“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.” – William Morris

Mom made the best desserts. A cliche, maybe, but in my case it was true. She used to say that she'd seriously considered being a baker, but getting the fresh-baked treats and pastries out in time for ravenous customers to purchase their breakfast meant having to get up in the middle of the night. And she simply wasn't a morning person. Besides, she loved to tinker and come up with new recipes rather than make things in batches.

My favorite creation of hers was something she called Liar's Pie. The first time she served it, she cut a slice for Dad and me. Then she told us what she'd named it.

"Why is it called that?" Dad wanted to know.

Mom smiled. "Try a slice and see for yourself."

"But Mom," I said very reasonably, "why would you bake this pie for me? I never lie to you."

Mom laughed at that. "Of course you don't. Just dig in."

The pie did smell good and I didn't think Mom had planned this as elaborate revenge for little fibs about who ate the last cookie or used up the toilet paper in the bathroom without replacing the roll. It was banana-and-toffee flavored, but there was something else to it. A mysterious slightly sparkly flavor that lingered on the tongue. At that time, I thought nothing of it.

I only realized what the pie had done at school the next day. The words simmered at the tip of my tongue, a million little stories and excuses waiting to be unleashed. Details jumped out at me: I saw my classmates' moods and secrets as clearly as their uniforms or the color of their hair.

"Did you do the reading?" Marie whispered from next to me.

I had, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear. "No."

She brightened up despite herself. "Neither did I. How are we gonna hide from Mr Davis?"

A plan unfolded itself, words and ideas falling into place. I smiled.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll distract him."

I hated the story Mr Davis had assigned. It was full of assumptions about how the world should be, not to mention ideas about human nature that didn't hold true in my experience. But I knew not to say any of that the same way I knew about the bald spot he was trying to hide, and my stream of effervescent words held his attention well enough.

The pie wore off by dinner, but I understood. Mom hadn't gone for the blunt instrument of enforcing honesty at all times. Instead she'd tried to show me how I could use my skills for good.

It was a lesson I never forgot.