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Ethan is at the Opera Bar. He’s found a good table with an unobstructed view of the harbor, and he’s ordered a big bowl of fries and abeer.

He has secretly avoided bars since the prediction, but the mood here is so congenial. There are office workers, backpackers, families, and theatergoers. There are children. Nobody looks like they want to pick a fight with him, or with anyone, in fact. All he can hear is laughter, conversation, the squawk of seagulls and coo of pigeons, the toots of ferry horns as they come in and out of the wharf at Circular Quay. It’s the end of a soft-breezed spring day. He’s definitely not going to be assaulted tonight.

He’s waiting to meet Harvey’s hot sister and a friend, or cousin, or something, he’s unclear on the identity of the other woman, but they have both come up to Sydney from Tasmania for the weekend, and Lila texted and asked if he wanted to meet for a drink. To toast Harvey, she said.

The waiter drops off his bowl of fries and a seagull settles on the railing and looks Ethan straight in the eye.

“Not for you,” says Ethan, and he looks for the guy in the yellow vest patrolling the concourse with a kelpie on a lead. The kelpie wears a Bird Patrol collar and appears to love his job shooing away the seagulls, which used to be a big problem at this bar. Ethan remembers being here with Harvey when he threw a handful of tomato sauce packets at a marauding seagull. The girl Harvey liked had accused him of animal cruelty. Poor Harvey. He was so downcast. He’d thought he was being chivalrous.

Ethan has finally told his parents about the prediction.

“That’s not going to happen.” His mother was adamant. “Absolutely not. You’re not the type.”

“I worry more about your sister,” said his dad. “She’s the one who should be arming herself. Give all that self-defense stuff to her.”

Ethan, mildly offended by the lack of parental concern, was tempted to quote the statistics relating to the death of young adult males by assault versus females, but resisted. It’s good his parents aren’t worried.

Neither is he.

He sees a text from Jasmine. Fish okay?

He sends her a thumbs-up, then puts the phone face down again. He’s become fond of her fish in the three weeks since she’s been gone, but interestingly his crush has been fading day by day into an embarrassing memory. She’ll be one of those friends who come in and out of his life, but she’s not for him. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, to be honest. He could never be himself with her. His personality isn’t big enough to match hers. When he was in her presence he was more like a fanboy than a person. He’s enjoying living on his own. He’s so much more relaxed.

“Ethan?”

Ethan looks up and sees two women walking toward his table.

One of them is Harvey’s hot sister, Lila. She’s still hot. He didn’t imagine it. But his attention is on the other woman. Dark hair in plaits, wearing shorts and a long-sleeved loose shirt, tanned legs and sneakers. She’s laughing at the kelpie.

Ethan stands. Nearly knocks over his bowl of fries. Straightens his glasses.

Afterward he will marvel at the clarity of Harvey’s voice in his head.

This one, mate. Not the other one. This one.