Why do teenagers always eat the entire kitchen when they get home from school?

I asked myself this as I walked to my house from the bus stop. Within the 20 seconds it takes to get to my house, all I could think about was eating a grilled cheese. I was approaching the tall white house when I noticed my dad’s truck in the driveway. He must have gotten done with work early. When I opened the front door the A/C waved over me giving me relief. It may have been March but it felt like June. My dad isn’t in sight. Good, that means no small talk to delay my trip to the kitchen. I threw my backpack on the floor and began my process. I grabbed all my ingredients from the fridge. Butter, cheese, and bread. I turned the stove on and waited  impatiently for it to warm up.
“You’re using the stove?” my dad’s raspy voice startled me and I jumped.
“Yes I’m using the stove why is that so surprising?”
“You never use the stove that’s all.” It was true. I had a fear of the stove and oven. I was extremely clumsy and didn’t trust myself with these things. I was too busy putting layers of cheese on the bread that I didn't notice that my dad had walked further into the kitchen and leaned on the counter.
“Why are you home so early?” I looked up at him expecting him to answer, but he didn’t. He looked at me with bloodshot eyes. Had he been crying?
“Taylor there’s something we need to talk about.” this scares me and I wait for him to say something, anything to kill the silence. He doesn’t say anything.
“Well...what is it?” I flipped the grilled cheese even though it was nowhere near ready for it. I guess I was trying to distract myself from the nerves that were building up from the suspense.
“Taylor,” he paused for a bit “, I’m moving out today.”
My mind didn’t comprehend the words. I looked up at him again,
“ What?” He says it again. I wait for a minute trying to make sense of it. I guess I wasn’t really surprised. With all the fighting happening lately, it had been a long time coming; it was just the fact that it was actually happening. My family was going to be added to the divorce statistics of America. “Oh.” was all I could manage to say. I turned the stove off. I didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.
In a matter of minutes my life had changed. He hugged me tight and said his goodbyes. I could feel his tears hit my shoulder and I’m sure he could feel mine. It almost felt like they were burning through my shirt. He made sure I knew that wouldn’t be the last time I would see him, told me he loved me, and grabbed his suitcase. He left our home and I listened to his truck start up and drive off. I stood there for a what seemed like hours, then walked to my room and closed the door. I wrapped myself tightly in my comforter. This was me trying to stimulate the feeling of being held. I shoved my head under my pillow and pushed down on it so I wouldn’t hear the outside world around me. I also didn’t want my tears to stain the pillow case that came in a set from my dad. It was like I was trying to cherish anything I had left of him.

I don’t remember falling asleep when I woke up the next morning. I barely remembered that my dad wouldn’t be there anymore. When I walked in the kitchen the uncooked grilled cheese was in the garbage can. I assumed my mother had put it there, she didn’t even have the guts to say anything to me last night. I went on with my day pretending like nothing ever happened. I never told anyone.