“What is it like?” I ask.

“It’s sweet,” Liam says.

“Richer than cow’s milk,” Seung Hun says.

“It depends on the day, too,” Liam says.

“That’s true,” Seung Hun says. “Like, if Maddy ate a lot of that döner kebab the night before, the milk will be more savory.”

“Meaty,” Liam says.

“That doesn’t sound appetizing,” I say.

“Her tits are perfect,” Liam says.

“Better than Soo Yeon’s bosom?” I ask Seung Hun.

“No woman’s tits will ever match Soo Yeon’s bosom,” he says, “or her coy smile, her hair so dark it’s almost indigo. When I see how she moves about a room, I want to take her in my arms. I go crazy watching her paint those adorable baby toes while tanning by the pool. Sometimes she takes off her top and asks me to apply lotion on her back. Lotion!”

Seung Hun stands up and he’s got a chubby. It tells the time of day in the amphitheater like a sundial. Bits of grass and dirt are stuck in the sweaty turf of his chest, his pubic hair, the fuzzy pink slippers.

“Soo Yeon!” he bellows to the cheap seats, spreading his arms wide. “You are a goddess! Hear me, one and all! I confess! I want to kill my father and marry my mother!”

Soo Yeon isn’t really Seung Hun’s mother, obviously. She’s a famous actress who walked into his father’s plastic surgery practice. Seung Hun’s father is perhaps the most sought-after cosmetic doctor in Seoul. After he opened Soo Yeon’s skin with a scalpel, he married her. Seung Hun’s real mother, fed up with being bombarded by the billboards of her husband’s new wife, moved to Australia with her little boy to live among relatives. Ever since, Seung Hun has flown back and forth between the two countries, slavishly doting on Soo Yeon with gifts and trinkets, emails and letters, perfumed odes that he hides among her things. That is, until he got banned from his father’s mansion for a reason that he won’t reveal.

It’s Jørgen’s turn for a ration from Maddy during dinner. We listen to him lapping as we pick at plates of eggplant and lamb. It makes us uncomfortable. He refuses to nurse like everybody else and feels compelled to plant delicate kisses around her areolae. I can tell by the way he breastfeeds that he thinks he’s so special. What exactly is he trying to prove? Does he imagine he’s doing this for Maddy’s benefit? For ours? Seung Hun sits like a sultan on a throne of tasseled pillows, sending text after text into the ether, until he steps outside in his robe and slippers to place a call. In the same corner Carl is on his laptop trying to video-chat his daughter without the knowledge of his wife.

“Emily, honey,” he says, “do you remember what I taught you—to erase the history once we’re done talking?”

“Yes, Dad,” crackles through the speakers. Carl plugs in headphones and Emily’s words are lost to me.