his shoulder.

  “You know, guys who make a shitload of money? Who run the world standing shoulder to shoulder so no one else can break through?”

  “If I wanted to be with that crowd, I wouldn’t be with you, would I?” She tried allaying his fears. It did quite the opposite, because Tobias frowned back at her, trying to parse her words.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” she began to apologize. “I mean, I chose you instead of them.”

  “Well, there’s certainly one person there who wants you in his crowd,” Tobias muttered, looking out the window, twinkling city lights turning into horizontal streaks as they traveled.

  “Don’t be silly,” Kemi said nervously. “Who?”

  Tobias turned to look at her, but he didn’t have to say the name.

  BRITTANY-­RAE

  The day Brittany decided to perpetually use English in Sweden had started as any ordinary day.

  Away from Lidingö’s protective bubble, she often felt bare and vulnerable when navigating town, and when she had to speak Swedish, she retreated with insecurity like a snail into its shell once touched. Maya was with her au pair as usual, while Brittany had taken a taxi from Lidingö island to Östermalm to pick up the Armani dress she had ordered for her birthday—­a birthday she wasn’t looking forward to.

  She was turning forty and had no one to invite.

  Besides promising to fly Tanesha in for her big day, Jonny had also rounded up a measly number of people in his current Stockholm circle, including some work colleagues who were Black or had brown spouses, thinking that these strangers’ mere presence would make her feel more at home. She understood his intent, but it wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that after all this time in Stockholm, she had buried herself in a cushy maternal bubble with no friends of her own.

  Her meager social life in Sweden revolved around Jonny’s oldest sister. She often spent Sundays at Antonia’s, pushing Maya’s stroller more than half a mile over to her place, while her au pair walked behind them carrying a hefty diaper bag overflowing with supplies. Antonia had grown fonder of her niece with each passing month, grieving the fact that she’d never had a girl herself.

  But even his sisters couldn’t make her birthday party due to prior commitments.

  Picking up her dress had gone without incident, but when she decided to duck into the nearby luxury shopping center MOOD, she met an adversary. She’d casually strolled into a women’s apparel store behind a heavyset Black African woman sporting red braids, when a svelte attendant clad in black with severe eyebrows and nude lips blocked the woman’s advance.

  “Can I help you?” The attendant asked the woman in English before she had fully stepped into the store, inadvertently blocking Brittany’s entrance and stalling her behind their conversation. The woman launched into fluent Swedish, which Brittany didn’t understand a word of. It seemed those words hadn’t been enough for the attendant, who shook her head and pointed to the mannequins in the window display.

  The African woman seemed distressed, taken aback by what the attendant seemed to be saying. Her pitch, fringed with frustration, got louder, and then she turned to go, visibly shaken. Brittany watched her shuffle away, shoulders hunched, before turning back to the attendant. She knew this wasn’t the right time to practice her nonexistent Swedish.

  “What was wrong with that lady?” Brittany spoke in English, her American accent sailing through. She saw the attendant relax into a disposition enveloped with awe.

  “Hiiii!” the attendant greeted. “Oh, I just told her we didn’t carry her size, that was all,” she said in a forced American English accent.

  “She seemed upset, though. Was she shopping for herself or someone else?” Brittany was curious.

  The attendant went silent for a moment before confessing that she hadn’t asked.

  * * *

/>   A topless Jonny reached wide palms around Brittany to cup her breasts, but she elbowed him off. She was standing in front of their bathroom mirror, applying her signature cherry-­red lipstick—­the same shade she’d been wearing the day they’d met in business class en route to DC.

  “Stop,” she reprimanded as she pressed her lips together to even out and seal in the color. She caught his eyes through the mirror and read his face completely. Yeah, he would gladly skip the party too. He grabbed his black shirt and buttoned it over gray pants, matching his wife’s chosen look for the evening.

  Tanesha’s flight had been delayed, which meant she wasn’t going to make their dinner, though Brittany was looking forward to meeting Kemi, a fellow American. Well, a Nigerian-­born, naturalized American, who had essentially helped Jonny land a major campaign. She wondered why they hadn’t connected before in person. After all, they’d both moved to Sweden because Jonny had brought them here.

  Jonny’s phone beeped, and Brittany saw Ragnar’s name flash across it. She promptly rolled her eyes. Their feeling of disdain for each other was mutual. Jonny’s best friend had arrived early with Pia, and they’d made themselves at home downstairs while the caterers worked to prepare the five-­course dinner in the kitchen.

  Jonny jogged down the winding staircase, Brittany following five minutes later as the guests began coming in. Kemi and her plus one were the last to arrive.

  There she was. The woman for whom her husband had flown all the way to the U.S. to personally recruit. Something burned within Brittany along the lines of jealousy. She pored over the curvy lady, who had deep dimples and was carrying an impressive bouquet of tulips in her favorite color. Kemi walked up to her, and Brittany couldn’t help but take in her curves—­from bounteous breasts to broad hips. Enough to elicit envy from any man wishing to replace her dress with his body wrapped around hers.

  As the night went on, Brittany was visibly shocked when she realized that Ragnar was that man.

  Brittany watched as his eyes followed Kemi across the room, trailing her every movement. They stealthily danced over her curves. He hid behind several glasses of wine or behind Pia as they worked the room. If Kemi was aware that she was the object of his fascination, she did an impeccable job of hiding it.

  Their conversation ebbed and flowed, with Brittany growing to like Kemi with each passing topic, until Ragnar questioned Brittany’s lack of Swedish in front of everyone. Her vulnerable spot. She wanted to recoil snail-­style, but she couldn’t. All eyes were trained on her, and her hatred for Ragnar reached new depths.

  She tried to defend herself, her mind conjuring up her experience at that apparel store earlier that afternoon, and the difference in treatment the African with the red braids had received. She never wanted to feel that exposed again in Sweden, so she wrapped her Americanness around her like a protective cape.

  She half expected Kemi to jump in with reinforcement and an anecdote about how pulling out her American card had been worthwhile on occasion. So Brittany was stunned when Kemi didn’t. Brittany wanted to scream at her. How dare you judge me for not speaking Swedish?

  But visions of her Maya bubbled up instead. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling in addition to anger. If it was hurt, betrayal, or disappointment that Kemi had chosen to inadvertently belittle her in front of their group where white skin outnumbered theirs.

  Kemi began to apologize, digging herself deeper. Brittany noticed Tobias, bless his heart, trying to reel his woman in by leaning closer, moving his arm toward her, his hand clearly doing something under the table. The verbal knife had already broken skin because Kemi thought she was better than her. Any flickers of sisterhood shattered that evening. Kemi had decided to judge her because Jonny took care of her while Kemi took care of herself.

  Brittany excused herself from the table for a quick bathroom break.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry she upset you,” Jonny apologized as he watched Brittany undress for the night. He was already naked and buried under the plush sheets, eagerly waiting for her to hop in and thank him for the party.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Brittany pulled off her earrings.

  “Did you like it?” Jonny asked.

  “The party?”

  He nodded. She hadn’t. The only person she loved besides Jonny, Maya, and her parents was Tanesha, and she hadn’t been there. Instead, she had been stuck between Ragnar’s sanctimony and Kemi’s self-­righteousness.

  In hindsight, maybe they were made for each other, the way Ragnar’s eyes had ravaged her. For Brittany, her sweetest revenge would be to witness Ragnar lose a sleepless battle against lust over a woman he could never publicly carry on his arm. Ragnar had yet to convince her he wasn’t prejudiced against Black women.

  “Did you see how Ragnar was acting tonight?” Brittany changed the topic. Jonny wasn’t having it. He couldn’t give a damn what Ragnar had been doing that night. He wanted to know if she had liked the party. He asked her again once she climbed in beside him.

  “Thank you, Jonny,” she said to placate him and gave him a scant kiss before turning away and pulling the sheets over her shoulder.

  Silence filled their room once more. She heard his soft breaths behind her and knew he was still propped up on an elbow, staring at her back.

  And for the first time since she started sharing his bed, Jonny didn’t reach for her.

  MUNA

  Gunhild and Muna strolled around the block side by side, Muna slowing her pace to match Gunhild’s laborious steps. Gunhild was giving Muna time to process the news. How could a perfectly healthy woman who walked more miles per day than Muna walked in a month get this sick so quickly?

  “This type of cancer runs in my family,” Gunhild had explained before sipping her tea when they’d been in the apartment and she had initially shared the news. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing more my doctors can do if the next set of treatments don’t work.”

  Muna had quietly digested Gunhild’s news, not knowing what to say, what questions to ask, or how to console her. Everyone she’d loved—­her father, her mother, her brother, her Ahmed—­had died right in front of her. Khadiija was on trial with her residency in jeopardy. Yasmiin was long gone. Now she was going to witness the only person she had left to care about die a slow, painful death. Muna was finding it more and more difficult to see the point of living anymore. Gunhild had suggested they go for a brisk walk around the block to shake off the bad news.

  “Have you made new friends?” Gunhild cut into Muna’s thoughts.

  “No,” she told Gunhild. The older woman bobbed her head in thought.

  “Do you have anywhere to go?”

  She shook her head. She had to leave the subsidized apartment for the next wave of refugees, making space for the others to land on their feet when she hadn’t even found her footing. Even though she’d managed to save about seventy thousand kronor, she still felt like a failure. Maybe once she was eligible to apply for citizenship in three years, it would all be better. Being a Swedish citizen would open up more doors that were currently closed to her.

  Gunhild took a deep breath as they continued walking down Muna’s street.

  “Do you still want to be an accountant?” Gunhild asked. Muna looked at her, surprised that she was dredging it up again.

  “Yes… Yes, of course, but I also need to work. I need to have a good job and show I can support myself and not just take money.” Muna wasn’t sure who she was proving this to, but thoughts of Mr. Björn and his flat voice telling her to be good swam in her mind. She had three more years. She could see them hovering at the horizon of her life.

  “Good!” Gunhild seemed excited. “Then I have a proposal for you.” Muna’s interest was now piqued. What was Gunhild thinking about?

  “I want you to become an accountant too. I know you can. You’re so smart.”

  “Thank
you.”

  “You can move into my spare bedroom for free on one condition.” Gunhild turned to look at Muna, whose face had begun to light up. “You go to school to become an accountant.”

  Muna was relieved. With one week to go in her apartment, Gunhild was redirecting her trajectory and giving her newfound hope in her future.

  “Thank you, Gunhild! Thank you!” Muna wrapped her arms around the older lady as tightly as she could until Gunhild had to cough for air.

  “It’s the least I can do for you, Muna. I have no children of my own, and you’ve come to be like a daughter to me. Plus, I need help around the house. I’m getting much weaker these days.” Gunhild paused.

  Muna’s eyes filled with tears, letting the gravity of Gunhild’s words fully sink in. Gunhild had just called her “daughter.” She had parsed out that single word from Gunhild’s stream of speech. Muna sniffed back her tears, halting them. She couldn’t sob in front of Gunhild. Not now.

  “I will help you clean and take care of the house,” Muna said proudly. She explained her chores as a janitor at both Solsidans Asylcenter and von Lundin Marketing. She was good at cleaning. She thought about her dishwashing job at the Lebanese restaurant and asked Gunhild if she could keep it.

  “Dream bigger than those dishes, Muna,” Gunhild said before launching into another coughing fit.

  After exchanging hugs, Gunhild left, and Muna took a deep breath, feeling lighter. One weight off her chest, and she didn’t feel like she was sinking as fast as she initially had thought.

  Muna ran into her bedroom to pore over the photos tacked on her magnetic board. She beelined over to smiling Ahmed with the black-­faced sheep on his shoulders and pressed her lips to it, which she often did when she was happy. She loved sharing her small wins with Ahmed. When she’d first met Khadiija and Yasmiin. When she’d landed her job as a janitor. She also shared her sorrows with him. How she missed his quiet presence around her. How she missed their chats on the verandah. She had kissed that photo multiple times with more tears than smiles on her face.