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Fingers traced the bundle of ripeness. These miniscule pods of juice embodied the essence of morado. You could feel how much smaller morado was to regular grapes, contrasting against the crunchy tartness, the thin flesh. Morado was sweet and chewier.
With the voices of workers carrying across the endless rows of vines, you closed your eyes, savoring each word they said. Every now and then, your face scrunched in disgust, repulsed by the distinct flavor that overwhelmed your senses.
Your hands continued to pick and pick. The rich earth accumulated underneath your nails. Unsure of a certain bunch, you popped a grape into your mouth and at once spat it out. It certainly did not taste like morado.
"Is something wrong y/n?"
With the turning of your face, the moonlight illuminated your features. "This bundle tastes weird, see." You passed a grape to him.
His eyebrows knitted in confusion as he bit down on the small piece of fruit. With a chuckle he patted your head. "Muy divertida, but when will you stop playing these games. I think you need to take a break senorita."
"But-"
"Your Mamá will call for supper soon anyways. Ve ahora."
As he playfully shooed you away, you secretly grabbed a grape. You laughed along at his antics trying to conceal the true disappointment you had. Running along the leafy vines, your discouragement morphed into the quivering of a lip. Weren't they the ones playing the games?
Those grapes...they don't know the taste of morado?
...
With various sounds came various flavors, all in which you could only focus on.
Why, just why couldn't Señor Diego see that the grapes weren't ready?
"y/n..."
"¿y/n, hola?"
You lifted your head to see your whole family staring at you. Your poor mother tried to get your attention multiple times.
"¿Sí mamá?"
Your brothers and papá could only snicker as always, ready to hear you getting an earful from mamá. This time though, she could see something was bothering you.
"Nenita, what would you like to eat?"
You glanced at the many dishes in front of you. "Pass me some empanadas please."
Your mother and father shared a look before he cleared his throat. "Are you ok mi cielito?"
You took a deep breath and slid your chair back. You walked over to the end of the dining table, placing the grape in front of his plate. "Taste it."
He didn't question you and ate it. He then spat it on his napkin.
"Papá, why are the pickers picking that section of the fields? They aren't ready yet."
You've never seen your father's eyes widen the way they did just now.
With a gentle smile, he kissed the top of your head and whispered. "How did you know the grapes still needed just a little bit more time? They're usually ripe by now."
