Niklas was eating slowly, watching his family on the other side of the table. It was only December seventeenth and, in his opinion, a bit early for Christmas decorations, but he had decided with his daughter not to wait until the last minute. So, the table was decorated with small Santa Clauses made of white porcelain and the room was lit by the warm glow of a garland with Christmas lights. They knew that if they brought a tree into the house now, it would hardly survive until Christmas Eve. So they hung the lights on the lamp above the table and turned them on instead of the regular light.
His daughter was wearing a sweater with small red and green lights that blinked, and he himself wore a red Christmas tie. His suit was, of course, gray as always. There had to be some measure to the madness. He brought the fork to his mouth for another bite. A piece of roasted pineapple, glazed with ginger, chili, and honey. Personally, he didn't believe that fruit belonged in a main course, but his daughter loved pineapple. She probably preferred it to the juicy Kobe beef. No problem, more exquisite delicacy on his plate.
The others at the table were just as busy with their food, so they didn't seem to notice the way he was looking at them. That was good. He probably looked completely ridiculous, but there was nothing he could do about it. Still, he felt, for lack of a better word, calm. The feeling was unfamiliar, although in the end it hadn't been that hard to achieve. It didn't require a brilliant career, even though he was extremely successful. Nor a penthouse on Linnegatan in Östermalm, although he truly appreciated the comfortable life he lived with his daughter.