Page 63 of Worth the Risk
“We have the rest of our lives to figure it out. And Highland will be there for all of it—protected by your legal work, community-controlled, and never threatened again.”
She smiles, stopping to kiss me once more beside the car. “Let’s go home.”
Home. She means Highland, but as we drive toward the arts district with our hands intertwined, I realize home is wherever Maya chooses to build something beautiful.
And for the first time in three weeks, I’m certain she’s choosing to build it with me.
EPILOGUE
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
The smellof adobo and lumpia fills Highland’s newly renovated main hall as I weave between tables laden with Filipino delicacies, checking last-minute details for tonight’s celebration. The space is magnificent—twice the size of the original building, with soaring ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, while maintaining every detail that made Highland feel like home.
This is Highland at its absolute best—vibrant, welcoming, alive with the energy of a community celebrating not just survival, but transformation.
“Maya, anak, where should the musicians set up?” Tita Sol calls from near the stage, gesturing toward the Filipino Cultural Center’s dance troupe arranging their equipment.
“Main stage, left side,” I call back, checking my clipboard. “And remember, the dedication ceremony starts at eight-thirty sharp.”
Tonight marks eighteen months since Highland was saved from demolition, eighteen months since Declan and I discovered thatsome partnerships can change not just two lives, but entire communities.
“Maya.” Declan appears at my elbow carrying two cups of coffee and wearing the kind of focused expression that means he’s been coordinating celebration logistics since dawn. After eighteen months together, he still makes my heart skip.
“Rosa’s handling the kitchen coordination, Carlo has the sound system under control, and I just finished hanging the new photos in the heritage hallway.”
“Everything sounds perfect.” I accept the coffee gratefully. “Are you nervous about tonight?”
“Should I be nervous about Highland’s anniversary celebration?”
“You should be nervous about whatever you’ve been secretly planning with Rosa and Carlo.” I study his expression, noting the barely contained excitement he’s been carrying for weeks. “Declan Pierce, you’re terrible at hiding surprises.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” he says, which is obviously a lie given the way his mouth twitches when he’s trying not to smile.
Before I can interrogate him further, Lianne appears with her event coordinator clipboard and an urgent expression.
“Maya, the Channel 7 news crew wants to interview you about Highland’s evolution into a community land trust model,” she says. “They’re particularly interested in the legal framework being replicated in other cities.”
After Lianne disappears to coordinate with the news crew, Declan and I continue our final walkthrough. The building is twice its original size now, with modern amenities andaccessibility upgrades, but every detail honors Highland’s history.
We pass the children’s library where teenagers tutor younger kids in both English and Tagalog, the job training center where Highland’s families learn skills that launch careers, and the cultural preservation archive where oral histories and traditional recipes are stored for future generations. Each space represents something my father dreamed of but never had the resources to create.
“Maya, mahal,” Declan says quietly as we pause in the heritage hallway where photos document Highland’s evolution from my father’s twenty-seven-dollar dream to a community center that serves as a national model. His use of the Tagalog endearment still makes my heart flutter—a small sign of how completely he’s embraced not just me, but my culture, my community, my entire world. “Can I show you something?”
He leads me toward the new wing that houses Highland’s expanded programming spaces. At the end of the hallway, there’s something new—a brass plaque beside double doors that lead to Highland’s largest meeting space.
The Alejandro Navarro Community Assembly Hall
In honor of Highland Community Center’s founder whose vision of community began with twenty-seven dollars and a dream.“Some things are worth building, even when you start with nothing”
I stop walking, my breath catching as I read my father’s words—words I haven’t seen written anywhere in twenty years.
“Declan...” His name comes out as barely a whisper. “You dedicated the assembly hall to my father.”
“Highland’s community dedicated it to your father,” he corrects gently. “I just coordinated the plaque installation and made sure his favorite quote was included.”
Tears gather in my eyes as I trace the engraved letters with my fingertips. “How did you know that quote? I’ve never told you those exact words.”
“Rosa remembered them from early board meetings. She said your father used that phrase whenever people doubted that Highland could succeed with such limited resources.” His hand settles gently on my lower back. “Maya, your father didn’t just build Highland with twenty-seven dollars. He built it with the belief that communities matter more than profit margins.”
