Trevor had had parents. Two loving, wonderful parents. Times had been tough, but they'd raised him the best they could have with what was available. They were long dead now (Trevor was old, so old), but he remembered them fondly, appreciated what they had given him and the knowledge and wisdom they had passed on to them. Trevor had had parents who had loved him and who he had loved in return.
Trevor was no longer that person.
Now he was Trevor Holden, with two different parents and a cover as a seventeen-year-old boy to maintain. He certainly didn't mind, he liked being young again, liked the many beautiful things the twenty-first century had to offer, and knew the importance of his mission and his reason for being there.
So he was Trevor Holden, mother Patricia, father Gary, girlfriend Rene. But the thing was, Trevor had had parents, loving, wonderful parents. And Patricia was nice and friendly and kind and her smiles and her occasional hugs (Trevor Holden hadn't much cared for her hugs in the past) made Trevor think of his own mother. She wouldn't have minded, he knows, him calling another woman Mom. He likes to think she would have been proud, to see him now.
But Gary… Gary cares, in his own way, Trevor knows that. Can see that in the small moments, in the little gestures the man offers when he thinks no one will see and in the larger moments when he musters up the strength to admit his own mistakes. But he cares too much about the image of Trevor he has in his mind, about who he wants Trevor to be, rather than who he is.
He wants to force his own desires onto his son, and for all Trevor knows he might have encouraged that. Trevor Holden had, at the very least, gone along with it. Now he doesn't play football, and he thanks his mother, and Gary doesn't know what to do with him.
There was no physical abuse, the social media accounts about Trevor's life and his own experience in the twenty-first has shown him that, but pushing your own expectations onto your kid isn't the best way to grow up either.
Trevor's father hadn't been like that. He'd been kind, and willing to be emotional – ready to offer up a smile even in the darkest of times.
So. Trevor can see that Gary cares, can see his love for his son beneath his prickly, occasionally painful, outer layers. But Gary is not his father, and until he changes his attitude Trevor refuses to change the memory of that word in his mind. The memories of fond (if faded by time) moments in his admittedly rough childhood, calling out 'Dad!' in joy as he ran into his father's arms.
Gary hasn't earned that.
(And, Trevor will admit only to himself, it amuses him slightly, the way Gary bristles whenever he speaks his name.)