What My Sugar Daddy’s Daughter Did to Make Me Never Want to Date a Man with Kids Again

It was sev­eral months after I met my older man, Patrick’s, son and younger daugh­ter that I had the chance to meet the last of Patrick’s three children—his other daugh­ter, Isabel. She loved horses, spent daddy’s money lib­er­ally, and did some kind of work for the fam­ily busi­ness, although, from what I could tell, she was not there much. She did have a man in her life, and it looked like it was headed for the altar, but no dates had been sent.

I remem­bered Patrick telling me she was very much like her mother, which made me think she was not going to be very open and accept­ing of me, the way her sis­ter Juliet had been. Where to meet this time? I left that up to Patrick, but sug­gested it should be a lun­cheon date instead of dinner.

We planned to meet at a lit­tle restau­rant in Greek­town, six long city blocks from my office. I walked it, glad for a few min­utes alone so I could pre­pare myself for how­ever this was going to turn out.

When I arrived, Patrick was already at the table with his daugh­ter; they were sit­ting side by side. Patrick stood up when I found their table and made the for­mal intro­duc­tions. Isabel was cor­dial and cool. Patrick sat down again in the chair next to his daugh­ter. I sat alone on the other side of the table, some­what dis­ap­pointed that he had not come over to sit next to me.

That may have been the only time dur­ing our ini­tial meet­ing that Isabel addressed me or had eye con­tact with me. She mostly engaged in con­ver­sa­tion about the busi­ness with her father, mak­ing it almost impos­si­ble for him to try to bring me into the dia­logue. Most of the con­ver­sa­tion was “inside” talk, and it felt point­edly exclu­sive of me. I even thought Isabel was a bit flir­ta­tious with her father, although I don’t think that’s so unusual if the occa­sion hadn’t been “The First Time Meet­ing Your Father’s Very Young Girlfriend.”

We ordered fam­ily style, shar­ing flam­ing cheese saganaki, tara­masalata with French bread, fried chicken liv­ers, and white San­torini Greek wine. I love Greek food, but was too ner­vous to enjoy it. It was obvi­ous I had come up against another foe, and, frankly, I was tired of it.

Try­ing to present myself in a pos­i­tive light to his kids, except for Juliet, felt like a mil­i­tary drill exer­cise that I hadn’t signed on for. I was tired of being “tested,” and wasn’t sure if I wanted to live in a mine­field where try­ing to nav­i­gate around three chil­dren, all closer to my age than was nat­ural in the scheme of things, was worth it.

After a bit more of the lunch, just as cof­fee was being served, I stood up, looked at Patrick, and told him I had a meet­ing to get to. Before he could object or offer me a ride back to the office, I was out the door, hail­ing a cab, and feel­ing enor­mous relief that I was out of there. Never had I felt so for­tu­nate to be a sin­gle career woman with no real obligations.

  • Angel Marie

    I don’t get it.… seems like a nor­mal first meet­ing with the kids to me. Maybe you should worry less about putting your­self in a good light and be friend­lier next time. Nowhere in your arti­cle do you make any attempt at mak­ing con­ver­sa­tion with his daugh­ter. My father dated and mar­ried a woman 1 year older than me. If she had made no effort to talk to me, I would not have got­ten to know her at all.