Everyone looked at it, at Pappou, and at each other, then shuffled uncomfortably. They hadn’t seen the necklace since before Yiayia died, and no one knew what Pappou was going to do now.

Pappou held it up by the chain. “Evangelina,” he said to my mother. “Hold out your hand.”

Mom looked at him anxiously. “But…Dad—” she began.

“No,” he insisted. “No. Hold.”

She lifted her hand and he gently dropped the necklace on her palm. “For you,” he said. “Because tradition is tradition.”

Mom shook her head and said, “I can’t. I’m not taking it—” but Pappou wasn’t done yet.

“Eleni-mou,” Pappou said, interrupting her and turning to Eleni. He put his hand in the bag, pulled out another little box and said, “Little Eleni-mou. Hold out your hand.”

Mom stood still and frowned. Eleni leaned forward in her wheelchair and held her hand out. Pappou opened the lid of the box and lifted out another necklace, identical to the first. Everyone in the room gasped.

Pappou dropped it into Eleni’s palm.

“For you. Because a promise is a promise,” he said. And then he winked at her. Everyone in the room was so shocked.

Everyone except me.

Because when I gave Yiayia’s wedding necklace back to Pappou, I had a little chat with him and told him my idea. I suggested making another necklace, the same as the original, so Mom and Eleni would both be happy. And that way, our family traditions would carry on, but Yiayia’s promise and her deal with God would be kept, too.

Pappou had given me a huge hug and told me that his granddaughter was the cleverest girl in the whole world. Which isn’t true, but that’s OK. I’m not so bothered by lies any more.

The way I see it is this. Truth isn’t one single perfect thing. What’s true for you probably isn’t the same as what’s true for me. And what’s true today might not be true in a week or a year or even this evening. Truth can change, and that makes it tricky. I still don’t know when I should be honest and when I should lie, because telling the truth might make God love you, but it doesn’t make everyone else love you. People don’t race to your side and high five you for your sparkling honesty, whatever adults might tell you. And I have no idea why parents say you should always tell the truth and then make up all kinds of stuff themselves.

But I think it’s OK to tell a small lie if it makes someone feel happy.

You can say your brother’s new sneakers are siiiick when they really just look like vomit.

And it’s OK to lie to stop someone from getting in trouble and making everyone hate you. You can say you have no idea who did it but the keys are in the sea, so someone needs to wade in and get them out. But the lies that hurt—the ones that split families up—those are the ones you should avoid. Not that I know what they are. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out.

Anyhow.

Pappou winked at me and I winked back. We’d done it. We’d fixed the problem. And it felt great.

But Pappou wasn’t finished.

He put his hand in the bag and pulled out another small box.

“Lexie-mou,” he said, looking at me with his eyes so full of love, it made my insides squeeze together. “Hold out your hand.”

I frowned but he nodded and said, “Hold.”

I searched his face, trying to understand what he was doing, and slowly held up my palm. Pappou opened the lid of the box. He held up a third necklace and said, “For you. For being brave girl and telling the truth.”

“But—” I began, my eyes scanning the sea of bewildered faces in front of me. I really didn’t deserve it, not after what I did.

“No but but. For you. For take care of Eleni all this years, and try to make our family come together again. You did a bad thing. And then you did a good thing. A very, very good thing.”

“But…Dad,” my mom asked, looking carefully at all three necklaces, “which one’s the original?”

“Hah!” Pappou roared. “I tell you truth. I don’t even know myself.” And he winked at me again.

Huh. So much for honesty.

I looked down at my necklace. And then I started chuckling. Because there were lots of versions of the necklace now, just like there were lots of versions of the truth. And that made sense. Least, it did to me.

“And now,” Aunt Sophia yelled, “it’s time to eat!”

We took our seats around the table, buzzing and talking and laughing, and out came plates and plates of food.

avgolemono

fasolia

makaronia tou forno

meatballs

potatoes

and a hundred other things

We ate until we were bursting at the seams.

And Yiayia, up in the Greek part of heaven, was smiling and smiling and smiling.