The Science of Breakable Things

“He thinks the ‘situation’ is really bothering me, and it is, I guess, but it’s not like she’s really sick, even though that’s how Dad keeps referring to her. The way I see it, she just got bored with life—bored with us. I’m not going to waste my time being sad about it.”

Natalie’s father initially uses the euphemism “situation” to refer to Natalie’s mother’s depression, but this doesn’t help Natalie. Instead, this confuses her and leads her to draw flawed conclusions about her mother.

“Maybe she is doing all of those laughing, crying things on the inside, just like her beloved plants, and she only needs someone to push her out, out, out again so she can laugh and sing and wonder on the outside, with me.”

Still lacking a literal name or explanation for what’s going on with her mother, Natalie turns to the metaphor of perennial plants, which her mother used to work with as a botanist. Although she doesn’t yet understand the illness, the important thing to Natalie is that this metaphor implies there is still hope that her mother will get better. Although Natalie doesn’t realize it yet, this metaphor also implies that depression is not new and sudden but recurs in her mother’s life.

“Mom couldn’t go to work anymore, and she got sucked into the darkness. Basically, Mrs. Menzer ruined our lives, because it was like she broke Mom. Mom just stopped. And now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix her.”

Using the scientific method, Natalie searches for a catalyst or cause for her mother’s unnamed problem. Piecing together bits of information from overheard conversations, Natalie concludes that Mrs. Menzer is the culprit. She must have fired her mother and caused the depression. Although this is not true, this theory allows Natalie to move forward toward finding a solution to reinvigorate her mother’s interest in science, work, and life.

“But Dad was looking at me with those Therapist Eyes, saying, ‘I want you to know: what’s happening with your mother has nothing to do with you.’

That’s the problem. I don’t seem to affect her at all. And that has everything to do with me.”

Although he is a therapist, talking to his own daughter about his wife is different than talking to a patient, and Natalie’s dad sometimes says the wrong thing. Here, he attempts to tell Natalie that her mother’s depression is not Natalie’s fault and doesn’t mean her mom doesn’t love her. However, Natalie continues to feel unimportant to her mother.

“Perhaps you have to be a botanist to understand the significance of these Cobalt Blue Orchids—to know how delicate orchids are. How they die without the perfect amount of sun and just the right amount of water. And you would have to understand the sheer impossibility of a blue orchid to understand the miracle of these flowers. How this delicate orchid somehow sprouted when no other plant could. How it sucked those toxic chemicals straight out of the earth and churned them into beauty.”

The metaphor of plants for people, particularly people with depression, seems to exist in Natalie’s mom’s book about orchids. Natalie begins comparing her mother to these flowers, believing that she can bloom again one day if given the right conditions.

“I slept through the winter, the way plants hibernate. I slept and the house turned dark and silent, but Mom lay next to me, refusing to leave my side. And then spring came, and I woke up with all those brand-new blooming buds. I don’t remember much about the illness or recovery. I only remember waking up. And I remember Mom waking with me.”

Natalie’s mother’s depression is still a mystery to her, so much so that she misremembers her mother’s past episode of depression as a sickness of her own. However, she also remembers this lovingly and decides to be there for her mom like her mom was there for Natalie.

“Here’s a hypothesis: Adults don’t want to know how we’re feeling. They think they do, but really, they just want to believe we’re okay, because it makes their job easier.”

After Natalie’s dad suggests she see a therapist outside the family, she initially reacts with anger and doubt, feeling rejected. This quote also reveals the pressure Natalie feels to remain “okay”; she believes that if she exhibits any problems herself, others will view her as a burden.

“It’s funny how the cold magnets actually worked best. It’s like how perennial plants seem to die in the winter, but really, they’re just waiting till everything is all right again. Maybe it’s not such a surprise that there’s strength in the cold. Maybe sometimes the strongest thing of all is knowing that one day you’ll be all right again, and waiting and waiting until you can come out into the sun.”

Natalie relates her science project about magnets to her ongoing metaphor of flowers for people with depression. As she gathers more and more evidence, the idea sticks with her that things (including people) sometimes need rest, sleep, and/or darkness to emerge again later, reinvigorated.

“Mom was laughing on Thanksgiving. She did it for Grandma. That’s trying. But she doesn’t care enough to try for me […] if she doesn’t care about me, I’m not going to care about her. She’s not my mom right now. She’s an imposter in my mother’s skin.

I hate her.”

Natalie’s mother’s behavior—not listening carefully to her story about science class—so upsets Natalie that she begins to see her mother as a completely different person, an “imposter.” Because she is not her regular mother, Natalie “hates” this imposter. Furthermore, Natalie continues to mirror her mother’s behavior by closing herself off in response to sensing that her mother is closed off.

“Seeing Dad out in the real world was unsettling. I hadn’t realized until then how sucked up we’d been in Mom’s sadness. The two of us were compass needles, pointing straight at Mom.”

Natalie’s mother’s depression affects the behavior of Natalie and her father throughout the book, but sometimes it’s more evident than others. Natalie uses the metaphor of compass needles to describe the magnetic feeling of being drawn into her mother’s depression.

“When he said open up, I pictured him ripping open my chest and exposing all my organs, like a dead frog on a lab table. Without meaning to, I flinched.”

For a long time, Natalie is afraid of “opening up” to her therapist or anyone else, as if something bad will happen when she does so. Here, she flips the metaphor “open up” by picturing it literally, which creates a violent image of an animal being dissected.

“I laughed and cheered, too, because this was exactly what I wanted, and I knew I should’ve been the happiest of all—but for some reason, the happy feeling turned sticky inside me. Maybe we really would win. Mom and I would go to New Mexico and soak in the miracle of the blue flowers and then—and then everything would be okay again. Right? Because if it wasn’t—then what?”

For the first time, Natalie confronts the reality that winning the competition might not cure her mother’s depression. Her hypothesis might be wrong. Ironically, Natalie’s hunch is correct because it doesn’t matter if she wins the egg drop or if her mother sees a particular type of flower. However, seeing the flowers make metaphorical sense as a cure for her mother, who worked to reveal the plants’ healing properties.

“And then I was mad at Dad, too, because he’s a therapist. He helps people for a living, so it’s basically his responsibility to help Mom. And if he can’t even do that, what is he good for?”

Natalie reasons that, as a therapist, her dad should at least be able to help his own wife. Not until later, after many sessions with Dr. Doris, will Natalie understand the value in having a therapist who is not a family member and of family members seeing different therapists.

“‘My mom’s depressed,’ I explained to Twig. The word depressed felt funny coming out of my mouth. I’d never said it before, and saying it made the whole problem sound too simple.”

Finally, Natalie has the word to describe what’s been going on with her mother and the courage to share it with Twig. However, the word still feels inadequate to capture the complexity and depth of her mother’s illness. This line marks a pivotal moment in Natalie’s relationship with Twig, as the two have been avoiding difficult personal topics.

“Grandma nodded. ‘That is Korean people. We keep going even in the worst time, like when I take your dad to America and we grow, just the two of us. Always growing.’”

Natalie’s grandmother expands her idea that flowers can be a metaphor for people. After Natalie tells her about the resilient Korean fire plant, Grandma compares the plant to herself and Natalie’s father, who thrived despite the difficult challenge of immigration. Everyone struggles sometimes, but the potential to heal and thrive endures.

“‘You will be okay, Natalie.’ She said it in that nice-lady, true way again, and for one horrible second, I wished that she were my mother. And then I felt guilty. Maybe that’s why Mom stopped loving me, stopped trying for me, because I didn’t love her enough. Because I wasn’t enough.

Before our session was over, Doris asked me to tell my favorite story about Mom, and I realized I couldn’t pick just one—because I have a good mother, and I love her, and I’ve never truly wished for anyone else.”

After Natalie finally opens up to Twig and Dr. Doris, she has deeper and clearer access to her own feelings. She can now articulate that she has a good mother whom she loves, although she misses the healthy version of her and wants her to get better.

“Back when Mom worked, she was in the lab constantly, especially in those last few months with the Cobalt Blue Orchid, sacrificing late nights, weekends, even holidays. Mom loved her job. But she loved me, too.”

Often, mothers in literature and media are depicted as if their work takes away from their children’s well-being or happiness. However, Natalie reveals that working was good for her mom, and her mother’s commitment to her job never led her to question her love for her. In this novel, Natalie’s mom actually has to work more to heal herself and her family than she worked at her job.

“Mom knelt and wrapped me into her and she smelled like a strange mix of old and new—like her flower shampoo and a newer, deeper scent of dark chocolate. Part of me wanted to pull away, and part of me couldn’t let go.”

Earlier, Natalie didn’t like how the way her mom’s touch felt while she was depressed. She felt like a different person. Now, she can acknowledge that her mother is not exactly the same person she used to be, but she is not an imposter. She’s simply more complex than Natalie previously understood, and now she’s thankful to be able to see more of her “real” mother.

“I cracked open and cried like I would never stop crying, like I would cry until all of me was gone. I was too afraid to look up from my curled-up cocoon and see my parents, because they weren’t the Mom and Dad I used to know. They were so much more now. Not perfect, not magic—but real.”

Natalie metaphorically “cracks open” like an egg and cries because, although she is not the one with depression, she is still “breakable” like her mother and all other people. Natalie begins to heal through this breakage because she is able to be comforted by the people she opened up to, her parents. She also realizes that, like her mom, her dad is a complex and imperfect person.

“I had already known, but now I knew. This terrible, incomprehensible thing that had descended upon our lives wasn’t new at all. It had always been there. I just hadn’t understood it. I wasn’t even sure I completely understood it now, but I was doing my best.”

After hearing that her mother had depression before, Natalie realizes that her earlier search for a catalyst was misguided. Natalie learns that depression is often a lifelong illness that goes away and comes back in waves, rather than something that appears suddenly because of one event.

“She looked like Mom again, with her Serious Business hair and her dirty hands and her crackling eyes but she wasn’t exactly the same. I hadn’t really known the sad version of her, but I didn’t know this version, either. The version of her that was everything put together—hope and hopelessness, curiosity and courage, failure and fight. She wasn’t perfect. She didn’t know everything. But she was still my mom, still here. And I still loved her.”

After Natalie realizes that her mother is a complex yet imperfect person, she also realizes that she will continue to change as time goes on, and Natalie will continue to learn more about her. Natalie also loves her mother’s courage in this moment because she was able to rise back up from her place of darkness and start gardening again, despite having failed.

“There were two versions of me, right then, the old Natalie, who would have tucked her head down and walked into the classroom, and the new Natalie, who walked right up to the car.”

Natalie’s parents aren’t the only ones with complex, shifting identities; Natalie is that way too. Because she now recognizes these two parts of herself, she is able to confront Mikayla and clear the air so they can coexist peacefully at school.

“But somehow, after that day in the greenhouse with Mom, I pretty much stopped writing […] all of a sudden, I didn’t need it anymore.

Because now I can speak.

Mom and Dad and I are being honest with each other. And, honestly, Mom is not completely back to the way she was, but she’s going to therapy twice a week, and she even started working again, part-time. There’s a whole lot of strength in that, and I feel proud knowing I’m her daughter.”

What Natalie really needed was to understand the nature, cause, and treatment for her mother’s depression. At first, her mother avoided talking to her about it, her father spoke in euphemisms, and Natalie didn’t know how to express herself. After her parents explain things to her honestly and clearly, Natalie doesn’t need to write in a journal to sort out her thoughts anymore.