OnlyFeet

Kat

Despite solid grades, multiple summer internships, and several employee recommendations, after six months I still couldn't find my first *real* job. It's been the longest stretch of pure anxiety I've ever experienced. Aside from the ever-growing debt, the only thing I have to show for it is an endless supply of templated consolatory emails from companies I don't even want to work for. Frustrated, broke and afraid to crank the AC too high to put us in a bigger hole, I know I need to find a job, any job. But even the shitty jobs aren't hiring. The landscape looks bleak, and the Reddit posts that Rafi sends daily—intended to remind me we're not alone in this struggle—offer little comfort against the relentless feelings of inadequacy.

Entering our modest one-bedroom apartment, I drop a folder of résumés on the kitchen counter. The sound startles Rafi, momentarily drawing his focus from his laptop.

"Any luck?" he asks from the couch, his voice genuinely hopeful.

I hesitate, my gaze drifting to a bird perched on the awning outside our window. We're on the second floor, right above the building's entrance, and the dull concrete overhang dominates our view.

"Kat... Kat," Rafi says gently, snapping me back to the moment.

"Sorry, hon." I shake my head, crossing over to him and resting my head in his lap, my legs dangling over the armrest. "I need to vent."

As I recount my day, I know he absorbs only fragments, but he never stops stroking my hair and always listens when it counts. "I had a really good chat with the manager at TJs. She was sweet." I say, but I don't mention how they aren't hiring anymore so it was a waste of time. They have a waitlist of applicants, in fact. Ones with actual retail experience. "I don't think it's gonna work out. I'd rather serve if I can, anyway. Way better money."

Rafi knows I'm not telling him everything, but he knows how I feel. And I know how he feels. He's been searching just as long as I have for our unexpectedly elusive first job out of college. He's even more shameful about it. I always thought I was incredibly hard on myself, but he takes it to a level I didn't know existed. He hides it well, but I know he thinks he's done something wrong to end up here. He didn't try hard enough. He didn't choose the right path. Blah blah blah. He did the best he could at the time, just like me, just like most of us. I try to remind him as much as I can.

"How about something sweet? And frozen?" He asks and scoots me up so he can stand. He knows how to distract me. Four years together will do that.

"I'm good." I mumble.

"No, you're not. You need fro-yo. My treat."

I smile at my best friend. "Okay," he says, slapping his hands together, "you don't even have to move. I'll be right back." He hurries to the door, calling, "Love you," over his shoulder.

The silence that finds me is uncomfortable at first, but then warm. And I know I have about ten minutes before he returns with two semi-melted fro-yos. Bathroom time? No. Nothing brewing. I consider a quick nap, but in ten minutes I'll be fast-asleep so Rafi's return will annoy me, unfairly to him, so that won't do. I decide to distract myself with a quick social media scroll-sesh. I walk the four feet across our quaint apartment to our bedroom. Polaroid photos of our life's simple adventures are taped in a colorful collage on the wall behind our bed. I lay on my tummy facing that wall and flip open my laptop. A browser with ten job posts greets me. I immediately hide them and pull up Instagram. As I float down my algo-stream I stop on a post of a beautiful blonde in her early twenties, close to my age, but she seems more mature. More sure of herself. Her eyes are set back within a perfectly symmetrical face. They draw you into their swirly pools of dark and light blue. Who is she? I turn on the volume and the spell is somewhat broken when I realize she's an actress for an OnlyFans' ad. She looks even better as she talks. Her cheeks pull in and reveal cheek bones chiseled for the gods. "Don't doubt yourself," she says. "You're beautiful to someone."

Twelve minutes later Rafi bursts through the door. "Sorry, babe. Michael was downstairs. Even when I'm literally dripping, he won't stop talking." I don't reply right away because I'm finishing a comment from @nellie0995. All her posts and replies are very well-written and insightful. She's also a bit of a marketing genius. She says a niche is a great way to get started. And anonymity is a kink for a lot of guys, so tons of girls have successful accounts and never show their face.

"Babe?" I hear directly behind the bedroom door we never close. I shut my laptop and open the door to find Rafi holding a probing look on his face and two quarter-melted fro-yos. He got my favorite mix, coconut and mango. He hasn't even touched his.

"I love you so much." I say and move in and kiss him on the lips. "You know my love language is frozen treats." I take my cup, and we clink spoons in a little toast before digging in.

Back on the couch, I glance at the large cardboard box that's served as our makeshift coffee table for weeks now. "Think you'll have time to assemble the table soon?" I ask, lightly teasing—it's the third time in as many weeks.

"I really should get to that," he replies, standing and heading toward the kitchen.

"Finish your fro-yo first," I say, surprised by his sudden energy.

"All done." He busies himself with something out of sight.

As I'm left with my thoughts and my fro-yo, I find my mind floating back to the Reddit posts. Multiple commenters mentioned making thousands a week. It seems low risk, high reward. I like looking at me. I know others do, too. I know it's vain, but it's true. The tricky part will be figuring out how to tell Rafi. It's late, though, and that conversation will take energy I don't have tonight. Instead, I shove that thought down for now and think about where the best lighting is in our place.