At 35, Mika Suzuki has quite possibly hit rock bottom. She’s just been fired from yet another dead-end job she didn’t like (but certainly needed); has been painfully single since her last relationship with a pothead-turned-hipster-dispensary-founder went up in smoke; and her once blossoming artistic skills have stagnated. The most stable thing in her life might be her Japanese parents’ perpetual disappointment.

Mika in Real Life, by Emiko Jean,384 pagesWILLIAM MORROW, Fiction.

But then, out of the blue, Mika gets a call from Penny — the daughter she had given up for adoption 16 years ago. Wanting to nurture this tenuous connection, Mika agrees to chat with Penny. After some unfortunate embellishments to her current circumstances — “with each lie, Mika painted her life in brighter colors. ... It was much easier to talk about things as you wished them to be” — Penny announces she’s coming to Portland to visit her (supposedly) successful art gallery-running birth mother. Oh, and she’s bringing along Thomas Calvin, her widowered, endearingly grumpy and unexpectedly hot adoptive father. Now Mika has a choice: come clean to her teen daughter and risk losing her again, or try to make the “perfect” life she conjured for herself a reality.

If the bare bones of “Mika in Real Life,” the adult debut out Aug. 2 from Emiko Jean (“Empress of All Seasons” and “Tokyo Ever After”), sound like a rom-com in the making, don’t be too quick to judge. The novel digs into a number of weighty themes, including conflicts between first- and second-generation immigrants (Mika’s parents moved to America when she was young); pregnancy and motherhood; and the long-term impacts of trauma, both mental and physical.

“Most things fade with time,” Jean writes in the novel. “Even the things you try desperately to hold on to. But her body always remembered. Maybe that’s what makes you age. The weight of events drooped your shoulders, carved lines on your face. Yeah, that was it. The mind may forget, but the body always remembers.”

It’s a hefty list — one the book jacket doesn’t adequately allude to, particularly in regards to depictions of sexual violence and their aftermath. “There are studies that trauma changes a person, leaving a chemical mark on genes that can be passed down,” Jean says of her approach to depicting trauma via email with The Japan Times. “This struck me. The idea that trauma does not just live in our minds but in our bodies too. That trauma transforms you in a fundamental irrevocable way. Not only do you carry trauma, but you pass it down too. Trauma affects every aspect of our life — how we interact with others, the world and ourselves.” Everyone in this book is just dealing with a lot of grief.

“Mika in Real Life” is a significant departure in tone from Jean’s earlier young adult works (though “Empress of All Seasons” has its fair share of teenagers engaging in bloody combat). The cause of Mika’s trauma is a significant aspect of her past so, without spoiling too much, just know as you start reading: It doesn’t all happen off the page. Jean handles the pivot masterfully, plumbing the depths of her characters’ emotions in a way that makes any conflict a central part of their character growth and not just angst for the sake of a tragic backstory. It’s impossible not to root for Mika, even as the inevitable collapse of her fake life looms, because her struggles and choices feel relatable.

With Penny and Thomas arriving in Portland, Mika has unsurprisingly decided to fake it till she makes it and enlists her plucky group of friends to help her create the illusion of her dream-come-true life, complete with a successful gallery opening, devoted beau and picture-perfect house. But keeping up the charade isn’t easy, especially as Mika has to navigate the nebulous boundary between parenthood and friendship she’s forming with Penny, while trying to bond with her daughter and help nurture her tenuous connection to her Japanese heritage (Thomas and his previous wife, Caroline, are white).

“What made Penny, Penny? How much of her was defined at birth, and how much was determined through the years?” Jean has Mika wonder during her daughter’s visit. “What parts had Mika given her daughter? Thomas? Caroline? Her biological father? And did it even matter?”

And then there’s the growing attraction she’s feeling (and fighting) toward Thomas. They warily orbit each other — initially tied only by their mutual love of Penny, but soon by much more — and their banter unspools over the course of the trip, providing spots of levity. One memorable exchange involves a series of pretty solid penis puns.

When Mika’s charade is exposed barely halfway through the novel, trust is broken between both Penny and Thomas. In the second half of the book, Mika faces some tough choices on how to turn her life around to become the person she knows they both deserve. It requires a reckoning with her past and many of the scars inflicted (even unintentionally) by her parents.

Her journey is painful, messy and a bit beautiful because out of the struggle comes a new Mika: “She’d read about an author once who described the need to write like two hearts inside her chest. One was for everyday life. The other was for her art. Mika pulled that bloody heart from her body and put it on display. Because creation demands sacrifice.”

Much like parenthood and love.