But she was also one of the few employees who could converse fluently in Japanese.
Not simply the formal phrases memorized by restaurant staff.
She understood regional expressions, cultural references, and conversational subtleties that came from spending much of her adolescence in Osaka.
Most customers didn't know that.
Naomi rarely mentioned it unless someone needed assistance.
She wasn't ashamed of the skill.
She simply didn't consider it necessary to announce her education to every wealthy customer who entered the room.
That evening, as she adjusted the ivory sash around her waist, another waitress approached.
Her colleague was a twenty-six-year-old Japanese-American woman with shoulder-length hair and an infectious laugh.
"You're assigned to the billionaire dinner."
Naomi glanced toward her.
"I saw the schedule."
The colleague lowered her voice.
"You know who the guest is, right?"
Naomi nodded.
"The chairman of Takamura Heritage."
"Exactly."
Her friend leaned closer.
"He's supposed to be impossible."
Naomi smiled faintly.
"Most important guests are difficult in one way or another."
"This one is different."
"How?"
The colleague hesitated.
Then explained that the billionaire had complained about the service during his previous visit. One waiter was criticized for placing a tea utensil at the wrong angle, another for speaking when the chairman expected silence.
The restaurant manager had spent the afternoon reminding the staff that the evening needed to proceed without mistakes.
Naomi finished adjusting her sash.
"Then we'll do our jobs properly."
Her colleague shook her head.
"You're not nervous?"
Naomi considered the question.
Then smiled.
"A little."
"Only a little?"
She laughed softly.
"I've survived worse than a wealthy man with opinions about tea."
Her friend grinned.
Then lowered her voice again.
"Well, apparently he's meeting his board about some enormous property deal."
Naomi looked toward her.
"What kind of deal?"
The colleague shrugged.
"Something involving tea estates in Japan. That's all I heard."
For a moment, Naomi's expression changed.
Tea estates.
Japan.
And the Takamura family.
The combination stirred a memory she'd spent several years trying not to revisit.
She turned toward the mirror.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then her colleague noticed the change.
"Naomi?"
She looked up.
"Yeah?"
"Everything okay?"
Naomi forced a smile.
"Of course."
But she wasn't thinking about the evening's service anymore.
She was remembering a small tea-growing village outside Kyoto.
A hillside covered in carefully maintained green terraces.
And an elderly Japanese woman who had once taught her that serving tea was not about proving who deserved respect.
It was about offering respect before anyone had earned the right to demand it.
Naomi had not learned Japanese through a smartphone application or a few college classes.