In Every Mirror She's Black

by Lolá Ákínmádé Åkerström

  As Muna inched closer, she realized Gunhild seemed to be sleeping with her eyes open, her neck propped at an odd angle on her shoulder. “Gunhild?” she called her again. Those turquoise blues seemed dull, but her face had relaxed the way it often did when she was laughing or in a jovial mood. Her mouth was hanging slightly open with a smirk. Her fragile hands were cradling a single photo in her lap. Her Togolese lover.

  “No, no, no, no…” The words flew out of Muna like bullets, the same way they had rushed out when she’d witnessed Ahmed set himself ablaze.

  “Why?” she cried out to Allah. “Why did it have to be her?” Muna wailed. Why had everyone she had ever loved been yanked so suddenly away from her?

  Was love this painful? Was she so difficult to love that it cost other people their lives? Conflicting thoughts raced through Muna’s mind as she tried processing her feelings.

  “Hooyo!” she screamed. “Hooyo!” She wasn’t sure whether her cries for “Mother” were for Caaliyah or Gunhild, but they echoed through the modest apartment.

  Devastation and fear ripped through her. She was all alone in the world once more. She had no one.

  Gunhild had been recovering from her radiation treatments. Her body had been too weak. Had Muna conjured up too many memories out of curiosity, flooding Gunhild so her heart could no longer take it all? Had Gunhild finally become happy?

  If only she had minded her own business, Muna cried. If only she hadn’t dug into Gunhild’s past. Khadiija had always called her nosy. Yasmiin had always likened her to a curious goat. Both Khadiija and Yasmiin were no longer in her life. This was what happened when she tried to get too close to people, to learn to love, to build a family. They either went away or died.

  Muna fell to the floor as her screams pierced the room. She kept gasping for air, fearing she was never going to get enough oxygen to keep her breathing.

  Visions of Ahmed flashed across her mind. Of his disarming smile and golden glare. Of the way he fully took her in as they sat silently in each other’s company without needing words to express their love.

  And Muna wailed “Habib Albi” over and over again as she lay on the floor crushed by her memories. The love of my heart.

  When the paramedics arrived to move the body later that morning, Muna was sitting on the floor, her back against a wall, her eyes blank. They spoke to her in Swedish, trying to prod answers out of her to their “what, when, how” questions—­when she had found the body, what her relationship with Gunhild was like, how long they’d known each other, how her condition was when they’d been laughing together into the previous night.

  They suspected complications relating to her cancer and radiation treatments but needed to take the body in for an official autopsy. Their words simply buzzed around Muna inaudibly because none of it was making any sense.

  From the corner of her eyes, she saw a team of two work around Gunhild’s body, before heaving it onto a stretcher and covering it with a white sheet. Muna didn’t turn to look. She kept staring into a void, wondering if she was indeed dreaming. Dreaming that Azeez had actually texted her that Yagiz had given her back her job. Then she could rewind back to the morning and wake up once the alarm clock on her phone actually shrilled.

  “We will call you as soon as we have more information,” one of the paramedics informed her, worry etched across his olive-­colored face as he glanced down at her. Muna didn’t turn to look up at him. She simply nodded her response.

  “Do you have any family to call?”

  Muna shook her head, biting hard on her lower lip. Her tear ducts were dry.

  “What about friends?” the man asked. He didn’t want her to be alone in the apartment at the moment, he stressed.

  Muna shook her head once more.

  “Do you have anywhere else to go?” he continued to prod.

  Muna remained quiet for a few moments. Yes, there was still one more place where she could go. A place that added purpose to her very existence at the moment.

  Muna slowly nodded before mouthing, “Work.”

  Twenty-­Three

  KẸMI

  Kemi burst out of the revolving doors and gasped for air, the cool winter chill rushing into her lungs. She paused to regain control.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic, she kept telling herself, trying to calm her racing heart. A futile task. She pulled out her phone and booked a taxi through an app. The nearest one was six minutes away. She waited out there in the cold, not risking going back in there when colleagues roamed around like zombies. Ingrid had probably started spreading the news, which would have reached Louise by now. And she knew Louise wasn’t one to hold on to secrets, since strategically leaking information was her pastime.

  The sounds of a man screaming, “Jocke!” alongside the distant wails of an ambulance’s sirens caught her attention. Right across the street from the hotel, something was going on. A man was lying on the ground unmoving, a small crowd was gathering, and a handful of people seemed to be yelling and chasing after someone who had just ducked into the subway.

  She had debated taking the train home but knew she couldn’t. Besides the commotion unfolding in front of her, she couldn’t sit and bear strangers judging her in expensive black lace, out way past midnight. She couldn’t let them see trails of mascara running down her cheeks once the tears came.

  And she knew they would come because she was disgusted at herself.

  The private, nonjudgmental bubble of a taxi was what she needed right now until she could get back home to Nacka and into Tobias’s arms. He was probably up waiting for her, watching a crappy movie, curious to hear how her evening went.

  She gently rocked herself warm with her back turned against the doors, waiting for her taxi to hurry the fuck up. She needed to get out of there.

  “Hej då, Kemi!” a familiar voice called out, wishing her good night. A few more “hej då”s were thrown her way as groups came out, making their way home or to a nearby joint for more drinks. A clutch of male voices floated into the air, and she closed her eyes when she heard Ragnar’s pitch among them.

  “Kemi!” Jonny called out. She was forced to turn around. Jonny rushed up to give her a hug, followed by an exaggerated peck on the cheek. “Tusen tack! Thank you for another amazing year with us!”

  Jonny was clearly drunk. He never touched anyone when sober. She had already deduced this while working with him.

  The sirens got louder. The ambulance’s blinking lights flashed all around upon its approach, but over Jonny’s shoulder, Kemi caught Ragnar’s cloudy eyes. They only saw each other.

  Jonny was momentarily distracted by the flashing lights as the motion drew him like a sensor. Then he snapped out of his daze.

  “God Jul!” Merry Christmas! Jonny turned around and patted his friend on the back to prod him along. Ragnar hesitated. He exchanged words in Swedish with his boss-­friend, and Jonny waved him off.

  Kemi turned away, still waiting for her taxi. One minute, the app assured her. God, please let him go away, she prayed. Please. She felt a leather-­gloved finger hook one of hers resting by her side. It tugged lightly to get her attention. She didn’t oblige him, so he stepped in closer, threading all five fingers with hers. She felt his breath trail her neck, his fresh-­forest scent soothing her, and she shut her eyelids. They stood in silence waiting for her taxi.

  Right on time, the black cab pulled up in front of them. Ragnar opened the door to let her in. Once inside, she tried pulling it shut, but he slid in right next to her, settling in and taking off his gloves.

  “Nacka, ja?” The taxi driver double-­checked her destination in accented Swedish.

  “Ja, tack,” she confirmed, strapping herself in. “Till…” Ragnar swallowed her words with a swift kiss. Not the frantic desperation they had shared in the elevator. This was calculated, slow-­burn lust, dripping into her in bits and pieces. He didn�
��t need to make love to her. He was already coursing through every vein.

  The button signaling an unfastened seat belt started beeping, and the driver just watched them kiss in his back seat, unsure of when to jump in to interrupt. The beeping grated as he pulled out of parking mode. His voice rose, urging Ragnar to fasten up.

  “KÖR!” DRIVE!

  Ragnar’s voice was terse. It surprised their driver and jolted him into action with a foot on the accelerator. As they sped away, Ragnar unlatched her belt and pulled her toward him, intensifying their kiss, his tongue claiming every inch of her mouth. His hands reached into her coat to find her butt and pinned her firmly to him.

  “Ragnar…”

  “I know somewhere we can go,” he whispered against her mouth before tugging her with another kiss.

  “Go home to your wife,” Kemi whispered back against his lips, out of earshot of the driver, who kept stealing glances at them. Ragnar pulled back to study her with darkened eyes.

  “We can’t do this,” she continued.

  “I know you want me.” He was breathless, his hands tightening on her rear, locking her against him so she felt his want too. She reached up to stroke his square jaw, tracing his lower lip with her thumb, and shook her head.

  “This is reckless. You’re married,” Kemi cried. “And Tobias makes me happy.”

  “Happy enough to be here?” Not waiting for her rebuttal, Ragnar pulled her head down for another scorching kiss while reaching to push the heavy coat off her shoulders.

  “Go home to Pia,” she whispered uselessly, letting him deepen the kiss anyway, his tongue twisting hers into submission. What else could that tongue do?

  “Ssshhh,” he hushed, kissing her to stop her from saying his wife’s name.

  “Nooo, go home. Okay? Go home,” she murmured. Her body surrendered, at odds with her words. She let him touch her as she’d dreamed. His hands stroked her arms speckled with goose bumps. They moved down to her thighs, over her long, black, lace ball gown, in search of hems to grab and pull up.

  “Please,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. The low rumble of despair and desire. A planet afraid its light source was slipping away. “Let me take you there.”

  “Ursäkta!” the taxi driver called out. “URSÄKTA!” EXCUSE ME! He raised his voice before proceeding to tell them having sex in his car was forbidden.

  Kemi began to quiver against Ragnar’s lips. He pulled back, taking in Kemi’s crumbling face. He tried thumbing away her tears, but they kept falling faster than he could reach them.

  She felt herself begin to shake. Why was she doing this all over again? She thought she’d left this mucky, self-­destructive side of herself behind in the States. That soft, self-­sacrificing part that drew men who only wanted to empty themselves into her because she truly believed she couldn’t have it all. A high-­powered executive with the perfect partner who would truly love every imperfect inch of her too.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Ragnar asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

  Kemi kept sobbing, and he gathered her into his arms, cradling her. They watched Gamla stan’s sparkling lights fade into the distance as the taxi crossed over to Södermalm and made its U-­turn toward Nacka.

  Ragnar let her cry against his shoulder, lust slowly fizzling out of her body as she became limper with each passing mile. She was silently letting him go. She had fought the turmoil she’d had for months and had won.

  Kemi looked up and caught his face flush red. She wasn’t sure if it was from shame or anger.

  Their attraction felt primordial. If they got together, they’d forever be colliding without enough reprieve or pause to see if they were actually meant to love each other. This wasn’t what she needed. She needed something else that Ragnar couldn’t give her beyond this ephemeral intensity.

  “I have to hand over Bachmann,” he said. “I can’t work with you.”

  She didn’t protest his decision. He should resign for both their sakes. Ragnar was privileged enough to be able to find another client within the week. She wasn’t worried about him. Sweden hadn’t given her that privilege.

  The taxi was a few hundred feet from her apartment when she turned back to Ragnar. He bent low to kiss her. She received his tender kiss, his tongue stroking hers slowly.

  Then he murmured words against her lips. “What a waste.”

  She pulled back sharply and caught his smirk.

  When the taxi stopped in front of her building, Ragnar grabbed her right hand before she climbed out and lifted her hand to his mouth.

  “Too bad,” he said, giving the back of her palm a quick kiss. “You would have been one sweet fuck.” He peered at her, and shame washed over Kemi anew.

  Ragnar didn’t care about her. He was married to his first choice. He was just another Connor who wanted to sample her like cheese handed out on toothpicks.

  She was never going to escape herself, Kemi realized now. Running didn’t help. She needed balance. Her own moon that would rise and fall with her, keeping her equilibrium, loving her unconditionally. That was true love. Not this. That was how the universe worked. A perpetual state of balance. Ragnar was a sun to her sun. They’d burn each other up within a year. To stay alive, she had to set herself free. What she needed all along was waiting for her in Nacka.

  She needed a moon instead.

  Kemi yanked her hand out of Ragnar’s grip and swept it hard across his face. He received her hit then turned back to her, his sapphire eyes blazing with spite, his jaw clenched.

  Kemi climbed out of the taxi and didn’t look back.

  She walked to the front door, her head light and shoulders heavy. Calmly punching in the key code, she waited for the familiar opening buzz. Their apartment was pitch-­black when she stepped in, save for flickering light coming from the living room. She found a tired Tobias sitting in the dark with a bag of pretzels, watching a movie.

  “Hej!” he called out, trailing off with a yawn. “How did it go?”

  She glanced down at her watch. Twelve thirty-­three a.m. He’d waited up for her.

  Sliding out of her coat and letting it fall to the wooden floor, she kicked off her black heels then joined him on the sofa. She reached into his bag and grabbed a pretzel in silence. A few moments later, the weed in her brain fell out, uprooting itself completely and transforming into words once it reached her lips.

  “Tobias,” she called out softly.

  “Hmm?” he murmured on the brink of surrendering to sleep.

  “Move back to the States with me. Please.”

  BRITTANY-­RAE

  Brittany’s phone rang and rang, dancing on the nightstand. The tenth time in just fifteen minutes. Then silence once more. She glanced at her phone. Three thirty-­five a.m.

  Brittany was relieved that Maya was safely hidden away at the hotel and out of Jonny’s grasp. She needed space to think. To fully process the fact that Jonny had lied to her face. The one thing she’d convinced herself he couldn’t do with conviction, the one thing their entire relationship was built upon.

  As depraved as she’d felt when she first thought it, she had basked in the fact that Jonny was obsessed with her and lavished her with attention. That her husband loved her with everything he had. Until she realized she was just a warm, flesh-­and-­blood stand-­in for a ghost.

  She had left a good man for him.

  Brittany had barricaded herself in one of their guest rooms. At first Jonny had tried pounding his way in. She knew he was scared that he had broken something he could never fix. Not with his money anyway. He kept yelling her name over and over again. Out in their secluded piece of woodland, it might as well have been whispers. He clawed and clawed at the door.

  And then he stopped banging.

  Now he was ringing from outside that bedroom door. She contemplated calling the police, but she wasn�
�t sure what she would say. I’d like to report an emergency… My husband is a liar?

  The ringing eventually stopped and then came a low rapping on the door before a female voice came through.

  “Mrs. von Lundin?” The soft-­spoken British accent of her au pair floated through the door. “Mrs. von Lundin?”

  Brittany rushed to the door and leaned against it.

  She bit her lower lip, fighting back tears.

  “Vicky?”

  “It’s me, Mrs. von Lundin,” she said. “Maya is fine. She’s with Mr. von Lundin.” Brittany stifled a gasp with a quick palm over her mouth.

  “How…how did you get here?” But she already knew. Stockholm didn’t belong to her. It belonged to Jonny.

  “Louise came to get us from the hotel. She said it was urgent. I had no choice, Mrs. von Lundin.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Brittany calmed her breathing. “It’s not your fault.” Then she gently opened the door to find her au pair standing wide-­eyed with remorse. “It’s okay.”

  “They’re in Maya’s room.”

  Brittany made her way to the world of unicorns that was their daughter’s kingdom. The door was ajar, and she heard giggling. Maya was wide awake as Jonny carried her around the room, still wearing his clothes from the office Christmas party. His hair was disheveled, and he looked tired.

  Brittany leaned in through the door and heard him singing. Chanting Maya’s favorite nursery rhyme in Swedish as he carried her, rocking from foot to foot, his voice hovering just above a whisper.

  Lilla snigel akta dig,

  akta dig, akta dig

  lilla snigel akta dig

  annars tar jag dig.

  He turned toward the door and saw Brittany. His exhausted eyes locked on hers, but he kept singing and rocking Maya. She cooed in his arms, basking in her father’s love. She was the only one who could bring Jonny to his knees. This sweet little girl called Maya.

  He stopped and pierced Brittany with that intensity that often asphyxiated her. He slowly walked up to her, landing in his favorite spot, inches from her face. Then he repeated the last line as he peered at her, singing in a whisper.